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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
15
I
sprang
up
and
drew
a
long
breath.
"Mine,"
I
said.
It
came
to
me
then
like
an
inspiration
that
I
might
now
go
out
and
take
formal
possession
of
my
farm.
I
might
experience
the
emotion
of
a
landowner.
I
might
swell
with
dignity
and
importance--for
once,
at
least.
So
I
started
at
the
fence
corner
back
of
the
barn
and
walked
straight
up
through
the
pasture,
keeping
close
to
my
boundaries,
that
I
might
not
miss
a
single
rod
of
my
acres.
And
oh,
it
was
a
prime
afternoon!
The
Lord
made
it!
Sunshine--and
autumn
haze--and
red
trees--and
yellow
fields--and
blue
distances
above
the
far-away
town.
And
the
air
had
a
tang
which
got
into
a
man's
blood
and
set
him
chanting
all
the
poetry
he
ever
knew.
"I
climb
that
was
a
clod,
I
run
whose
steps
were
slow,
I
reap
the
very
wheat
of
God
That
once
had
none
to
sow!"
So
I
walked
up
the
margin
of
my
field
looking
broadly
about
me:
and
presently,
I
began
to
examine
my
fences--my
fences--with
a
critical
eye.
I
considered
the
quality
of
the
soil,
though
in
truth
I
was
not
much
of
a
judge
of
such
matters.
I
gloated
over
my
plowed
land,
lying
there
open
and
passive
in
the
sunshine.
I
said
of
this
tree:
"It
is
mine,"
and
of
its
companion
beyond
the
fence:
"It
is
my
neighbour's."
Deeply
and
sharply
within
myself
I
drew
the
line
between
meum
and
tuum:
for
only
thus,
by
comparing
ourselves
with
our
neighbours,
can
we
come
to
the
true
realisation
of
property.
Occasionally
I
stopped
to
pick
up
a
stone
and
cast
it
over
the
fence,
thinking
with
some
truculence
that
my
neighbour
would
probably
throw
it
back
again.
Never
mind,
I
had
it
out
of
my
field.
Once,
with
eager
surplusage
of
energy,
I
pulled
down
a
dead
and
partly
rotten
oak
stub,
long
an
eye-sore,
with
an
important
feeling
of
proprietorship.
I
could
do
anything
I
liked.
The
farm
was
mine.
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