The Landscape Of Any Farm Is The

For Unnumbered Centuries Of Human History The Wilderness Has Given Way. The Priority Of Industry Has Become Dogma. Are We As Yet Sufficiently Enlightened To Realize That We Must Now Challenge That Dogma, Or Do Without Our Wilderness? Do We Realize That Industry, Which Has Been Our Good Servant, Might Make A Poor Master?

To Look Into The Eyes Of A Wolf Is To See Your Own Soul - Hope You Like What You See.

The Life Of Every River Sings Its Own Song, But In Most The Song Is Long Marred By The Discords Of Misuse.

Our Children Are Our Signature To The Roster Of History; Our Land Is Merely The Place Our Money Was Made. There Is As Yet No Social Stigma In The Possession Of A Gullied Farm, A Wrecked Forest, Or A Polluted Stream, Provided The Dividends Suffice To Send The Youngsters To College. Whatever Ails The Land, The Government Will Fix It.

He Who Hopes For Spring With Upturned Eye Never Sees So Small A Thing As Draba. He Who Despairs Of Spring With Downcast Eye Steps On It, Unknowing. He Who Searches For Spring With His Knees In The Mud Finds It, In Abundance.