64 FLIGHT FROM THE CITY 



mess that it had to be torn down. With what could 

 be retrieved from the lumber in the old chicken- 

 house and a few new two- by- fours and boards, I be- 

 gan to build a chicken-house. 



The building of that chicken-house proved a liberal 

 education. If it did not make me into a finished car- 

 penter, it at least gave me the courage to undertake 

 the remodeling of the house, and eventually make it 

 over to something nearer to our idea of what a modest 

 country home should look like. 



In the course of the year during which I spent all 

 my spare hours remodeling the house, building in cup- 

 boards and closets and furniture, putting in electric 

 lights, installing an automatic pumping system, I ac- 

 quired a wholesome confidence in my ability to work 

 with tools. I learned that deficiencies of experience 

 and skill could be offset by the time and pains put into 

 each job. Before I was through with my building 

 operations on "Sevenacres," I came to the conclusion 

 that most of the work which we think only skilled 

 mechanics can do is quite within the capacities of any 

 intelligent and persevering man. While some of the 

 work which they do, and certainly the speed with 

 which they can work, requires years of experience, 

 most of their skills involve relatively simple tech- 

 niques. The mysterious knowledge which makes the 

 average city man, in his ignorance, telephone for an 

 electrician whenever a fuse blows out or an electric- 

 light fixture fails to function, and to hunt for the 

 janitor or call for a plumber when a faucet leaks, 



