p me unafraid!

No terrors can invade the place
Where honest green things thrive;
Come blisters--backache--sunburnt face--
And save my soul alive!

No wonder that increased production has become a popular cry. Every
one wants to work in a garden--a garden is so comforting and
reassuring. Everything else has changed, but seedtime and harvest
still remain. Rain still falls, seeds sprout, buds break into leaves,
and blossoms are replaced by fruit.

We are forced back to the elemental things. Horses and cattle look
better to me every day. Read the war news--which to-day tells of the
destruction of French villages--and then look at the cattle grazing
peacefully on the grass which clothes the hillside, and see how good
they look! They look like sanctified Christians to me!

Ever since the war I have envied them. They are not suspicious or
jealous; they are not worried, hurried, troubled, or afraid; they are
oblivious of public opinion; they have no debts to pay; they do not
weary you with explanations; they are not sorry for anything they have
ever done; they are not blaming God for anything! On every count the
cattle seem to have the best of us!

It is a quiet evening here in northern Alberta, and the evening light
is glinting on the frozen ponds. I can see far up the valley as I
write, and one by one the lights begin to glimmer in the farmhouses;
and I like to think that supper is being prepared there for hungry
children. The thought of supper appeals to me because there is no
dining-car on the train, and every minute I am growing hungrier. The
western sky burns red with the sunset, and throws a sullen glow on the
banks of clouds in the east. It is a quiet, peaceful evening, and I
find it hard to believe that somewhere men are killing each other and
whole villages are burning.... The light on the ponds grows dimmer,
with less of rose and more of a luminous gray.... I grow hungrier
still, and I know it is just because I cannot get anything. I eat
apples and nut-bars, but they do not satisfy me; it is roast beef,
brown gravy, potatoes, and turnips that I want. Is it possible that I
refused lemon pie--last night--at Carmangay? Well--well--let this be a
lesson to you!

The sunset is gone now, and there is only a brightness in the western
sky, and a big staring moon stands above the valley, shining down on
the patches of snow which seem to run together like the wolves we used
to see on the prairies of Mani