Rocky Ford enterprise., June 11, 1915, Image 2

About Rocky Ford enterprise. (Rocky Ford, Colo.) 1887-1950

Image provided by: History Colorado

                
Times Here to
Swat the Fly
OUSE FLIES carry disease from one
human being to another. This has
been proved scientifically. And now it
remains to prevent these insects, or
to reduce their numbers In the com
munity, that the diseases they convey
may be reduced also, or even abolished.
One method of dealing with disease
bearing insects is to trap and kill as
many as we can. For this reason "kill
that fly” or “swat that fly” crusades
n
4-
♦
have been instituted In many places. But it has
been found by experiment that we cannot hope
to kill sufficient flea to reduce seriously their total
numbers. This is because flies breed at a very
great rate when the weather is warm, and the
total numbers which we can kill is so small, when
compared to the total numbers born, that the re
sult of the “swatting” campaigns has been disap
pointing.
All our efforts should be directed at preventing
house flies from breeding—for prevention is bet
ter than cure. The best way to do this is to ob
serve strict cleanliness—municipal cleanliness
and home cleanliness. Then these insects will
desert the neighborhood, and the diseases they
convey will vanish. This was the policy pursued
on the Suez and Panama canals to prevent ma
laria and yellow fever, which are conveyed from
one person to another by mosquitoes. The method
was most successful.
The house fly breeds in filth. Each female fly,
as soon as the weather is warm enough, lays
about 150 eggs on collections of manure, decom
posing garbage, street rubbish - or house refuse,
and the eggs hatch into tiny maggots. After five
days have passed, each maggot becomes a rolled
up, bean-shaped chrysalis, and after another five
days each chrysalis gives birth to a two-winged,
six-legged, whiskered, bristly flying insect known
to us as the house fly. Bluebottles breed
similarly, but they prefer to lay their eggs on
rotting carcasses or decaying animal matter.
The house fly ,and the lesser house fly convey
disease by bathing their legs in germ-laden ma
terial, which they find during their feeding forays.
The germs stick to their legs and to the lips of
their telescopic proboscides, and then are carried
to the milk Jug, the teacup, to the cut loaf, and
to the culinary utensils. Sometimes the flies
swallow the germs, which multiply inside them,
and afterwards the concentrated disease focus is
again deposited wherever the fly settles.
We can be rid of flies if we observe the ordi
nary common sense rules of cleanliness and sani
tation. No fly lairs, or breeding places, must be
permitted near human habitations. All unclean
places must be made clean regularly once a week
by the sanitary or municipal authorities, and then
the fly maggots will be unable to come to ma
turity, and so the pest will be exterminated. Re
cently a war on flies has been taken up assidu
ously by the press, and the medical officers of
health are exerting themselves to start antifly
campaigns.
Thus the municipal authorities have made a
start, and it remains for the individual house
holders to help them. Each one of us can do our
•hare of fly prevention. We can prevent flies
in our own homes. On one morning, every week
we must inspect our own premises. Begin In the
kitchen Observe every nook of the scullery, the
pantry, the cellar, even the dining room, and see
that every corner and cranny is scrupulously
clean. Next, we must examine the dustbin to
see If it is completely cleaned out. there be
no small collections of tea leaves spilled out of
it, or rotting peelings or scraps of bread, or any
other places where flies can breed. the
cheese be well covered, and the bread be in its
pan, and all food within the larder in its proper
place. And let everything be clean and whole
some.
It is most important, also, to inform our neigh
bors on every convenient occasion of the disgust
ing and dangerous character of house flies, and
to ask them to co-operate in preventing them.
Then there will be an organized campaign against
these insects. The more we talk about It the
sooner will the thing be done. The education
of children in the matter is also most essential.
Then a new generation will grow up knowing
the dangers of flies and how to prevent them.
Schoolmasters and schoolmistresses should be in
vited to teach their charges about flies, and should
set the example by instructing them in the tenets
of school cleanliness. This will help us greatly.
If we al! keep our own homes sweet and clean,
our children’s lives will be spared the horrors of
summer sickness, typhoid will be lessened, doc
tors’ bill will be reduced, and the health of the
community will be improved enormously. With
regard to house flies and fly-borne diseases the
remedy is simple. us apply It.
As a result of experiments, the specialists
of the I'nited States department of agriculture
have discovered that a small amount of ordinary
borax sprinkled daily on manure will effectively
prevent the breeding of the typhoid or house fly.
Similarly, the same substance applied to garbage,
refuse, open toilets, damp floors and crevices in
stables, cellars or markets, will prevent fly eggs
from hatching. Borax will not kill the adult
fly nor prevent it from laying eggs, but its
thorough use will prevent any further breeding.
The investigation, which included experiments
with many substances, was undertaken to dis
cover some means of preventing the breeding
of flies in horse manure without lessening the
value of this manure as a fertilizer for use by the
farmer. It was felt that if some means of pre
venting the breeding of flies near a human habi
tation could be devised, the diseases spread by
these filthy germ carriers could be greatly re
duced. While the the fly campaign.” traps
and other devices for reducing the number of
typhoid-carrying flies are of value, they are of
less importance than the prevention of the breed
ing. It was realized, however, that no measure
for preventing the breeding of flies would come
into common use unless it was such that the
farmer could use it on Ills manure pile without
destroying its usefulness for growing plants, and
without introducing into the soil any substance
that would interfere with his crops.
As a result of experiments carried on at the Ar
llnetott farm. In Virginia and New Orleans, Us .
uP&I&fSZK JX>aQ4&47Z=
the investigators found that 062 of a pound of
borax, or 0.75 of a pound of calcined colemanite
(crude calcium borate) would kill the maggots
and prevent practically all of the flies ordinarily
breeding in eight bushels of horse manure from
developing. This was proved by placing manure
in cages and comparing the results from piles
treated with borax afid from untreated plies.
The borax, it was found, killed the fly eggs and
maggots in the manure and prevented their
growth Into flies
In the case of garbage cans or refuse piles,
two ounces of borax or calcined colemanite. cost
ing from five cents a pound upward, according
to the quantity which is purchased, will effectual
ly prevent flies from breeding.
While it can be safely stated that no injurious
action has followed the application of manure
treated with borax at the rate of .62 pounds for
eight bushels, or even larger amounts in the case
of some plants, nevertheless borax-treated ma
nure has not been studied in connection with the
growth of all crops, nor has its cumulative effect
been determined. It is therefore recommended
that not more than 15 tons of the borhx-treated
manure should be applied per acre to the field.
As truck growers use considerably more than this
amount, is is suggested that all cars containing
borax-treated manure be so marked, and that
public health official stipulate in their directions
for this treatment that not over .62 (62-100) of a
pound for eight bushels of manure be used, as
It has been shown that larger amounts of borax
will injure most plants. It is also recommended
that all public health officials and others in
recommending borax treatment for killing fly
eggs and maggots in manure warn the
public against the injurious effects of large
amounts of borax on the growth of plants.
Purchasers of manure produced in cities during
the fly-breeding season should insist that the
dealers from whom they purchase give them a
certified statement as to whether or not the
manure in the particular car or lot involved in
the purchase has been treated with borax.
In feeding to hogs garbage that contains borax
care is also recommended, especially when the
animals are being fattened for market. Borax Is
not a very poisonous substance and the feeding
of garbage that contains it to hogs is not likely
to boa serious matter. On the other hand, borax
In large quantities does produce gastric dis
turbances and for this rt*ason a certain amount
of care is advisable.
BOCK? FOfiD enteepbise.
YOUR ENEMY THE FLY
The method for using this substance in the
case of s'Ables is to sprinkle the borax or cole
manite in the quantities given above, by means
of a flour sifter or other fine sieve, around the
outer edges of the pile of horse manure. The
manure should then be sprinkled immediately
with two or three gallons of water to eight bush
els of manure. It is essential, however, to sprin
kle a little of the borax on the manure as it is
added daily to the pile, instead of waiting until
a full pile is obtained, because t»ls will prevent
the eggs which the flies lay on fresh manure
from hatching. As the fly maggots congregate at
the outer edge of the manure pile, most of the
horax should be sprinkled there.
Borax costs five to six cents per pound in 10(V
pound lots in Washington, and it is estimated
that at this rate it would cost only one cent per
horse per day to prevent all breeding of flies in
city stables. If calcined colemanite is purchased
in large shipments, this cost should be consider
ably less. At the same time, if the borax is used
on the manure only in the proportions stated,
its value for use In the garden or for sale to
farmers will not be lessened.
In view of this discovery, there now seems
little excuse for any horse owner or resident of
a city allowing typhoid flies to breed in his stable
or garbage can.
It is believed that this information will greatly
help the health authorities in their campaign
against the typhoid fly. The health authorities
have long tried to prevent the breeding of flies in
city stables through the use of iron sulphate as a
larvncide. In the case of iron sulphate, however,
a large amount is required, and other insecticides,
such as paris green or potassium cyanide, while
effective in killing fließ, are very expensive or
extremely poisonous. Borax, whtoh is used free
ly In most households, and is readily available
in all parts of the country, has the advantage of
being comparatively nonpolsonous and nonin
flnmmable, readily soluble in water and easy to
handle. It can be purchased at retail for ten
cents a pound, and n single pound used as di
rected in a garbage pail or open toilet may pre
vent the breeding of hundreds of dangerous flies
EXPERIENCE AS A TEACHER.
Little Lemuel—Faw. why do so many people
borrow trouble?
Baw—Because, son. that is the only thing most
of them can borrow without security
The Married life of Helen and Warren
By MABEL HERBERT URNER
Originator of “Their Married Life." Author of “The
Journal of a Neglected Wife," The Woman Alone,” etc.
Helen Comes in Touch With a Real Tragedy, but War
ren Is Brutally Unsympathetic
(Copyright, 1915, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)
Helen stood brooding at the win
dow, looking out on the grayness of
of the early Lon
don dusk. It was
not four, but the
street lamps were
already lit and
lights gleamed In
many windows.
It was raw and
damp. People hur
ried by with
drawn shoulders
and upturned col
lars, their faces
gravely anxious.
A subdued excite
ment was in the
air. With con
stant rumors of
Zeppelin raids,
the Londoners
Mabel Herbert
Urner.
were at last aroused.
The mournful sound of a distant fife
and drum, then a hearse with a flag
draped coffin and three closed car
riages passed slowly by. These sad
little processions were becoming daily
more frequent.
She went into the bedroom. As she
gazed moodily across the narrow
courtyard, a woman’s form was sud
denly outlined against the drawn blind
of a lighted window. Her every move
ment was clearly silhouetted.
Helen watched her, fascinated. With
clenched hands she was walking up
and down the room. Then she dropped
into a chair, her face buried in its
cushioned seat, her shoulders quiver
ing with convulsive sobs. There were
abandonment and abject grief in every
line of her slender figure.
Something that looked like a news
paper lay on the floor beside her.
Helen’s thoughts leaped to that daily
column of killed and wounded.
At any other time she would not
have followed the impulse that now
came to her. But the war had broken
down many barriers. A common dan
ger and sorrow had brought people to
gether; ordinary conventions were
brushed aside.
The next moment Helen was hurry
ing down the hall to the apartment
opposite. It was some time before her
timid ring was answered.
“Who is it?” asked a tremulous
voice, the door opening a few inches.
“Mrs. Curtis—from the apartment
next door," faltered Helen.
The door opened wider, the woman
still shielding herself behind it.
“I—l know you’re in trouble,” im
pulsively. “I saw you through the win
dow—the curtain was down, but I
could see your shadow. Don’t think
me intrusive, but I knew you were
alone—and I couldn’t help coming.”
The woman’s only answer was to
turn back into the room and throw
herself sobbing on the couch. Helen
followed, constrained and awkward.
After all, what could she do—what
could any stranger do?
“It’s someone—in the war?” gently,
drawing a chair beside her.
The head on the pillow nodded.
Helen took one of the hot, clenched
hands in both of hers. She could
think of nothing to sav. nothing that
would not seem meaningless.
A small desk clock ticked harshly.
There was a sound of coals settling' in
the grate. A faint creak of the chair
as Helen stirred.
Then the woman sat up and looked
at her dully.
“Oh, it’s not what you think. ’ reck
lessly. “It’s not my husband or my
brother—or anyone whom I can grieve
over openly. That’s why I’m alone. 1
don't dare have anyone with me—any
one that might know.'*
Helen felt a tightening in her
throat; she did not attempt to speak
“He was brought home yesterday
wounded —fatally, the papers said.
That’s all I know. I can t go to him.
I can’t even telephone—they d know
my voice.” She looked unflinchingly
at Helen, "He’s—another woman’s hus
band.”
Helen did not start or draw back;
her hold on the hot hand tightened.
"This morning I drove by in a cab.
The blinds were down, but there was
no—crape. I’m going again tonight.
Oh, it’s torture —not knowing! ’
Abruptly she rose and took from a
desk drawer a leather-cased photo
graph. It was a strong, clean-cut face
of a virile Englishman.
“There was nothing the whole world
couldn't nave known,” her burning
eyes were on the picture. "And yet—
now that he's dying I’m almost sorry
there wasn’t!” defiantly. "Can you un
derstand that?”
Helen nodded.
“Oh, we’re more natural, more prim
itive in times like these! That’s why
I can tell you this. And jot,” slow
—ly, "if he should get well—it would
be Just the same. Oh, we’ve made
such a waste of our lives—such a piti
ful waste! It was all my fault, but
I’ve paid for it,” bitterly. "I've paid
for one foolish, hysterical moment
with six years of torture. ’
"Six years, breathed Helen.
“We were engaged, ’ she steadied
her voice. "Oh, it was such a trivial
thing we quarreled over! And he—
he took it seriously. He threw up
everything and went to India. Last
year he married and came back to
London. We knew the same people,
we couldn't help meeting. His wife
doesn’t care—she’s always with other
men.
"Then be began coming nere. He
never made an engagement, yet I
came to expect him every Wednesday
at five—l lived for that hour. We
never talked—l mean about this. Yet
we both knew.
"The day he left for the war —he
came to say good-by. He tried to
make It a conventional call —but I
couldn’t. I was the one to break
down. He said there was only one
solution—for him not to come back.”
Her voice broke. She Idoked at
Helen with hopeless eyes.
“Oh, how I’ve watched the papers!
But there’s been nothing until yes
terday.”
“And yet,” murmured Helen, "if
you had married him, wouldn't giv
ing him up now be even harder than
It is?”
“Harder?” fiercely. "If we’d nad
six years of happiness, would our
lives have been wasted? Six years
with him! I’d barter my soul for
one!”
She was walking feverishly about
the room, her long hair partly un
bound.
"Oh, I can’t stand this,” hysteri
cally. “I must know,” turning desper
ately to the desk phone. "No—no, I
mustn’t phone. Don’t let me!”
“I— Can’t I phone for you?” fal
tered Helen.
"Oh,” looking at her wildly, "why
didn’t I think of that? Elght-two-six
nlne Mayfair,” excitedly. “Ask for
Lieutenant No—wait, leant give
you his name!”
“Need I know his name? Couldn’t I
say the lieutenant?”
“Yes—yes,” eagerly, thrusting the
receiver Into Helen’s hand.
“Eight-two-six-nine Mayfair? I
would like to know how the lieuten
ant is.”
“Lieutenant Carson died this morn
ing at eleven thirty,” came the an
swer.
Although he immediately rang off,
Helen still held the receiver. How
could she tell her? What words
would sound the least brutal?
But the woman’s Intuition needed
no words.
“When did he die?” her voice was
curiously qule*.
“At eleven thirty.”
“That was after I drove by this
morning. He was there then—l
might have seen him!” Then abrupt
ly, "You’ll understand if I ask you to
go now, won’t you? I think I’d rather
be alone.”
“Oh, I can't leave, you know," fright
ened at her strange quietness. ‘You
mustn't be alone Let me stay with
you or send for someone. ’
She shook her head. ”1 couldn't
have anyone here without telling
them. Hut you needn't be anxious.
I’m all right. In away. ’ dreamily, “I’m
nearer to him now than l ever was.
He’s more mine now than he is —
hers.”
* But later, in the night, if you
should need one —will you let me
know? Promise me that! 1 can t bear
to think of you here alone.”
“Yes, I promise.”
And with that Helen had to be
content. She went back down the
hail haunted by the picture of that
woman alone with her grief.
When she opened the door she start
ed with dismay at the sound of War
ren whistling. She had not thought
he would be home, and just now she
shrank from meeting him. She dread
ed his brusque questioning.
He was m the bedroom, his foot ou
a chair, brushing the bottoms of his
trousers.
“Hello!” without looking up. “This
blamed London mud sticks like —”
Then he saw ner face. “What the
deuce's the matter now?”
“Oh. dear. I —l’ve been with the
woman next door.” trying to hide her
face against his unresponsive arm.
“Who’s the woman next door?’’ el
bowing her away, the whiskbroom in
his hand. “What are you sniveling
about, anyway?”
It was hard to tell such a story
while Warren, grimly unsympathetic,
brushed his clothes, put on a fresh
collar and cleaned his nails. Helen
stumbled through It brokenly.
“Told all that yarn to you, eh?
Sounds like It was made out of whole
cloth. Guess there’s a lot she didn’t
tell.”
“Warren, stop!” turning on him
fiercely. “Oh, l shouldn't have told
you! l might have known you
wouldn’t understand She's refined,
delicate—”
’ attacking his hair savage
ly, a brush in each hand, “not much
delicacy In spieling off that tale to a
stranger ’
“Oh, how can you be so nard.'’"
passionately. "Sometimes 1 think you
haven’t any—”
"Well, I’m not flaunting my feelings
In everybody's face. I've always said
women had no sense of reticence.
Think a man would bleat out a story
like that? Not it you grilled him on
hot iron"*”