“The land belongs to the future, Carl; that's the way it seems to me. How many of the names on the county clerk's plat will be there in fifty years? I might as well try to will the sunset over there to my brother's children. We come and go, but the land is always here. And the people who love it and understand it are the people who own it--for a little while.”

“We abuse land because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us. When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect. ~Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac”

“We come from the land, give our love and labor to her, and she nurtures us in return. When we die, we return to the land. In a way, she owns us. Palestine owns us and we belong to her”

“The Western States nervous under the beginning change.Texas and Oklahoma, Kansas and Arkansas, New Mexico,Arizona, California. A single family moved from the land.Pa borrowed money from the bank, and now the bank wantsthe land. The land company--that's the bank when it has land--wants tractors, not families on the land. Is a tractor bad? Isthe power that turns the long furrows wrong? If this tractorwere ours it would be good--not mine, but ours. If our tractorturned the long furrows of our land, it would be good.Not my land, but ours. We could love that tractor then aswe have loved this land when it was ours. But the tractordoes two things--it turns the land and turns us off the land.There is little difference between this tractor and a tank.The people are driven, intimidated, hurt by both. We must thinkabout this.One man, one family driven from the land; this rusty carcreaking along the highway to the west. I lost my land, asingle tractor took my land. I am alone and bewildered.And in the night one family camps in a ditch and anotherfamily pulls in and the tents come out. The two men squaton their hams and the women and children listen. Here is thenode, you who hate change and fear revolution. Keep thesetwo squatting men apart; make them hate, fear, suspect eachother. Here is the anlarge of the thing you fear. This is thezygote. For here "I lost my land" is changed; a cell is splitand from its splitting grows the thing you hate--"We lost ourland." The danger is here, for two men are not as lonely andperplexed as one. And from this first "we" there grows a stillmore dangerous thing: "I have a little food" plus "I havenone." If from this problem the sum is "We have a littlefood," the thing is on its way, the movement has direction.Only a little multiplication now, and this land, this tractor areours. The two men squatting in a ditch, the little fire, the side-meat stewing in a single pot, the silent, stone-eyed women;behind, the children listening with their souls to words theirminds do not understand. The night draws down. The babyhas a cold. Here, take this blanket. It's wool. It was my mother'sblanket--take it for the baby. This is the thing to bomb.This is the beginning--from "I" to "we."If you who own the things people must have could understandthis, you might preserve yourself. If you could separatecauses from results, if you could know Paine, Marx,Jefferson, Lenin, were results, not causes, you might survive.But that you cannot know. For the quality of owning freezesyou forever into "I," and cuts you off forever from the "we."The Western States are nervous under the beginingchange. Need is the stimulus to concept, concept to action.A half-million people moving over the country; a millionmore restive, ready to move; ten million more feeling thefirst nervousness.And tractors turning the multiple furrows in the vacant land.”

“That time we separated was my idea. I thought, well, I'm fifty years old and there might be someone else out there. People waste their happiness - that's what makes me sad. Everyone's so scared to be happy.”

“That's us," I said smiling brightly. "The Udells." That seemed to wake Roger up a little, and he blinked at me, surprised."Finally," the clerk muttered. "All right. Names?" he asked, fingers posed over his keyboard."Oh," I said, "Well. That's... Edmund. And I'm Hillary." Roger glanced over at me, a little more sharply, and I tried to shrug as subtly as possible.”