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Here I am, in my own hut and my own five acres of wood land in the far North. This rock island is as green as Ireland3 and as cool as England4: right for leather coats, sweaters, leggings etc. now in mid-July. It rests me more than any place in the world, though it's very rough living to be sure. But nothing is so hard to get in the world now as silence, a piece of seashore that is wild and empty of humans, and wild forest. To have them I can do without a bath-tub and eat rough food.
I have two dear little nieces5
visiting me, twins twins, aged 19. They are
from Wyoming6, have never seen the
ocean before—never been east of Omaha7! This place makes them fair dizzy with delight. They
have good manners and good minds and sweet natures. I love having them. You
couldn't live here at all, my dear, and I couldn't live in a house so highly
organized as yours. That is, I couldn't rest
in so civilized a house. To rest I like to lie on the edge of a great cliff
by the sea, with a soft juniper bed under me and a twisted (wind-twisted)
spruce tree over me.