The Huttig news. (Huttig, Ark.) 1907-1955, 1908-03-28
Alone on the Farm

My soul in agony"
Some natures are hopelessly grega-
rious; they pine in solitude, they
wither outside of an environment
which does not provide plenty of peo-
Pile. They dote on company" but
then misery loves company" To
the average conventional type of man
or woman there is always pleasing
outlook in the average conventional
state of existence. The man rises at
certain hour, stung into natural or
simulated activity by the venomous
rafting Of an alarm clock. He bathes,
dresses, eats and goes down town,
often catching the car at precisely the
same hour every morning, and quite
frequently arriving home for supper
at the same hour year in and year out.
He wears about the same clothes that
all the rest of the men wear, and
plugs along through life with almost
as much variety in his experiences as
= pet squirrel in revolving cage.
If he did not meet many men in the
course of the day, read two or three
morning, afternoon and evening pa
pers, hear the gongs on the street
cars, see lights, hear music in the
streets, take in the smoke and glare,
the dust and grind of the daily hub
bub in his particular city, he would be
rs lonesome as a coyote.
The average woman in a city, If she
has children, puts in a good deal Of
time over them. She reads a little,
engages in an occasional catch-as-
catch-can contest with the piano, does
the matinee, shops, churches and
parks, has her little circle where the
ladies gather to read Browning and
toast" their liege lords:
"Trust them to tinker the little tin
monsters"
And in various and sundry desperate
ways she strives to stave off the
creeping ennui that threatens her ex-
istence. If she be childless woman,
she seeks the doubtful solace of the
clubs, and tags on to the kite-tail of
some belated reform. Both she and
her mate, the, average dweller in the
city, do not know what they are really
pursuing in the maze of life, but that
they are actually after something,
both are firmly convinced Each
would be deadly afraid of the prospect
of actually depending on themselves
for companionship. Each needs and
must have the change and contrasts
afforded by frequent association with
their kind; each is biped with very
few, If any innate resources of their
own for enjoyment.
Put such man or woman on a
farm. to stay there for a year, and
they have three avenues of escape
and three only, to wit: Drink, opiates,
or Bedlam. There is a story, weird,
powerful, of a man who was always
seeking crowds. In the early dawn he
was to be seen among the masses Of
laboring people crowding to work;
during the morning hesappeared where
the idlers thronged; at noon his face
was seen where the city dined and
drank; in the afternoon he could be
found in the parks, strolling where
the picknickers and merry-makers
gathered on the lawns; at night he
was amid the home-going toilers, and
later with the theater-goers.
Going out into the country" to
most city people means going to some
Resort" so called, where you view
nature through smoked glass, dress
Immediately SO as not to be out
shone by your fellow resorters, and
where you sit in a hammock and read
light novels. This, with an occasion
al swim. and possibly moonlight
boating trip, constitute the essence of
being next to natures heart" 1t
is quite pathetic, at these places, to
see what wild thrill a -before-yes-
terday's sporting sheet from a metro
politan newspaper will cause among
the men. AS for the ladies, they sail
about airily and warily, shirt-waist-
ed brigade of disconsolate gossipers
for the most.
1t is a general error to suppose
that everyone would be happy on a
farm. 1t would be nearer the truth
to say that most people would be
simply desperate in six months. The
country people get in touch with city
life quickly and take on the urban
spirit very quickly; witness the many
professional and business men who
have come from the farms But the
city man or woman, even when
Caught young" are hard to blend
with the fields and woods, and mo
notony," as it seems to them, of act
ual farm life.
Now it happened that in the case of
Cecile and myself we both had a
natural and deep love for outdoors.
Not merely in the sense of it's music
and it's picturesqueness, but a perfect
agreement with it's silences. The
change and blend of following and
fading seasons was source Of tire
less de-ight to us. If we had either
of us been inoculated with the rest
less "boulevardish" serum which
Graves some new excitement every
day, this life on an isolated farm,
would have been worse than solitary
confinement at hard labor.
But there is an endless variety and
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