A man moves slowly or swiftly, he does his work weakly or strongly, according to the energy that is in him. But the direction of his life, this way or that way, follows the unseen influence of what he admires and believes most. Available the fifteenth of every month, short inspirational treasures by Gammon Irons. WHO OWNS THE MOUNTAINS? It was the little lad who asked the question; and the answer also, as you will see, was mainly his. Said the lad, lying on the grass beside me, "Father, who owns the mountains?" I happened to have heard, the day before, of two or three lumber companies that had bought some of the woodland slopes; so I told him their names, adding that there were probably a good many different owners, whose claims taken all together would cover the whole range of hills. "Well," answered the lad, after a moment of silence, "I don't see what difference that makes. Everybody can look at them." They lay stretched out before us in the level sunlight, the sharp peaks outlined against the sky, the vast ridges of forest sinking smoothly toward the valleys, the deep hollows gathering purple shadows in their bosoms, and the little foothills standing out in rounded promontories of brighter green from the darker mass behind them. They were all ours, from crested cliff to wooded base. The solemn groves of firs and spruces, the plumed sierras of lofty pines, the stately pillared forests of birch and beech, the wild ravines, the tremulous thickets of silvery poplar, the bare peaks with their wide outlooks and the cool vales resounding with the ceaseless song of little rivers - we knew and loved them all; they ministered peace and joy to us; they were all ours, though we held no title deeds and our ownership had never been recorded. What is property, after all? The law says there are two kinds, real and personal. But it seems to me that the only real property is that which is truly personal, that which we take into our inner life and make our own forever, by understanding and admiration and sympathy and love. This is the only kind of possession that is worth anything. We measure success by accumulation. This measure is false. The true measure is appreciation. He who loves most has most. "Come, laddie," I said to my comrade, "let us go home. You and I are very rich. We own the mountains. But we can never sell them, and we don't want to." Join us next time for Dryads, Naiads, and Oreads – 15 January 2018.
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AuthorMusings from Gammon Irons. To desire and strive to be of some service to the world, to aim at doing something which shall really increase the happiness and welfare and virtue of mankind - this is a choice which is possible for us all; and surely a good haven to sail. Archives
February 2020
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