CHAPTER V
Some time after I quit railroading, I was working in a field, through which the railroad track ran on father’s farm just below Silverton. I was plowing this piece for the first time. Father came down and looked on while I plowed a couple of rounds; he said to see me plow put him in mind of an old sow that they used to own in Ohio. I asked him why I reminded him of a pig, especially at plowing; he said the similarity was this, that a sow could root up a field as well as I could plow it.
Each day when the train came through, my friend Palmer, the engineer, would throw me the daily Oregonian, which he had finished reading.
After receiving this paper, the work would be lighter during the balance of the day and it eventually prolonged the plowing until spring came, and about the only crop we had was old papers. While reading through one of the papers I noticed a paragraph saying that a car
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