Time After Time ... Today's

Some People Are Like Ants. Give Them A Warm Day And A Piece Of Ground And They Start Digging. There The Similarity Ends. Ants Keepon Digging. Most People Don't. They Establish Contact With The Soil, Absorb So Much Vernal Vigor That They Can't Stay In One Place, And Desert The Fork Or Spade To See How The Rhubarb Is Coming And Whether The Asparagus Is Yet In Sight.

There Are Some Things, But Not Too Many, Toward Which The Countryman Knows He Must Be Properly Respectful If He Would Avoid Pain, Sickness And Injury. Nature Is Neither Punitive Nor Solicitous, But She Has Thorns And Fangs As Wells As Bowers And Grassy Banks.

Consider The Wheelbarrow. It May Lack The Grace Of An Airplane, The Speed Of An Automobile, The Initial Capacity Of A Freight Car, But Its Humble Wheel Marked Out The Path Of What Civilization We Still Have.

Strip The Hills, Drain The Boglands, And You Create Flood Conditions Inevitably. Yet That Is What We Have Been Doing For Years.

There Are No Idealists In The Plant World And No Compassion. The Rose And The Morning Glory Know No Mercy. Bindweed, The Morning Glory, Will Quickly Choke Its Competitors To Death, And The Fencerow Rose Will Just As Quietly Crowd Out Any Other Plant That Tried To Share Its Roothold. Idealism And Mercy Are Human Terms And Human Concepts.