McCARTHY-PEDERSON FARM

In 1892, near what would become Glacier National Park, John E. McCarthy, an Irish immigrant, found 80 acres he thought perfect for a farm. He applied for a homestead – actually, half a homestead; he could have had 160, but the surrounding property was taken – and received the patent, signed by President Grover Cleveland's stamp. Though small, it has spectacular views of the surrounding mountains, but we were guided there, not for its scenery, but for the well-preserved buildings.

John raised grain and horses but waited until 1903 to build his home, which is a short distance from the school. Why he quickly sold is not known, but in 1907 the place was purchased by Andrew Pederson, who built a new house, a granary, and switched products to chickens and dairy cattle.

When we visited the property it was owned by Tom Towle, a member of the family controlling Arm & Hammer, and wife, Fran, who did not grow anything but maintained the beautiful land. At the date of this writing, the farm has changed hands again, and, whereas the acreage may not seem to have been the scene of great excitement, thanks to the preservation of the original buildings it afforded several handsome and interesting paintings and retains one special feature from Mr. Pederson's tenure.

The Homestead and School painting has McCarthy's original small house with its picturesque stone chimney in the background. When we viewed it, the contrast to the Pederson home with its added-on sections made it seem very tiny indeed. The property's records, which include the Grover Cleveland patent, have nothing to say about the school, which is captured in the foreground of the painting. Its windows are now shuttered and painted the color of the house and barn. Perhaps over the years it was used to house small animals, but that is not certain.

The Little Red Barn's title is appropriate, because the modest structure is exactly that. Its clever architecture makes it a perfect garage for the tiny tractor resting inside, but a modern implement is large enough to require the Towle house to hold it.

Based upon Towle's harvesting photo, the painting depicts threshing, or thrashing, under McCarthy or Pederson, when people relied upon real horsepower.

History gives the late 18th century as the time of invention of these machines in Scotland, though there is evidence of other mechanization of this work as early as 30 years before that.

To appreciate the impact of these machines, consider that before them a quarter of agricultural labor consisted in hand threshing, but quite suddenly, the work of thousands of men was performed by a few. Unemployment, lower wages, and loss of livelihoods altogether were an epidemic in Great Britain. Charlotte Bronte's novel, "Shirley," is set amidst the contention, even violence, of these troubled times.

There were riots in 1830, displaced workers smashed machines, and farmers that used them were threatened. Several rioters were hanged and several hundred deported to Australia, famous for deprivation and abusive conditions.

When we read daily of new branches of labor expropriated by machines, we wonder how the modern workforce must adapt in order to remain employed. What will the electronic counterparts of threshing machines do to contemporary people?

To return to the harvest painting, we know all the living creatures in it extrude excrement. This is never a concern to horses, the approach of which is to let the chips fall where they may. To some of humanity, too, this is still the strategy; take San Francisco, for example.

In this country, generally, toilets have been a concern for ages. At the time when those horses were doing the threshing and well into the 20th century, outdoor toilets, outhouses, were much in use. They are terrific sources of all manner of dangerous, deadly, and foul-smelling microbes, so people were determined to construct them to be more sanitary.

Next, remember a few paragraphs above. We, too, have had times of massive unemployment, and the last outbreak was the Great Depression, when this country experienced its own marches and riots.

One of the weapons deployed against it by President Roosevelt was an executive order creating the Works Progress, later called Works Project, Administration. The WPA intended to employ the unemployed to create objects for the common good: dams, roads, parks, sidewalks, buildings, even art for public enjoyment. Because those paid had to accomplish work for what they received, this was not welfare. Over the years we have escalated in beneficence and now pay welfare without requiring work.

At the time of the Great Depression, then, we can distinguish two classes of need; one, to employ people in useful projects and two, to improve the sanitation quality of outhouses. What more natural marriage than to have WPA crews build outhouses?

A property owner was asked by a work gang if he would like a new outdoor toilet, and if he could pay for the materials, the labor was free. In Indiana, alone, it was calculated that 125,791 of these rustic potties were constructed before the WPA was dismantled in 1943.

Mr. Pederson was among those answering in the affirmative, and for him was built one of the top-of-the-line models available, named the Eleanor after Roosevelt's outspoken and controversial wife. Whether the toilet was nicknamed to honor or to lampoon the President is unknown.

Blueprints for these conveniences may still be purchased, and the painting shows hygienic features of the one at McCarthy-Pederson. There is a concrete floor and a door-and-chain-operated toilet seat; when the door is closed, the seat drops and deprives flies of the opportunity to spread germs from the pit or to hide in the pot to make toilet use highly unpleasant. We thought this little scrap of history qualified the homestead for inclusion in our series.