The Last Good Country

It was a 40 mile ride through Wild Rose, Saxeville, and Spring Lake. It ended with a puncture, as Saint Maximin predicted, just 1 mile outside Wild Rose. It is good country, all of it, and do not say that we have none yet left. It is just as good as Northern France, the old growth forests the same, the way the road gently rises and falls, and riding along the Pine River was as the ride along that river at the Belgian frontier. I remember that man we met at the border with the heavy artillery from the World War and he is gone now. They put him away and took away his guns. We read of that in the papers years later. They do not have such men in central Wisconsin. But this country is good country of rolling hills and good pavement, and the corn and the soybeans and sorghum are rich from the rain, the farms operated by the same families that have always had them, and the cows and horses are happiest in the sun.


  1. A man with heavy artillery is a man with a heavy soul.

  2. How's the pavement in those parts? How do you feel about the rows of trees, planted years ago, and for what purpose?


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