In June As Many As A Dozen

That Dark Laboratory We Call The Soil.

A Conservationist Is One Who Is Humbly Aware That With Each Stroke [of The Axe] He Is Writing His Signature On The Face Of His Land.

The Last Word In Ignorance Is The Man Who Says Of An Animal Or Plant: 'what Good Is It?

Never Did We Plan The Morrow, For We Had Learned That In The Wilderness Some New And Irresistible Distraction Is Sure To Turn Up Each Day Before Breakfast. Like The River, We Were Free To Wander.

Having To Squeeze The Last Drop Of Utility Out Of The Land Has The Same Desperate Finality As Having To Chop Up The Furniture To Keep Warm.