TILLAGE OF THE SOIL

A good many years ago a man by the name of Jethro Tull lived in England. He was a farmer and a most successful man in every way. He first taught the English people and the world the value of thorough tillage of the soil. Before and during his time farmers did not till the soil very intelligently. They simply prepared the seed-bed in a careless manner, as a great many farmers do to-day, and when the crops were gathered the yields were not large.

Rambutan

Jethro Tull centered attention on the important fact that careful and thorough tillage increases the available plant food in the soil. He did not know why his crops were better when the ground was frequently and thoroughly tilled, but he knew that such tillage did increase his yield. He explained the fact by saying, "Tillage is manure." We have since learned the reason for the truth that Tull taught, and, while his explanation was incorrect, the practice that he was following was excellent. The stirring of the soil enables the air to circulate through it freely, and permits a breaking down of the compounds that contain the elements necessary to plant growth.

ORIGIN OF THE SOIL

The word soil occurs many times in this little book. In agriculture this word is used to describe the thin layer of surface earth that, like some great blanket, is tucked around the wrinkled and age-beaten form of our globe. The harder and colder earth under this surface layer is called the subsoil. It should be noted, however, that in waterless and sun-dried regions there seems little difference between the soil and the subsoil.
Plants, insects, birds, beasts, men,—all alike are fed on what grows in this thin layer of soil. If some wild flood in sudden wrath could sweep into the ocean this earth-wrapping soil, food would soon become as scarce as it was in Samaria when mothers ate their sons. The face of the earth as we now see it, daintily robed in grass, or uplifting waving acres of corn, or even naked, water-scarred, and disfigured by man's neglect, is very different from what it was in its earliest days. How was it then? How was the soil formed?
Learned men think that at first the surface of the earth was solid rock. How was this rock changed into workable soil? Occasionally a curious boy picks up a rotten stone, squeezes it, and finds his hands filled with dirt, or soil. Now, just as the boy crumbled with his fingers this single stone, the great forces of nature with boundless patience crumbled, or, as it is called, disintegrated, the early rock mass. The simple but giant-strong agents that beat the rocks into powder with a clublike force a millionfold more powerful than the club force of Hercules were chiefly (1) heat and cold; (2) water, frost, and ice; (3) a very low form of vegetable life; and (4) tiny animals—if such minute bodies can be called animals. In some cases these forces acted singly; in others, all acted together to rend and crumble the unbroken stretch of rock. Let us glance at some of the methods used by these skilled soil-makers.
Heat and cold are working partners. You already know that most hot bodies shrink, or contract, on cooling. The early rocks were hot. As the outside shell of rock cooled from exposure to air and moisture it contracted. This shrinkage of the rigid rim of course broke many of the rocks, and here and there left cracks, or fissures. In these fissures water collected and froze. As freezing water expands with irresistible power, the expansion still further broke the rocks to pieces. The smaller pieces again, in the same way, were acted on by frost and ice and again crumbled. This process is still a means of soil-formation.
Running water was another giant soil-former. If you would understand its action, observe some usually sparkling stream just after a washing rain. The clear waters are discolored by mud washed in from the surrounding hills. As though disliking their muddy burden, the waters strive to throw it off. Here, as low banks offer chance, they run out into shallows and drop some of it. Here, as they pass a quiet pool, they deposit more. At last they reach the still water at the mouth of the stream, and there they leave behind the last of their[Pg 3] mud load, and often form of it little three-sided islands called deltas. In the same way mighty rivers like the Amazon, the Mississippi, and the Hudson, when they are swollen by rain, bear great quantities of soil in their sweep to the seas. Some of the soil they scatter over the lowlands as they whirl seaward; the rest they deposit in deltas at their mouths. It is estimated that the Mississippi carries to the ocean each year enough soil to cover a square mile of surface to a depth of two hundred and sixty-eight feet.

Tidung Island Scenery