He Who Searches For Spring With His

Conservation Is A State Of Harmony Between Men And Land.

The Whole Conflict Thus Boils Down To A Question Of Degree. We Of The Minority See A Law Of Diminishing Returns In Progress; Our Opponents Do Not.

There Is, As Yet, No Sense Of Pride In The Husbandry Of Wild Plants And Animals, No Sense Of Shame In The Proprietorship Of A Sick Landscape. We Tilt Windmills In Behalf Of Conservation In Convention Halls And Editorial Offices, But On The Back Forty We Disclaim Even Owning A Lance.

We Abuse Land Because We Regard It As A Commodity Belonging To Us.

I Have Read Many Definitions Of What Is A Conservationist, And Written Not A Few Myself, But I Suspect That The Best One Is Written Not With A Pen, But With An Axe. It Is A Matter Of What A Man Thinks About While Chopping, Or While Deciding What To Chop. A Conservationist Is One Who Is Humbly Aware That With Each Stroke He Is Writing His Signature On The Face Of His Land.