December 5, 1930

This morning the air is soft and warm as milk, the kind of day one would like to spend most of just roaming around, perhaps fishing through the ice or strolling through the woods. Quite misty and it looks as though it might either snow or rain but think it will do either.

This morning my outlook on life is different. With the writing I did yesterday came peace and then the visit of Wally and Pete [Wally Hansen and M.W. Peterson, his Border Lakes Outfitting Co. partners] last night helped cheer me up by straightening out some of the wrinkles in regard to the business. Queer how a little bit of writing about nothing in particular will help put me on my feet. It seems that no sooner do I start putting words down on paper than I feel as though I were accomplishing something worth while. Silly idea I admit because oftentimes the thoughts I put down are mere drivel. It goes to show though that happiness to me is bound up in putting down my thoughts on paper. A little of that every day and I think I would be reasonably happy. This one truth has been driven home so many times that I should know the significance of it fairly well by now. Even the little bit of writing I have done this morning has helped. I think it might be the way Robt. L. Stevenson felt when he was practicing. Practice was to him always a pleasure because he felt that he was striving toward an ideal of perfection. Days when I have done nothing are days wasted but days when I have written much whether the bulk of it be nonsense or not, there is the subconscious realization that there must have been some improvement.

I am going to try and write some every morning before my classes start. I cannot think of a better way to start the day than limbering up my ideas.

Had a delightful hike with E. [Elizabeth] last night. We walked over to the air port then down the shore of Long Lake to the Pioneer Mine then back to town by the mine road. It was warm and snowing slightly and the footing underneath was good. It is always so satisfying to walk with E. so completely does she fill up the void of my interests. She told me the story of the old Arveson couple near her home and their tragic ending, how filthy and swinish they became as they grew more feeble and at last the death of the old man and the bringing of a clawing struggling old widow to the poor house. A tragic story to write too sad for literature and truth.

As we went by the pioneer mine all lit up with incandescent lights I had the impression of a futuristic painting, long angular shadows, queer and weird lighting effects, triangles, squares, semi circles and from the mound of bulk and light came fumes and hissing as though there were a huge monster of steel crouching over its prey the earth and burrowing into its vitals. A whistle blew and from the dark interiors came small ant like figures, men hurrying to their homes and suppers. Into waiting cars they plunged, cars that immediately breathed fumes and light and tore madly down the road toward the town.

Well must close and get ready for my classes. This twenty minutes is certainly worth while and if I have any will power I should carry it through every morning in the week.