Chapter 73 Baker Grange - 3

The shower was over, and a long rainbow over the woods to the east promised a fine evening; and I rose to take my leave.After going out, I asked them for a glass of water again, hoping to see the bottom of their well, and complete my investigation; but, alas!The well is shallow, full of quicksand, the rope is broken, and the bucket is broken beyond repair.During this time, they found a kitchen cup, the water seemed to be distilled, and after many consultations and delays, the cup was finally handed to the thirsty man, still cold and cloudy.It was such dirty water, I thought, that was supporting these few lives; so I deftly shook the dust aside, closed my eyes, and toasted and drank to the sincere hospitality.I am not exacting in such matters when it comes to matters of manners.

After the rain, when I left the Irish house and strode out to the lake again, wading through the mud-pits of the prairie and the holes of the marshes, and through the desolate moors, I felt for a moment that I was anxious to catch the shuttlecock. The mood of the fish is too wretched for someone like me who has gone to middle school and college; but I went down the mountain and ran towards the west where the sky was full of red clouds. A long rainbow hung on my shoulder, faintly The ringing of the bell came to my ears through the clear air, and I seemed to hear my patron saint speaking to me from nowhere,—I want to go fishing and hunting far away every day——the farther the better, The wider the country, the better—you'll rest by many brooks, and by many firesides, without fear.Remember how creative you were when you were young.Before dawn you rise carefree and set out on an adventure.Let noon see you by another lake.When night comes, everywhere is home.There is no larger land, no more rewarding game than this.Live wildly according to your nature, like the reeds and ferns, which never become English hay.What does it matter if the roar of the thunder is harmful to the crops?This is not a message for you.They have to hide under the car, under the wooden house, you can hide under the cloud.You should stop making a living by crafting, you should make a living by playing.Admire the earth, but don't try to possess it.For lack of drive and confidence, people are buying and selling, living like slaves.

Oh, Baker Grange! with a little sunshine For the most magnificent land scenery. ... Fenced the pasture, Nobody's going to run to a carnival. ... You never argued with anyone, And never troubled by your doubts, So tame when we first met, You're wearing plain brown twill. ... lover come, The haters also come, son of the dove, and Goy Fox of the state, Hang plots on strong branches! People always come home at night docilely from the next field or the street, their homes ring with common echoes, and their lives die away in sorrow, for they breathe again and again the breath they exhale; morning and evening, Their shadows go farther than their daily steps.We should come home from afar, with new experiences, new characters, from adventures, dangers, and daily discoveries.

I hadn't been to the lake when John Field, under a new impulse, ran to it, changed his mind, and stopped working in the swamp before sundown today.But he, poor man, caught a fish or two and I had a long string, and he said it was his lot; but then we changed seats and so did fortune.Poor John Field!I don't think he will read this passage, unless it will improve him--he wants to live in the old and traditional way in this primitive new land--fishing for perch with whitebait.Sometimes, I admit, it's good bait.His horizon was all his own, but he was a poor man, born poor, heir to his Irish poverty or poor life, and heir to the muddy ways of Adam's old grandmother, where he or his descendants Nothing in the world can go up unless their webbed, boggy feet wear winged boots.