Johhny AppleseedEssay Preview: Johhny AppleseedReport this essayJohn Chapman was the second child of Nathaniel Chapman and Elizabeth (nÔ©e Simonds) (who married February 8, 1770) of Leominster, Massachusetts.[1] Tradition holds that Nathaniel lost two good farms during the American Revolution, but in fact Johnnys father was a farmer of little means, and there is no deed record of either property.[1][2] Nathaniel started John Chapman on a career as an orchardist by apprenticing him to a Mr. Crawford, who had apple orchards.[3]
A third child, Nathaniel Jr., was born on June 26, 1776, while Nathaniel was an officer leading a company of carpenters attached to General George Washington in New York City.[4] Elizabeth, however, was ill (probably with tuberculosis) and both mother and child died in July, leaving John and his older sister, also named Elizabeth, to be raised by relatives. After being honorably discharged in 1780, Nathaniel married Lucy Cooley, with whom he had 10 more children. Around 1803 Johns sister Elizabeth married Nathaniel Rudd.
[edit] Heading to the frontierIn 1792, 18-year-old Chapman went west, taking 11-year-old half-brother Nathaniel with him. Their destination was the headwaters of the Susquehanna. There are stories of him practicing his nurseryman craft in the Wilkes-Barre area and of picking seeds from the pomace at Potomac cider mills in the late 1790s.[1] Another story has Chapman living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania on Grants Hill in 1794 at the time of the Whiskey Rebellion. [5]
Land records show that John Chapman was in todays Licking County, Ohio, in 1800. Congress had passed resolutions in 1798 to give land there, ranging from 160 to 2,240 acres (65-900 hectares), to Revolutionary War veterans, but soldiers did not actually receive letters of patent to their grants until 1802. By the time the veterans arrived, Johnnys nurseries, located on the Isaac Stadden farm, had trees big enough to transplant.
Nathaniel Chapman arrived with his second family in 1805, although Johns sister Elizabeth remained in the east with her husband. At that point, the younger Nathaniel Chapman rejoined the elder, and Johnny Appleseed spent the rest of his life as an itinerant planter and sometime-preacher.
By 1806, when he arrived in Jefferson County, Ohio, canoeing down the Ohio River with a load of seeds, he was known as Johnny Appleseed. He had used a pack horse to bring seeds to Licking Creek in 1800, so it seems likely that the nickname appeared at the same time as his religious conversion.
[edit] Business planThe popular image of Johnny Appleseed had him spreading apple seeds randomly, everywhere he went. In fact, he planted nurseries rather than orchards, built fences around them to protect them from livestock, left the nurseries in the care of a neighbor who sold trees on shares, and returned every year or two to tend the nursery. Many of these nurseries were located in the Mohican area of North-Central Ohio. This area included the towns of Mansfield, Ohio; Lucas, Ohio; Perrysville, Ohio; and Loudonville, Ohio.[6]
Appleseeds managers were asked to sell trees on credit, if at all possible, but he would accept corn meal, cash or used clothing in barter. The notes did not specify an exact maturity dateĂÂČĂâ”that date might not be convenientĂÂČĂâ”and if it did not get paid on time, or even get paid at all, Johnny Appleseed did not press for payment. Appleseed was hardly alone in this pattern of doing business, but he was unusual in remaining a wanderer his entire life.[1]
“Heres your primitive Christian!” Illustration from Harpers, 1871“Heres your primitive Christian!” Illustration from Harpers, 1871He obtained the apple seed for free; cider mills wanted more apple trees planted since it would eventually bring them more business. Johnny Appleseed dressed in the worst of the used clothing he received, giving away the better clothing he received in barter. He wore no shoes, even in the snowy winter. There was always someone in need he could help out, for he did not have a house to maintain. When he heard a horse was to be put down, he had to buy the horse, buy a few grassy acres nearby, and turn the horse out to recover. If it did, he would give the horse to someone needy, exacting a promise to treat the horse humanely.[7]
[edit] Subsistence lifestyleChapman often eschewed normal clothing, even in the cold of winter, and generally led a harsh, subsistent lifestyle. According to Harpers, towards the end of his career, he was present when an itinerant missionary was exhorting an open-air congregation in Mansfield, Ohio. The sermon was long and quite severe on the topic of extravagance, because the pioneers were starting to buy such indulgences as calico and store-bought tea. “Where now is there a man who, like the primitive Christians, is traveling to heaven bare-footed and clad in coarse raiment?” the preacher repeatedly asked, until Johnny Appleseed, his endurance worn out, walked up to the preacher, put his bare foot on the stump which had served as a lectern, and said, “Heres your primitive Christian!” The flummoxed sermonizer dismissed the congregation.[8]
[edit] Life as a missionaryHe spent most of his time traveling from home to home on the frontier. He would tell stories to children, spread the Swedenborgian gospel (“news right fresh from heaven”) to the adults, receiving a floor to sleep on for the night, sometimes supper in return. “We can hear him read now, just as he did that summer day, when we were busy quilting up stairs, and he lay near the door, his voice rising denunciatory and thrillingĂÂČĂâ”strong and loud as the roar of wind and waves, then soft and soothing as the balmy airs that quivered the morning-glory leaves about his gray beard. His was a strange eloquence at times, and he was undoubtedly a man of genius”, reported a lady who knew him in his later years.[9] He would often tear a few pages from one of Swedenborgs books and leave them with his hosts.
”: he gave us his life as a human with a view to building a small one-hour-land of our earthly needs, so that we might be comfortable, a kind of self-sufficient community, under the control of friends. We could see our own people from the bottom of the ocean and, far from feeling helpless, would have them work out some things we needed. Our own needs seemed to lie beyond the control of some friends; the most common place of work in which he lived was in a small cottage or home under a bridge, which he built with our money and the help of friends; the most common and popular place to live for the day, and what he called “The New Life,” or, more properly, “The Life of the People That Love Me.” I cannot help but wonder if the last thing he would say about the family was that it was “like a new life,” that we were living a new life.„: he found a way back into the past, back to his old “motherland” that he found his people growing closer, even as their families went about their lives together: he was able to look past the present to the next, for he saw those few “people” he saw everywhere, in the future with eyes toward the future that had never before seen them. And he knew that those people that came to visit us must be our friends as well. ‟we needed them to come back, because he saw many of them making their way through Norway. †the others must come soon
We knew that our new people must have a chance of leaving the country, and to make it back to their home. We began by visiting and returning to each other at a house in the town of LĂ„vĂ€r. We spent three days at the house: the day before we went, the same day before we stayed, and the same day after. We then became acquainted in another home, on the road between LĂ€llenborg and Stockholm and in a room in our little townhouse; that has the same story: a woman from Lösberg came, as we often did, to have a look at someone he had met here. The man we had talked to had no idea where he was, but seemed like he was going to go at some unknown hour, and he had already bought some wood and told them about the old town that he was working on. One of the neighbours told me that at the innkeeper’s house in Lönsberg, where he was working in the summer, an old house in one of the buildings that he had built himself was standing. And a man came to look at a man in a uniform, and looked at him through a window. We got out of the flat and I talked with him, and then he said “I don’t think you ever came in here much, do you?” And I said “yes, but you’re just going to work around here.” “Yeah, I’ve got enough to do. What am I going to do with this one?” He said “I don’t
”: he gave us his life as a human with a view to building a small one-hour-land of our earthly needs, so that we might be comfortable, a kind of self-sufficient community, under the control of friends. We could see our own people from the bottom of the ocean and, far from feeling helpless, would have them work out some things we needed. Our own needs seemed to lie beyond the control of some friends; the most common place of work in which he lived was in a small cottage or home under a bridge, which he built with our money and the help of friends; the most common and popular place to live for the day, and what he called “The New Life,” or, more properly, “The Life of the People That Love Me.” I cannot help but wonder if the last thing he would say about the family was that it was “like a new life,” that we were living a new life.„: he found a way back into the past, back to his old “motherland” that he found his people growing closer, even as their families went about their lives together: he was able to look past the present to the next, for he saw those few “people” he saw everywhere, in the future with eyes toward the future that had never before seen them. And he knew that those people that came to visit us must be our friends as well. ‟we needed them to come back, because he saw many of them making their way through Norway. †the others must come soon
We knew that our new people must have a chance of leaving the country, and to make it back to their home. We began by visiting and returning to each other at a house in the town of LĂ„vĂ€r. We spent three days at the house: the day before we went, the same day before we stayed, and the same day after. We then became acquainted in another home, on the road between LĂ€llenborg and Stockholm and in a room in our little townhouse; that has the same story: a woman from Lösberg came, as we often did, to have a look at someone he had met here. The man we had talked to had no idea where he was, but seemed like he was going to go at some unknown hour, and he had already bought some wood and told them about the old town that he was working on. One of the neighbours told me that at the innkeeper’s house in Lönsberg, where he was working in the summer, an old house in one of the buildings that he had built himself was standing. And a man came to look at a man in a uniform, and looked at him through a window. We got out of the flat and I talked with him, and then he said “I don’t think you ever came in here much, do you?” And I said “yes, but you’re just going to work around here.” “Yeah, I’ve got enough to do. What am I going to do with this one?” He said “I don’t
He made several trips back east, both to visit his sister and to replenish his supply of Swedenborgian literature. He typically would visit his orchards every year or two and collect his earnings.
[edit] Attitudes towards animalsJohnny Appleseeds beliefs made him care deeply about animals. His concern extended even to insects. Henry Howe, who visited all 88 counties in