In June we decided to take to the woods, or rather to the country, to
see what it had in store for us. The more we thought of it, the better I
liked the plan, and Polly was no less happy over it. We talked of it
morning, noon, and night, and my half-smothered instinct grew by what it
fed on. Countless schemes at length resolved themselves into a factory
farm, which should be a source of pleasure as well as of income. It was
of all sizes, shapes, industries, and limits of expenditure, as the
hours passed and enthusiasm waxed or waned. I finally compromised on
from two hundred to three hundred acres of land, with a total
expenditure of not more than $60,000 for the building of my factory. It
was to produce butter, eggs, pork, and apples, all of best quality, and
they were to be sold at best prices. I discoursed at some length on
farms and farmers to Polly, who slept through most of the harangue. She
afterward said that she enjoyed it, but I never knew whether she
referred to my lecture or to her nap.

If farming be the art of elimination, I want it not. If the farmer and
the farmer's family must, by the nature of the occupation, be deprived
of reasonable leisure and luxury, if the conveniences and amenities must
be shorn close, if comfort must be denied and life be reduced to the
elemental necessities of food and shelter, I want it not. But I do not
believe that this is the case. The wealth of the world comes from the
land, which produces all the direct and immediate essentials for the
preservation of life and the protection of the race. When people cease
to look to the land for support, they lose their independence and fall
under the tyranny of circumstances beyond their control. They are no
longer producers, but consumers; and their prosperity is contingent upon
the prosperity and good will of other people who are more or less alien.
Only when a considerable percentage of a nation is living close to the
land can the highest type of independence and prosperity be enjoyed.