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Wisconsin State Cranberry Growers Association / Thirty-eighth annual proceedings of the Wisconsin State Cranberry Growers' Association. Thirty-eighth convention, Pavilion, near Nekoosa, Wisconsin, August 12, 1924. Thirty-eighth annual meeting, Wisconsin Rapids, Wisconsin, January 13, 1925

Whittlesey, S. N.
To New York,   pp. 18-20 PDF (724.4 KB)

Page 19

and Mrs. Whittlesey and s-hown them the wonders of New York City;
and this sweet courtesy was continued all next day. I hesitate to tell,
for we can never return, repay, or reciprocate the hospitality and
happiness given us. Mrs. A. U. Chaney, with a car and a most skill-
ful driver, took us over 100 miles through the heart of New York
City-a large heart, including Coney Island, the Woolworth Building,
Central Park, Grants Tomb, and beautiful drives.
Now I may jolt some cranberry growels. I earnestly suggest that
we appreciate the value of Mr. A. U. Chaney to our business. Not
.     one of us, probably, could begin to fill his place. It is easy to crit-
icize; Mr. Chaney's job is hard. The independent growers  nearly
wrecked the business last fall. Mr. Chaney's action alone saved the
market from utter demoralization.
The Bennett's went to Boston, and the Cape, and the Whittlesey's
to Connecticut, the birthplace of Whittlesey's and reunion of their
relatives. I visited two bogs in New Jersey; Mr. Harry Knight's
residence, screen house, and shipping point is at Medford, New Jer-
sey. His bog is seven or eight miles away. The berries are hauled to
Medford in Reo trucks, as picked. The road between Medford and
the Knight bog is poor, over a worthless sand and scrub pine land, ap-
parently. We have better roads here, and at first sight I thought we
had better cranberry marshes, but over beyond another sand ridge
was a larger and cleaner patch of vines, and as we went on the vines
improved; and I inwardly confessed that the Knight bog was much
bigger, and on the whole much better than my own and as completely
When Mr. Knight got me back to Medford, Mrs. Knight had a
chicken dinner ready, and Mr. Budd waiting to take me to his bog,
ten or twelve miles away. I was Surprised to see the oasis in that
sandy waste, and as I recall New Jersey now, the oasis predomin-
ated-fertile farms, and peach trees blossoming.
Mr. Budd's bog seemed to be made out of a wilderness originally.
Mr. Budd told me that much of it was cornfields once. The surface
is somewhat uneven, not perfectly level. The fields, or sections, were
large and irregular in shape, containing from ten to 100 acres, with
dams built around the border of suitable patches. Some sections had
the winter flood still on about May 1, and the water was from two
to five feet deep. Some sections with water drained off showed
clean, healthy looking vines, mostly Howes. Mr. Budd drove that
S     Ford roadster at twenty-five miles an hour for about one hour on
these dams of his, and while I could see the shore or land a mile or
so away, I could never have gotten off that bog without a guide.
Here were about 600 acres of vines that yield thirty to forty thousand
barrels a year. Mr. Theodore Budd is a young man, very capable
and courteous; a millionaire, with a manison and interesting wife
and little family in Pemberton.
Mr. Harry Knight, mentioned above, has sent several carloads of

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