MY OWN ACRE 



and down" I write these lines. I never buy 

 cordwood. 



Only half the grove has required these paths, 

 the other half being down on the flat margin 

 of the river, traversed by a cart-road at least 

 half a century old, though used by wheels hardly 

 twice a year; but in the three acres where lie 

 the contour paths there is now three-fifths of a 

 mile of them, not a rod of which is superfluous. 

 And then I have two examples of another kind 

 of path: paths with steps; paths which for good 

 and lawful reasons cannot allow you time to go 

 around on the "five per cent" grade but must 

 cut across, taking a single ravine lengthwise, to 

 visit its three fish-pools. 



These steps, and two short retaining walls 

 elsewhere in the grove, are made of the field 

 stones of the region, uncut. All are laid "dry" 

 like the ordinary stone fences of New England 

 farms, and the walls are built with a smart 

 inward batter so that the winter frosts may 

 heave them year after year, heave and leave 

 but not tumble them down. I got that idea 

 from a book. Everything worth while on my 



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