Letters from an American Farmer: Letter 2 Summary & Analysis

Mr. F.B. is the first “enlightened European” James has ever known, so he is eager to continue their correspondence. Based on what F.B. has told him, James has observed that European and American customs differ. He can see that every society is a mix of good and evil. He is thankful to be an American farmer instead of “a Russian boor or an Hungarian peasant.” Knowing the miserable condition of such people has made James even more grateful for his own situation.

Yet, when James was younger, he considered selling his farm, as he found the work tedious. But when he thought about going through life without his farm, he couldn’t imagine where he’d fit in the world. He decided to try to be happy where his father was before him. It’s true that his father couldn’t give him a good education, but he left behind his farming experience and no debt. And once James got married, he was perfectly content with his situation, since his wife made everything cheerful. He was able to return to farm work with renewed motivation, knowing he wasn’t just laboring for himself. Sometimes his wife would come and sit under a nearby tree with her knitting, praising his skill, and James would wish he’d married sooner.

Where, James wonders, is a system of living that affords more freedom of action and thought than that of the American farmer—and under the rule of a government that asks for little from its people? James owes “nothing but a peppercorn to my country” and his king; his landlord is “the lord of all land.” He owns 371 acres, an orchard, and a nice house and barn, all of which his father built from scratch. He has plenty of pork, beef, wethers (male sheep), and fowls. His enslaved workers are faithful and healthy. Thanks to his father’s efforts, life is good for James, and he is grateful.

When James’s first son was born, everything changed. He stopped daydreaming so much and wandering beyond the boundaries of his farm. Still, he finds plenty to reflect upon as he goes about his work. He figures that’s why F.B. used to call him “the farmer of feelings.” He knows his feelings must be much less sophisticated than those of an educated, well-read European; still, he’ll do the best he can to describe them.

James can’t describe the love, gratitude, and pride he feels when he sees his wife working around the house or nursing their child by the fire; it often moves him to tears and inspires him to be a good husband and father. When he plays with his baby son, he longs to know what the boy’s future holds. He always leaves home reluctantly and returns home with joy.

Whenever James returns home, he thinks of his “precious soil” and wonders where American farmers would be without it—the supplier of their food, clothes, and even drink. It’s no wonder that Europeans risk the ocean crossing to become landowners themselves. This soil, transformed into a farm, has become the foundation of “our rights […] our rank, our freedom, our power as citizens.” He calls this “the true and the only philosophy of an American farmer.”

James urges Mr. F.B. not to laugh at “an artless countryman” trying to describe his feelings. Sometimes when he ploughs, he takes his little boy along, and the boy chatters happily. This makes James think of how his father took him ploughing when he was a child, and how he hopes his own son can someday do the same.

When James walks home in the evenings, he is amazed by all the different insects he sees in the light of the setting sun; he never noticed such details when he was younger. He never sees an egg on his table without thinking of how it might have become a hen or rooster. The changes of the seasons, and the wisdom of the animals that live on his land, fill him with wonder. He believes all creatures deserve respect. He regrets that “king-birds” destroy industrious bees, yet those same birds keep crows from destroying his fields. James describes a time when he watched a swarm of bees attack a king-bird, then as soon as they dispersed, the bird turned around and gobbled up many of the bees. James killed the bird and took 171 bees out of its mouth, 54 of which revived and flew back to their hive.

James also loves to feed the quails that flock to his farm during the barren winter. He thinks it’s barbaric to catch and kill harmless birds during the winter. He also loves closely observing the temperaments and behavior of his cows during that time of year; they are like humans in their greed and attempts to steal one another’s food.

When James travels home in his sledge on cold nights, he has many other reflections, like wondering about the nature of frost, and where the heat has gone, and how the millions of summer insects could have so perfectly hidden themselves. Yet he keeps returning to the subject of bees—their fascinating “government, their industry, their quarrels, their passions.” He loves to rest near his bee-house and observe their movements. When they seem inclined to go to the woods, he never tries to impede them, knowing they’ll be back next fall.

When James finishes up his sowing for the season, he heads out into the woods, not to hunt for deer or bear like his neighbors do, but to catch bees. Once he finds a good spot, he builds a fire, on which he places some wax. On a nearby stone, he puts some drops of honey and a little vermilion (a reddish pigment), then waits. Soon, bees are attracted by the smell of burnt wax and begin to feast on the honey. In the process, bits of vermilion stick to their bodies to help identify them. As the bees fly off, James sets his compass to figure out their course, and he looks at his watch to see how long it takes them to fly back. Once he’s figured out the bees’ direction and approximate distance, he finds and marks the tree where they live. In this way he sometimes finds up to 11 swarms in a single autumn and collects huge quantities of honey. The extra honey allows his wife to brew delicious mead. If the bee-trees he finds are located on somebody else’s land, the owner is always entitled to half the honey.

Twice a year James catches pigeons with a net. Though they are plentiful and cheap, he thinks they are a delicacy. He notes that every farmer keeps a tame pigeon in a cage to help lure and catch wild ones whenever the flocks happen to fly over. In spring, he loves listening to the songbirds and wakes when they do, just before dawn. He also observes the “astonishing art” of their nests and their devotion to mates and offspring. In general, he finds that though animals lack reason, their instincts often provide a corrective to human follies.

Spring offers such “ravishing scenes” that James soaks up every moment he can. If he kept on talking about them, he might become tedious to his reader. But, he promises, everything he writes is true. He recalls one day when he observed a small bird while sitting and smoking his pipe. In his piazza there were three nests, belonging respectively to a swallow, a phoebe, and a wren, all very tame. The wren, living in a box James had built for that purpose, appeared dissatisfied with its home, so it successfully drove the swallow out of its nest and moved all of the swallow’s nesting materials to its own box. It then appeared to flutter its wings with satisfaction. Where, James wonders, could a creature lacking reason learn to act this way? Meanwhile, the offended swallow sat there unresisting, though within a few days, it had repaired its nest, and James moved the wren’s box elsewhere so this wouldn’t happen again.

In James’s parlor, he has “a curious republic of industrious hornets” in a nest hung from the ceiling. A hole in a windowpane allows the hornets to fly in and out for food. Because they’re treated kindly, the hornets have become harmless, and they keep the fly population down. They build their intricate nests out of a cottony material they get from oakwood. The whole family is used to the hornets’ buzzing by now.

Many wasps also live on the farm, building muddy nests on the roof. To survive the winter, they bury themselves inside the nests’ oblong cells. When it becomes warm again, they perforate the cells to get outside. Yellow wasps are much scarier: they build underground nests in the meadows and, when mowers accidentally pass over their holes, burst out of the ground in fury. The only way to escape them is to lie down and cover one’s head with hay. But even when James has been forced to burn hornets’ nests, he always somewhat regrets destroying these ingenious dwellings.

If James kept going on this subject, he might never stop. He also acknowledges that a well-traveled, well-read person might not find all this very interesting; but to him, lacking time for more learned pursuits, they provide rich sources of contemplation. At home, of course, he finds other subjects for reflection as he watches his children grow and tries to develop tools to simplify his wife’s labors around the house. He thanks God for all he has and envies no one. The only happiness he desires is to teach his children to become “good, substantial, independent American farmers”—the best position a man could want, as long as American civil government continues to bless it.