58 



THE GUIDE TO NATURE 



Have You Eaten Custard Pie? 



I was about twelve years of age 

 when one day I came home after a 

 snaring and hunting expedition, as 

 hungry as it is possible for a country 

 boy to be, and that is saying a good 

 deal. I had tramped over many miles 

 and had had no dinner. It was about 

 three o'clock in the afternoon. I said, 

 "Grandmother, I cannot wait until sup- 

 per. I am almost starved. Bring on 

 a lot of things. I want my supper 

 now." 



I do not recall all that she brought, 

 but I remember fried cakes and custard 

 pie, of both of which I was very fond. I 

 literally stuffed down two or three of 

 the fried cakes after the manner of 

 ravenous country boys and then turned 

 my attention to the custard pie. Al- 

 though I was rather surprised to hear 

 grandmother say, "Eat all you want," 

 I decided to accept her advice. The 

 whole pie should go. The first quarter 

 went in about six pieces — one does not 

 have to chew custard pie. The second 

 quarter slowed down to about eight 

 mouthfuls, but I was well through the 

 third quarter when for the first time I 

 really tasted that pie and began to 

 suspect something. I tasted again. 

 That pie had been kept a little too long. 

 That was grandmother's reason for 

 not keeping it any longer. I looked 

 at the old lady. 'Tsn't this pie sour?" 

 She tasted a bit and thought, as if she 

 had a difficult philosophical problem to 

 solve. She tasted a little more. "Yes," 

 she admitted, "I guess perhaps it ha:^ 

 been kept a little too long." I decided 

 with disgust that it had been kept far 

 too long. I had been too hungry to 

 make the discovery but my stomach 

 decided in less than half an hour that 

 it should be kept no longer. 



No, I have not wholly lost my liking 

 for custard pie. I like it even to this 

 day ; that is, after I have decided that 

 it is eatable, but never since then have 

 I seen a custard pie without an un- 

 avoidable feeling of repugnance. My 

 mind as well as my stomach was then 

 and there poisoned, and what might 

 have been all my life a delight has been 

 greatly marred by the feeling of dis- 

 gust aroused by a sight of this most 

 delicious of all domestic concoctions. 

 I\Iv reason can overcome it but con- 



siderable force of will is needed to do 

 so. To that extent one pleasure in 

 life has been destroyed. 



My friend, have you ever tasted cus- 

 tard pie ? I fancy you have ; that is, 

 the spirit of it, because when you first 

 see a toad or a snake you shudder at 

 it although your reason tells you that 

 there are no more beautiful creatures 

 in the world. Perhaps some natural- 

 ist urges you to hold the snake in your 

 hand and you reluctantly admit that it 

 is a glossy, dainty, graceful creature. 

 Some naturalist assures you that it is 

 all nonsense about a toad giving you 

 warts, but it takes much argument and 

 much hesitation before you receive the 

 toad into your hand and notice the 

 jewels in its head, its. beautiful eyes. 

 Perhaps you are persuaded to hold it 

 in your hand until it sings to you its 

 sweet lullaby. Finally you do really 

 enjoy it, if you are strong enough to 

 overcome the impression that you re- 

 ceived in childhood when some one ex- 

 claimed, "Oh, that horrid, nasty 

 thing!" and your mind was prejudiced. 

 Are you afraid in the dark? Is the 

 pleasure of a stroll in the darkest Af- 

 rica of the woods and thickets marred 

 or wholly annihilated because in your 

 childhood, or perhaps in one of your 

 ancestor's youth, some one tasted the 

 spirit of that custard pie and your 

 pleasure has been marred for all your 

 life; in that part of the twenty-four 

 hours you cannot enjoy nature? 



T remember about midnight in camp 

 when during a severe thunderstorm I 

 sat at the entrance of a tent occupied 

 by some sixteen or seventeen young 

 women in order to keep them from be- 

 ing frightened and that after the storm 

 had abated, and I was on my way back 

 to the Plainville, Connecticut, camp 

 meeting ground, I sat under a tree as 

 the thunder rumbled ofif toward the 

 west, and the lightning flashes were 

 becoming less vivid. I was alone with 

 the grandeur of nature. The time was 

 about two o'clock in the morning. It 

 is good to be alone with nature and 

 with one's self. But why did I enjoy 

 it? Because in my boyhood I had not 

 epten a sour custard pie of the mid- 

 night of nature, as so many other people 

 have done. To me it was a celebration 

 of those days when I felt at home in 

 the woods at night. 



