Land Is Not Merely Soil,

Acts Of Creation Are Ordinarily Reserved For Gods And Poets, But Humbler Folk May Circumvent This Restriction If They Know How. To Plant A Pine, For Example, One Need Be Neither God Nor Poet; One Need Only Own A Shovel.

There Are Men Charged With The Duty Of Examining The Construction Of The Plants, Animals, And Soils Which Are The Instruments Of The Great Orchestra. These Men Are Called Professors. Each Selects One Instrument And Spends His Life Taking It Apart And Describing Its Strings And Sounding Boards. This Process Of Dismemberment Is Called Research. The Place For Dismemberment Is Called A University.

Bread And Beauty Grow Best Together. Their Harmonious Integration Can Make Farming Not Only A Business But An Art; The Land Not Only A Food-factory But An Instrument For Self-expression, On Which Each Can Play Music To His Own Choosing.

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.

Wilderness Is The Raw Material Out Of Which Man Has Hammered The Artifact Called Civilization.