36 
House & Garden 
“A LITTLE PLACE 
T he other day the following letter came into the office from a 
woman; 
“I wonder if you have the time or inclination to help me in a 
problem ? 
“I am getting middle-aged and tired, maybe too old to work. 
‘T would like a little place in the country, and I wondered if I 
could raise dogs for sale and make a living? 
“I'd love w'hite shepherd dogs, but I’m afraid they might want to 
range too much. I’d also like a little stream or a duck pond, some 
roses and berry bushes. 
“They don’t seem at all impossible dreams to me, even if I have 
only $3,000. 
“Could you tell me how to go about it to accomplish it, and if you 
think I could do it? 
“It wouldn’t need an expensive place to raise dogs, or roses, either.” 
T HERE’S a real Life problem for you! 
What will you want when you get tired and middle-aged and 
maybe too old to work? Dogs and roses? A little duck pond and 
some berry bushes? Dogs for companions, let’s say, and to help 
bring in the daily bread. Roses to 
keep the soul alive. A little duck 
pond with ducks to laugh at and 
provide a feast on holidays. Berries 
to sweeten the meal. There isn’t 
much more you can ask for. 
“A little place in the country” is 
the ultimate dream of most good 
folks. The soil seems to draw them 
back to it. Willingly they leave the 
swirl and interest of cities, city ad¬ 
vantages and city comforts, to retire 
to their Sabine Farm. 
They want to sniff of its sweetness 
and feel the gentle pressure of its 
wind on their cheeks. 
They want to touch the cleansing 
earth and taste of its fresh, un¬ 
tainted fruits. 
They want to go back there and 
get up a good sweat and feel the 
blood pulse along their arms again. 
They want to go back there where 
things are quiet, and get their phi¬ 
losophy straightened out. 
‘ They want the sun to seep in 
through their pores and sweeten all 
the sour spots that Life’s disappoint¬ 
ments have made. 
The woman who wanted that “lit¬ 
tle place in the country” is no dif¬ 
ferent from the millions of others 
who are tired and middle-aged and 
maybe too old to work, or who have 
been up against problems bigger 
than they can handle, or been caught 
in the whirling vortex of this complicated thing we call Life. 
T OO many people go back to the soil for those reasons and those 
alone—they feel defeated and think that somehow everything 
will be all right when they get back to a little farm. In many a case 
everything is all right then. But the country can never be merely a 
retreat from Life. 
The way to look at the country is to consider it as a sphere of 
living where artificial thoughts and futile endeavors are laid aside, 
w'here one gets dowir to bed rock, where there is purity about the air, 
a natural strength to the horizon, a sanity in the outlook and a 
wholesomeness in its companionships. Such things are not necessarily 
the requirements of middle age or even old age. In fact, the sooner 
one appreciates them, the fuller will be the life. 
S OME years ago there was quite a back-to-the-land movement. It 
became the thing to do. Real estate operators in country towns 
suddenly got rich and the country was dotted over with all sorts of 
“arty” communities who sought for “freedom” on the farm. You can 
see the remains—human and structural—of those communities in 
several country towns today. Their devotees soon grew tired of the 
IN THE COUNTRY” 
pose and drifted back to the city. The local tradesmen have set down 
their bills to profit and loss, and let them go at that. 
The trouble with these people was that they took to the country 
as a fad, and you simply cannot take to the country as a fad. Nature 
has a terrible habit of having the last laugh. But you can take to 
the country out of conviction, and people who go with that reason 
usually stay. They will not expect an infinite cure-all in country air 
and quiet or the solution of all Life’s problems in hoeing the soil, 
but they will know, by gradual contact with things of the country, 
that here are benefits no city can give, comforts that no modern 
conveniences can altogether supply. And when they arrive at that 
solution, you can’t get them away from the country with a team of 
horses, much less with a motor car—they will get the motor car because 
they do live in the country. 
T he curse of city life, as someone has said, is that it feeds so 
largely the surface emotions. We live superficially in our enjoy¬ 
ments, and rarely are the deepest parts of our nature touched. The 
city breeds strange illusions that we often mistake for realities. City 
friendships, for example. One has to work hard to make and keep 
city friendships worth the name. 
The city offers a competition based 
on material possessions and ruled by 
modes that change from day to day. 
The forces of the city are forces of 
noise. 
Now the beauty of the country 
lies in the fact that it affords time 
and the receptive mind with which 
one can take his enjoyments to the 
full. Its solitudes and patience give 
power to thought. In the country 
material possession loses some of its 
tyranny and exacting modes pale 
into the insignificance of silly 
whims. The material illusions of 
the country have a strange way of 
changing into spiritual realities. “A 
landscape,” as Amiel says, “repre¬ 
sents a state of the soul.” The 
country does not permit one to ignore 
the laws that govern the interior and 
spiritual life, for the forces of the 
country are forces of silence—and 
the greatest forces are the silent ones. 
In choosing between the city and 
the country you have to choose, 
therefore, between two philosophies, 
between two ways of looking at life. 
It is as radical a decision as though 
you had to sit down and choose be¬ 
tween being an agnostic and being a 
believer. You cannot merely senti¬ 
mentalize over the countiyq your 
reason must conform to your senti¬ 
ment. 
The reasonable plan for raising dogs in that letter, for example, 
conformed beautifully with the sentiment of living in the country. 
W E answered that woman’s letter in the office here, gave her 
some practical advice about buying her property, how much of 
her capital to invest in it, suggested breeds of dogs to raise, and 
generally how to go about getting started on her little place. 
But there is more to the letter than that, and more of an answer is 
needed. Behind it lies the story of a life and in it you catch the 
glimpse of a big dream. 
I am wondering if there aren’t some readers of House & Garden 
who would like to help me answer that woman. (This isn’t a prize 
contest, by the way, for the letter is genuine and I wouldn’t put it up 
as a prize contest for worlds.) Wouldn’t they like to write me what 
they would do if they had $3,000 and wanted “a little place in the 
country” ? It would help me, and it would doubtless help her. The 
letters will be sent on to her. 
It may perhaps help you. For there is a magic about sitting down 
and putting your philosophy onto paper. It may, conceivably, con¬ 
vince you also that there is something about living in the country 
that hasn’t yet become a conviction. Richardson Wright. 
DISTANCE 
How often have I seen- the moon on hills, 
And watched the Nile turn golden with the sun, 
Thought stars a hand’s breadth past my window sills. 
And heard the seas sweep by me, every one. 
Distance to me was such a simple thing. 
But now how separate and far away 
Lies the next room where I can hear you sing 
When I sit quiet at the close of day. 
Harold Cook. 
