the fall when there is a tang of frost in the air; the satisfaction of
a long-planned flower bed in full bloom; a winter evening with a log
fire blazing on the living-room hearth; are simple but as genuine as
any of the pleasures known to city folk. Better yet, they are not
exhausting. "Few people are strong enough to enjoy their pleasures," a
friend once wisely observed. In the main, however, those of the
country are less taxing and leave one refreshed which, after all, is
the true purpose of recreation.

Against these gains of country living the costs must also be reckoned.
These, as stated earlier, will hardly be felt if the individual really
likes the country in its smiling moods as well as its frowning ones.
One which the family recently separated from city ways may find
hardest to accept is a demand for self-reliance. If the furnace will
not burn, a water pipe springs a leak, a mid-winter blizzard deposits
a snowdrift that all but blocks the front door, father or some one
else must rise to the situation.

The country home has no janitor. The nearest plumber is two or five
miles away. No gang of snow shovelers knocks at the door with offers
to attack the mislocated snow at a price, albeit the highest they
think the traffic will bear. Pioneer-like, some or all of the family
must turn to and cope with such situations. Doing so, whether
temporary like closing a pipe valve to stop the cascading water until
the plumber arrives, or permanent like mastering the idiosyncrasies of
the furnace, has its reward. From oldest to youngest, after a year or
so there comes a sense of ability to cope with the unforeseen rather
than to stand meekly by waiting for George to do it.

Again, it is not always smiling June with gentle breezes. There are