That Land Is A Community

No One Would Rather Hunt Woodcock In October Than I, But Since Learning Of The Sky Dance I Find Myself Calling One Or Two Birds Enough. I Must Be Sure That, Come April, There Be No Dearth Of Dancers In The Sunset Sky.

There Is Value In Any Experience That Exercises Those Ethical Restraints Collectively Called Sportsmanship.

It Must Be Poor Life That Achieves Freedom From Fear.

Only Economists Mistake Physical Opulence For Riches.

The Government Tells Us We Need Flood Control And Comes To Straighten The Creek In Our Pasture. The Engineer On The Job Tells Us The Creek Is Now Able To Carry Off More Flood Water, But In The Process We Have Lost Our Old Willows Where The Owl Hooted On A Winter Night And Under Which The Cows Switched Flies In The Noon Shade. We Lost The Little Marshy Spot Where Our Fringed Gentians Bloomed.