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For perhaps a million years man must have been forced into solitude from time to time his nervous system became attuned to the stimuli of nature: the sound of the wind, the lapping of waters, the green of plant life. Because I enjoyed solitary excursions into the jungles of the South Pacific islands I was considered eccentric. When I was in the Service I observed that almost all the stalwart young heroes whom I encountered were quite unable to endure solitude indeed, they seemed to be afraid to be alone with their thoughts. It is one of the tragedies of modern civilization, I think, that most people are unable to enjoy solitude. "You can have it," she said tartly, "I'll take Atlantic City." She could not get off the mountain quickly enough. I remember the woman who came to get her young son who had been staying with us. This would be an unthinkable existence to the mass of people. We enjoy people, but we also enjoy solitude-especially the solitude of the mountains in winter. We are very simple people, with simple habits, free from the distractions which most people crave-or endure. I am a lucky fellow, for it would go hard with me if my wife demanded to be taken to night clubs, or to the movies, or to bridge parties, or if she dashed off at every trumpet call of the Womens' Political League. Then he saw one of our goats, and exclaimed: "At least, you got something human up here!" Often we are asked: "Aren't you lonely up there?" We reply emphatically, "No! there's never a dull moment." Not even in the depth of winter, when deep snow closes the road and we seldom see visitors, have we ever felt the slightest touch of loneliness.Ī young truck driver once delivered cement to us and thought it remarkable that anyone could live up here on the mountain. Our detachment from the world in these times of endless turmoil and crises intrigues some of our friends they envy our "splendid isolation." Of course we are not as remote as some might think, for people from all over the continent, and at least fifteen foreign countries, nosing their cars up our mountain road eight months of the year, have enriched our lives. Despite our oil lamps, despite the washtub in which we bathed with hot water dipped from the tank on the kitchen stove, we have lived well. We have never felt it a hardship to be without these amenities to living. Our nearest neighbor is two miles to the east, near the foot of the mountain, and an unbroken wilderness void of human beings extends four and a half miles south, to the nearest town, Hamburg. From "Hawks Aloft", copyright © 1949 by Maurice Broun.