It must be a very trying experience not to understand the
language that is spoken all about one. I have something of that
feeling when I go into a drug-store and find myself in complete
ignorance of the contents of the bottles because I cannot read the
labels. I have no freedom because I do not know the truth. The
dapper clerk who takes down one bottle after another with refreshing
freedom relegates me to the kindergarten, and I certainly feel and
act the part.
I had this same feeling, too, when I was making ready to sow my
little field with alfalfa. I wanted to have alfalfa growing in the
field next to the road for my own pleasure and for the pleasure of
the passers-by. A field of alfalfa is an ornament to any landscape,
and I like to have my landscapes ornamental, even if I must pay for
it in terms of manual toil. I had never even seen alfalfa seed and
did not in the least know how to proceed in preparing the soil. If I
ever expected to have any freedom I must first learn the truth, and a
certain modicum of freedom necessarily precedes the joy of alfalfa.
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