Life in a hopyard can hardly be classed as work, but the pickers, nevertheless, are paid for their frolicsome duties, and thousands of dollars are circulated in the world’s markets as a result of their summer outing. In seasons such as the present, where picking is commenced early and the chilly mantle of winter casts no gloom over the bright fields, thousands of men, women, and children may be seen in any of the hop-growing districts of the state, industriously plucking the bright, green blossoms, casting them into boxes and making the surrounding country ring with their merry songs and jests. There are good hop-pickers, and pickers of an indifferent sort, and extremely slow pickers, but every little hepls and in the end the coffers of the speculative dealers are filled, and the state is advanced a notch as a productive center.
When the season opens, entire families in the country districts prepare to depart for the hopyards, with as much pleasant anticipation and longing as does the family of the city business man preparatory to starting for a fashionable watering resort.
Boys and girls are quicker at the work than men and women, their fingers being more supple, and box after box is filled, to the benefit of the family bank account, if such there be.
Evening comes and the hop-pickers wend their way to the camp (their tents all cluster in the same vicinity), and preparations are made for the evening meal. Some have supplied themselves with old stove grates, while others are content with simple log fires and the proverbial tripod, to which is suspended the stew pot or the coffee urn. The log fires throw a cheerful glow from out the darkness, and the scene throughout is, to say the least, picturesque. Gathered in groups around the blazing logs, sit men and women engaged in conversation, while the younger folks of both sexes flit around like butterflies among the camp fires. In some of the larger hopyards dancing platforms have been erected, and here, to the strains of a wind or string instrument manipulated by one of the party, the young people enjoy themselves until bedtime arrives. In all yards, large and small, Saturday night brings with it scenes of extensive merry-making, because there is no work Sunday, and the pickers may occupy their time as they please until Monday morning.
In order to reach the yeard it is necessary to ford the river, and should the visitor arrive about sundown, the eye is greeted by a long line of snow-white tents, which stand out in bold relief against a background of tall trees and flickering camp fires. Hundreds of faces are clustered around, and the hum of voices and echoes of laughter lend enchantment to the scene.
From there, the article changes gears and switches into a rather dry and technical description of the sorting, drying, and packaging process as it was in 1892.
Henry Weinhard beer ad, December 10th 1864. Mmm…. beer…..
Should the court decide adversely in the case, it will affect not only saloon-keepers, but wholesale and jobbing liquor merchants. Even messenger boys will not be able to buy liquor for patrons at any such business houses without subjecting the proprietors to liability to arrest. In fact, no minor, with or without an order, can procure liquor.
On the other hand, were Judge Carey to decide that an order from a parent releases a saloon from any responsibility in selling liquor to a minor, it would be taken advantage of. There are men who would improve the opportunity by encouraging boys to visit their places, each provided with an order, purporting to come from parents or guardians, authorizing the sale to them of liquor.
Blitz-Weinhard Commercial - Country’s Best Beer (by ThePortlandism)
Blitz-Weinhard Commercial: Schludwiller (by TheBeerax) ]
Vintage beer ad from the September 3rd, 1937 Oregonian. I like to think I know a thing or two about beer, but I’m unfamiliar with “Yeastified beer”. Or “Beerology” for that matter. The ad mentions that yeastification is part of their brewmaster’s secret recipe, so presumably these particular brewing arts are lost to the ages.
I was originally looking for a vintage news article to post as a sort of “This day in history” thing, but it seems to have been an exceptionally depressing news day: War in China, war in Spain, polio on the loose, even the state-controlled price of bread going up a cent. Perhaps understandably, the paper is also chock full of booze ads.