A PHILOSOPHY OF THE WILD

In the creek that feeds the lake I had fixed up an old beaver-house, placed a quantity of feed, and turned him loose. But he did not want to be loose. Every night before the ice came he was at the camp door at dark. He was by no means the first homeless kitten beaver that had fallen into my hands, and his predecessors, who had all survived their delicate infancy, had seemed imbued with the idea that life was a huge joke, and were mischievous to a degree. But he was all alone and seemed to miss his small companion that was gone, and had none of the light-hearted deviltry of his forerunners. He was a sad little creature as he sat forlornly on the floor, and he had none of the fatal beauty that so undermines the talent of some of our screen heroes, yet who knows but that in the wee old-fashioned brain there was not some dim recollection of happy days of romping and tumbling with just such another clumsy ball of fur, in the deep cool grass along the river-bank? And sometimes, as he regarde d me gravely, sitting on my feet the while, my heart went out to the little waif that did not want to be free, and I would pick him up and pass my hand over the rich fur. And he would sigh contentedly and fall immediately asleep, to dream of cool waters and mud, of poplar leaves and pancakes.
Three years ago, on a night in spring, a man went down from his camp fifty yards to the river to get a pail of water, and has never been seen since. A year before this writing, in this district, a deer hunter took an afternoon stroll, and was discovered eleven days later by one of a gang of twenty-five men who scoured the woods for him for twenty miles around. In the first case, the man strayed off the water trail in the dark, and not arriving at the shack, he attempted to correct his mistake, took a short cut, only to arrive back to the river at another point. He again endeavored to strike the camp, but dangling too much to his right, missed it.
It is a fact that apparently insignificant incidents have from time to time in the story of the human race led to sweeping and momentous alterations in the world's history. These changes were beneficial to some, and equally calamitous to others of the various peoples, in some cases laying the foundation of future great ness in nations hitherto of small account, and causing correspondingly the fall of mighty empires, sometimes en compassing the destruction of entire races.
Before the dawn of civilization, tribal races hunted and killed the cave bear, wild horse and reindeer to allay the pangs of hunger and clothe their bodies against the onslaughts of the vengeful elements. As time progressed, people past orally inclined sowed the wild grasses, cultivated the forest fruits and domesticated animals and birds who shared their unlimited domain. Thus, at the threshold of a higher intelligence, the necessity for a livelihood entirely dependent upon wild life ceased to exist. It remained for the civilizations which followed to kill, not always for necessity, but for sport, lust, meat to satisfy a primitive gastronomical craving, and fur in order that, even in mid summer, the female of our species may be suitably adorned.
Modern influences have taken away much of the romance, picturesque appearance and exotic atmosphere from Indian camps, as seen on the reserves and more easily accessible areas of the wilderness. The exploitation and subsequent degeneration of some bands has sapped their racial pride, so that destitute and hopeless they no longer have the ambition to keep up the old traditions and methods, so that the home life is slipshod and wretched, and national integrity is falling into decay. Attempts at living in a poor imitation of the white man's way without the means and training have not resulted in gaining for the Indian a reputation for cleanliness. Only those of them having a long experience and good opportunities have succeeded in conforming themselves to the limitations of a wooden house, as the ill-kept, not always clean establishments of the more or less mendicant Indians near the railroad plainly indicate. Yet in the cramped quarters of a tent or a teepee they are able to conduct their household affairs with cleanliness and system, where a whole family used to living in a house would speedily become involved in hope less confusion. Many of the shack-living type of Indians have lost the art of camping as an all-year-round method of living, and the traveler has to journey far beyond the regular line of bush travel to find a band of Indians living a in a primitive but highly efficient manner that has been evolved by centuries of adaptation and elimination.
To those of the Americas animals are not inferior, merely different, each with its peculiar and remarkably adequate gifts. To those of them who have not become callous through long association with commercial interests, the killing of an animal is a personal matter, not to be done without due reason, they being co-dwellers in the same environment, and the Indian having a kindred feeling for them. With regard to some species he must make some atonement, and should he destroy a creature the name of which he bears or that is the patron beast of his clan, the act has, to him, all the aspect of a murder. These beliefs are unfortunately dying out amongst the modern type of Indian, and are adhered to mainly on account of fear of possible consequences.

Grey Owl lived in Canada and wrote several books on Naturalism and Native American philosophy, even meeting the King of England. He was later exposed as being a British citizen of aristocratic blood, Archibald Taken. This article from Forest and Outdoors, published January 1931.