There Can Be No Doubt That A

There Are Degrees And Kinds Of Solitude. I Know Of No Solitude So Secure As One Guarded By A Spring Flood; Nor Do The Geese, Who Have Seen More Kinds And Degrees Of Aloneness Than I Have.

In Farm Country, The Plover Has Only Two Real Enemies: The Gully And The Drainage Ditch. Perhaps We Shall One Day Find That These Are Our Enemies, Too.

Then Came The Gadgeteer, Otherwise Known As The Sporting-goods Dealer. He Has Draped The American Outdoorsman With An Infinity Of Contraptions, All Offered As Aids To Self-reliance, Hardihood, Woodcraft, Or Marksmanship, But Too Often Functioning As Substitutes For Them. Gadgets Fill The Pockets, They Dangle From Neck And Belt. The Overflow Fills The Auto-trunk And Also The Trailer. Each Item Of Outdoor Equipment Grows Lighter And Often Better, But The Aggregate Poundage Becomes Tonnage.

We All Strive For Safety, Prosperity, Comfort, Long Life, And Dullness. The Deer Strives With His Supple Legs, The Cowman With Trap And Poison, The Statesman With Pen, The Most Of Us With Machines, Votes, And Dollars. A Measure Of Success In This Is All Well Enough, And Perhaps Is A Requisite To Objective Thinking, But Too Much Safety Seems To Yield Only Danger In The Long Run. Perhaps This Is Behind Thoreau's Dictum: In Wilderness Is The Salvation Of The World. Perhaps This Is The Hidden Meaning In The Howl Of The Wolf, Long Known Among Mountains, But Seldom Perceived Among Men.

But Wherever The Truth May Lie, This Much Is Crystal-clear: Our Bigger-and-better Society Is Now Like A Hypochondriac, So Obsessed With Its Own Economic Health As To Have Lost The Capacity To Remain Healthy. . . . Nothing Could Be More Salutary At This Stage Than A Little Healthy Contempt For A Plethora Of Material Blessings.