Rustic Prints 6 (Last Installment in This Series)

What is not to love about this rustic print? It glows within the mat as if filled with its own light. The blue sky and white clouds are true to a summer’s day. A pleasant cottage with a white fence is barely discernible beneath the branches of the welcoming tree. A man walks a large fluffy dog by the trunk. Farmers load bundles of wheat, also known as sheaves, onto a wagon pulled by three horses. A rooster and a chicken, like Geoffrey Chaucer’s Chanticleer and Pertelote (in “The Nun’s Priest’s Tale”), wait happily, knowing they will find grains of wheat when the nearby shock is knocked apart.

Framed Rustic Print of Horses, Wheat, and Chickens

When I exhibited my farm steam engine at the Will County Threshermen’s Association show in Illinois in the 1990s, I enjoyed loading bundles of wheat in the late afternoon. Tired from the hard work of a hot day, I somehow managed to find a burst of energy when fellow exhibitors and I walked the short distance to the field. With a pitchfork, my friends and I lifted the bundles higher and higher until the wagons were stacked to the sky with sheaves of golden wheat. We could nearly always count on the sunset to be spectacular, with reddish orange rays slanting between the bundle wagons. Don’t get me wrong! It was a workout, and my muscles screamed afterwards. The joy was in doing honest and collaborative work as it had been done in my grandparents’ and parents’ days. The banter was ever friendly; the camaraderie, always memorable.

In helping to load bundles in Will County, I learned that a shock must be broken apart before the bundles can be lifted. Shocks of wheat are carefully piled groups of bundles, with at least one fanned out across the top to help shed the rain. For most of the time that wheat was threshed—that is, before wheat was harvested by means of the agricultural implement called a “combine”—standard wisdom held that wheat should “cure” in shocks or stacks for a few weeks before being threshed. Should it rain during the curing process, much of the rain would be shunted aside by the bundles carefully spread across the tops of the shocks.

After being propped together for many days, the wheat bundles are commingled enough to make lifting one of them a challenge. By the simple expedient of easy movements with a pitchfork, the shock is loosened in such a way that the bundles become disentangled, ready for loading. In this rustic print, the man wearing suspenders is standing over a shock that has been knocked apart. His actions remind me of those jubilant evenings in Will County!

I began this series by admitting that I am a sucker for old-time illustrations that can be described as “rustic prints.” With a farming scene as spectacular as this one, I am confident that my passion for such prints can be understood by everyone.

Rustic Prints 5

This framed print of cows and a stream defines the word bucolic, a word with Greek roots meaning “cowherd” and “cow.” Bucolic has a synonym in pastoral, a word having multiple layers of significance relating to “pastors,” or “shepherds.” I suppose that one of my most important memories of growing up on a farm in Indiana is the peaceful sight of soft-eyed cows wading in sparkling creeks on sultry summer afternoons.

Framed Rustic Print of Cows and a Brook

That sight was repeated around every bend of a country road. When I was a youngster, most farms were far smaller than they are today, and they were diversified in old-fashioned ways that now seem quaint. By diversified, I mean that farms raised crops but a wider variety of crops than they now raise and that farms raised livestock—which many farms no longer raise. I recall fences. Lots and lots of fences. They were necessary to discourage cows and pigs and sheep from straying into the gravel roads. I recall hardwood trees amid the fences bordering the edges of fields; today, most of those trees have been removed to enable huge farm machines to till the soil as close to the edge of the roads as possible. I recall chickens, ducks, geese, turkeys, and guinea hens, some of which did stray into the gravel roads. … but most cars and trucks traveled at slower speeds back then, and most drivers were more alert to the possibility of encountering chickens in the way.

Oh, such courteous and civilized drivers as there were in those days! Friendly drivers, who waved at you, and you waved back. Kind drivers, who left a respectful distance between their front bumpers and your back bumper. … but I digress.

When my family drove anywhere, our car passed several creeks, often ornamented with cows, which I have always considered especially sculptural. The bodies of cows are graceful, and their tranquil eyes can melt the hardest hearts.

A chore that I enjoyed was encouraging the dairy cows to come to the barn for milking in the evening. I think back to summer evenings steeped in a golden haze. I strode to the east of the barn along a curving dusty path that the cows had made. To both sides were meadow plants, which, in the heat of the day, had the fragrance of a rich tea. I found the Holsteins gathered in the shade of an oak. Chewing their cud and casually switching their tails at flies, they looked at me expectantly. Soon, the lead cow, who had assumed the dignified station of leading the rest, came toward the serpentine path on which I stood waiting. One by one, the other cows fell into line in an order that they recognized among themselves. I brought up the rear. As the cows and I walked back toward the barn, I gazed ahead. The black-and-white hips of the cows gently swayed from side to side, and I heard the muffled beat of hooves in the thin dust. When the parade reached its destination, my father guided the pets into their stalls, and the milking began. I used the word pets just now because my father treated his dairy cows as pets, and they were as coddled and affectionate as dogs.

Accordingly, whenever I see this rustic print, all such reminiscences—and more—flow back to me. No wonder I appreciate such illustrations from earlier eras!

Rustic Prints 4

To the back of this rustic print my father, Joseph Rhode, taped a quotation he typed on a slip of paper and illustrated with colored pencils: “I tell you that the great cities rest upon these broad and fertile prairies. Burn down your cities and leave our farms, and your cities will spring up again as if by magic. But destroy our farms and the grass will grow in the streets of every city in the country.” The words are those of William Jennings Bryan, a populist who lost his bids for President of the United States three times. My generation remembers Bryan as a character in the movie (and play) Inherit the Wind (1960). The quotation that my father chose as a caption for the rural scene is from Bryan’s famous “Cross of Gold” speech.

Farm Horses and Wagon in Green Frame

The print depicts a team of horses pulling a wagon along a road beside a river in spectacular scenery reminiscent of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The young couple in front of the house and stone wall includes the man wearing the straw hat while driving the team and the woman feeding the chickens while drying the laundry. The trees are as fluffy as the clouds of the prismatic day. A lilac bush is in full bloom. The illustration exudes peace, contentment, and love.

My father “Joe” loved farming with horses, all of them spoiled pets. When he was a boy, he happily harnessed Togo and Maud on his grandfather’s farm. Later, when he had a farm of his own, my father proudly drove Queen and Babe. Shire horses assisted many of his farming tasks until about the time my brother was born. At that time, he felt that he must modernize by using gasoline tractors exclusively, and he reluctantly sold his last horses. It must have broken his heart to do so.

Togo, Maud, and Joseph C. Rhode in April 1930

Photo by Mrs. Allen

When my father passed away at a ripe old age, I discovered in his desk drawers numerous pamphlets, brochures, and books on horses. Joe grew up with the family tradition of Dan Patch, arguably the first sports celebrity in the U.S. (His mother’s uncle invented a shoe that helped the young sulky horse become a champion and go on to fame and fortune.) I have the impression that my father liked horses even more than he liked dogs, and he always had a loving dog around!

Queen, Babe, and Joseph C. Rhode in March 1942

Whenever I look upon this rustic print, I think of my father and of my upbringing on his farm. It was in the flat lands of Indiana, not the mountains, but the farm held charms that I distinctly remember to this day. Often, I return to the farm in my dreams.  

Rustic Prints 2

The odd shape of the frame is the first feature of this rustic print that appeals to me. The sloping upper corners remind me of objects considered sacred.

The print itself is admittedly inexpensively produced. Even so, the illustration does a marvelous job of evoking the autumn! The pumpkins and the shocks of corn are straight from Hoosier poet James Whitcomb Riley’s nostalgic poem “When the Frost Is on the Punkin.” The humble cottage in the background makes me think of my many Irish ancestors, who undoubtedly knew similar cottages. The smoke arising from the chimney suggests the presence of happy inhabitants of the warm kitchen on a fall day. As the trees have held onto their leaves while the season has advanced, they might be sturdy oaks.

Framed Rustic Print of Shocks of Corn and Pumpkins

To the left is a house or barn where the road bends, and to the right is a dwelling beyond a fence. Our friends in the cottage need not feel lonely, for neighbors surround them at respectful rural distances. The country road is raised above the field and curves merrily amid green grass. I find the highway inviting; I want to walk along it to see where it leads. Penetrating the thin layer of cloud, sunlight imparts a glow to the scene. Crows in the sky are taking advantage of the good weather to discover kernels of corn dropped by the farmers.

I remain an admirer of such antique prints of rural settings. Having worked as an illustrator, I am aware of the challenges of capturing viewers’ attention and helping shape their response. The artist who combined these homes, oaks, crows, shocks, and clouds was adept at assembling elements implying autumn in the way that it is experienced throughout much of rural America. Whoever owned this framed print long ago must surely have been proud to hang it on the wall of a parlor where the scene was admired year ‘round. I recall a similar print in the waiting room of the small-town dentist that my parents took me to see when I was in junior high school.

Vintage rustic illustrations range from exuberant, through spiritual, through mysterious, to sorrowful. This print belongs toward the joyful end of the spectrum, although virtually any fall scene can hint at the possibility of a bitter winter not far off. I see this art as conveying the happiness inherent in the harvest. Food is abundant, the pantry is full, nature is glorious, and joy is ubiquitous. The scene is, then, a celebration!