CITY OR COUNTRY
BY birth I belong to the city. I was born in New Haven in the centre of the town. My first recollection of the country --as distinguished from nearby Connecticut villages--was a summer outing in the Adirondacks.
In the Adirondacks, I was a citified boy in a strange land. Everything was different--the splendid mountains, the wide open places (so unlike the wide open places in the city), the keen, cold air of August evenings, and the absolute silence of the nights--broken only by the musical sound of 'streams inaudible by day.' The native folks seemed different from city people. They were just naturally friendly. Accustomed as I was to pass strangers on city streets without a word or a look of greeting or recognition, it seemed pleasant and sociable to salute everybody with a 'good morning' or a remark about the weather. These people also seemed more self-reliant. In the city every man had only one job, which is one more than many of them have now. Every woman went through a weekly round of familiar duties or social affairs. Every boy went to school and played games the rest of the time.
In the country every man seemed to be able to take care of himself in a dozen different ways; one felt that if he were cast ashore on a desert island, he could get along somehow. Every woman was 'capable.' Each one did every kind of housework, indoors and out, incidentally preparing the next meal and the next baby. The small boys were useful, whether they wished to be or not; their multitudinous tasks