Now let me go back to the farm end of the story. That's the part that appeals to me, more than all the rest, because I'm a farmer. I'm running a farm of my own, back in Arkansas, in the Mississippi valley. I know something of what farming means, its rewards and its difficulties. Take it from me: the rewards are greater and the difficulties less in this Willamette valley than in any other place I've ever known.
The worst thing about farming is the isolation of the life, the separation of the farmer and his family from all the things that go to make up a worth-while social life. There's none of that in the Willamette valley. As I write, I'm in the heart of the valley. There's a fine network of electric and steam railways running up and down and across the land—a thousand miles of railway lines. Within half a day's travel lie the state capital, the State University, the State Agricultural College, a dozen or more higher institutions for education, and the industrial capital of the great Columbia basin. And that's not all. The farmer, like everybody else, wants variety in his life. Within plain sight, within three or four hours' reach, are the peaks of the Cascade mountains with their everlasting snow-caps; on the other side, to the west, only three or four hours away, lies the Pacific ocean; and all around, crowding one another, are hundreds of beauty spots—rivers and hills, waterfalls and caves, forests and smiling vistas—a very wonderland of beauty. Life may be very large in the Willamette valley.
On top of this, the Willamette valley has never known a crop failure.
I know well enough what's in your mind. You're wondering how much it would cost to get a foothold in this Eden. You've heard that land values are very high out here. So they are, on the face of things. But if you'll scratch below the surface you'll find that this condition isn't so bad. You may pay $400 or $50oan acre for a highly developed "going" farm if you want to; but at the State Agricultural College they'll tell you that there's still lots and lots of land to be had for $20 to $50 an acre, perfectly suited to profitable use. Land prices are very uneven over the valley; but don't let yourself be scared out by the higher figures showing here and there.
Let me tell you of two farms I've seen, at the two extremes of the scale. One is a great dairy farm, a model of modern dairy farming, supplying certified milk to the city of Portland, covering 400 acres and involving an investment of $92,000. It's paying twelve per cent. net on that investment.
The other is a farm of ten acres, about the same distance from Portland, which was tackled five years ago by a Hungarian farmer whose cash capital amounted to exactly four dollars. When he bought his land, it was in the wild woods. Today it's free of debt, supporting his family in plenty—a model of its kind too. So, you see!
I wish to goodness I were writing a book, instead of trying to tell this story in a few magazine pages. There'd be some fair chance then of saying the things that wait to be said. It's hopeless, this way. I haven't been able to crowd in a word about the golden glory of the climate, nor about the big, open-hearted, progressive spirit of the people, nor—most significant of all—about the inevitable destiny of the great Columbia basin following the opening of the Panama Canal. Maybe I'll have another chance to talk with you about those things. I hope so.
I'm going home to Arkansas now to talk to my wife about this Willamette valley country—and she's going to think that I've gone plumb crazy.
