Willmar tribune. [volume] (Willmar, Minn.) 1895-1931, 1908-06-24


! for we had come to know the farm
as scholar knows the written page.
We had seen the SHOWS melt in the
hedge corners and fade from the stalk
strewn fields. We had watched the
cattle huddle before wintry blasts and
heard the north winds whistle down
the chimney and storm at the dis
| mantled lilies by the garden gate We
had loved the visible and external out
doors that had lowered about us, not
less in the bleakest season than in the
days of June.
Always, even in sad days, there had
been the solace of flowers and bird
songs, the hopeful waves of the grass
or the promise of moonlight and star
light. The very trees had become as
affairs to us, and one hill, crowned
with naples, and in autumn a miracle
in gold and scarlet will forever haunt
us with it's spiritual glory of flaming
beauty. Surely if some vestal virgin
of the season could keep alight for
ever the fires that burned in those
leaves the vision would be too lovely
to last, too blindingly beautiful to
other than turn to tears the eyes
which should behold it.
The century-old oaks that grew on
the farm, how we should miss their
Druidical calm, the faint tops breath
ing in the summer winds, the lower
drapery as still as Dodonian spaces
beneath sibyllic shades. The sharp
armOred hickories, the walnuts, the
elms, the brilliant sassafras, the
towering and temple-like sycamores,
how we should miss them all when
we were gone.
On one long hill that sloped to the
river we had stood many times, and
watched the shadows grow deeper
over the water, and heard the night
winds rustic in the leaves, and bark
ened to the twilight sounds that begin
to creep in over the tides of darkness
Now, nevermore! Goodbye! Fare
we'll to Lochaber." All the long curves
of valley and hilltop, all the wide
sweep of grain field and forest, all to
pass with our departure, all to vanish
! with our going. The gnarled and
scraggly saplings that hung over the
deep ravines, the flaunt of the fox
squirrels brush in the naples
branches. the rock lined stretch of
rugged roads down tumbled hills. the
flight of wild fowl and the call of the
owls and crows by night and by day,
the drift Of sheep in the sloping pas
| lures, the rise of yellow-breasted
lark from the meadow, not again; no
more; "Lochaber no more, farewell t.
Lochaber."
1t is impossible for anyone with a
real hunger at his heart for outdoors
not to be affected by leaving any
place where he has wandered for
many months, getting acquainted with
every nook and Granny of his sur.
roundings, and getting closer and
closer to the environment as the sea,
sons come and go.
There was scarcely foot in all the
acres that we had not actually COW
cred in our tramps about the farm,
and on every slope and through every
SAOCNA VI "OOulouu tuC UdUy udu
played and tumbled. For myself. l
knew every tree on the place. I had
gone, especially on my hunting expedi-
tons, not only over every inch of the
ground on this particular tract, but l
had explored the surrounding country
for many miles, and knew every ra-
vine and creek as we'll as l did the
alphabet itself.
Many times we sat by the windows
and looked out over the farm, and
we'll as We knew the wisdom of get.
ting closer in touch with the city, and
yet holding fast to the integrity of life
on a farm, there was very sincere
and genuine regret at the ordeal be.
fore us. There must be somewhere q
curious physiological attachment to
the soil in some natures. Perhaps
the Swiss may have it more particu.
larly than any other race, for they
} seldom leave their native land, and
are the most prone to inconsistencies
of all peoples.
However, our lease was nearly up
and we had made all arrangements to
move, and so the task of getting ready
for the journey stared us straight in
the face.
The two years on the farm had been
great, if not the greatest, of all ex.
periences. 1t had taught us life in the
cities is mostly mockery, and yet that
there was germ of the spiritual, of
the higher mental sensations, which
the country does not afford. It had
taught us that very many supposable
necessities are merely superf1uities,
and that the end and destiny of men
and women is not to be controlled by
custom.
Our life on Vie farm had not been
reduced to the herm;tized intellectual
ity of a Thoreau, but we had deter
mined on changing it for the same
reason as the Concord philosopher. !
doubt that he found Walden dull. AS
he neither had chick nor child, as he
did not hunt, and seldom fished, do
not know of anyone except this rug
ged genius who could have endured
such solitude so long.
For us we had companionship in
each asher and in Lenore, visitors
from the town whom we welcomed
cordially, neighbors with whom we
mingled, and books and music with US
always, and yet we were not entirely
content. And why? Because when
men or women have lived for years
in city, unless they are thoroughly
Disguised with the world and all there
is in it, they will inevitably miss what