There are two seasonal diversions that can ease the bite of any winter. One is the January thaw. The other is the seed catalogues.

Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing grass, I can appreciate persistence.

Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.

Nothing in nature is as simple as it sometimes seems when reduced to words.

When we talk of flood control, we usually think of dams and deeper river channels, to impound the waters or hurry their run-off. Yet neither is the ultimate solution, simply because floods are caused by the flow of water downhill. If the hills are wooded, that flow is checked. If there is a swamp at the foot of the hills, the swamp sponges up most of the excess water, restores some of it to the underground water supply and feeds the remainder slowly into the streams. Strip the hills, drain the boglands, and you create flood conditions inevitably. Yet that is what we have been doing for years.

All our yesterdays are summarized in our now, and all the tomorrows are ours to shape.

There are no limits to either time or distance, except as man himself may make them. I have but to touch the wind to know these things.