Every man owes it to himself and to his family to take a vacation each
year.
Vacate means to get out or away from, and if you take your so called
vacation by a trip to another city and spend your time in the whirl of
industry, you are not helping yourself, you are not taking a vacation.
Neither are you resting your mind and body if you go to a swell summer
resort where white duck trousers in the day and full dress in the
evening is the rule.
The real vacation you get is when you take yourself away from the
business marts of trade, and go to a place where you can get your feet
on good old mother earth. Go where fences are unknown, where there are
no "keep off the grass" signs, climb the hills, walk through the
forests, fill your lungs with good ozone, say to yourself "all these
beautiful things are mine."
Nature has arranged it so that the poorest man in the world can get the
most priceless things as easily as the multi-millionaire. The four most
precious things in the world are good air, good food, good water and
good health. Money cannot buy any one of these things. The man with
millions cannot get any better air, or more nourishing food, or purer
water, or better health than can the poor man.
The man who goes to the big woods for his vacation, who lives out of
doors, who gets near to nature, is putting by a reserve in his
constitution and brain that he will draw upon for the remainder of the
year. Such vacations will clear the cobwebs from your brain. It will
give you ability to do greater things, and make you see the beautiful
side of life.
A man should not depend wholly on his two or three weeks in the woods,
however. He should take a little vacation every day. He should arrange
to get some benefit for his brain and body in each twenty-four hours.
He should take a few moments each day and devote it to mental and
physical relaxation. And, above all, he can get a good vacation every
twenty-four hours if he sleeps properly.
Our good friend Grizzly Pete, of Frozen Dog, understands the real
vacation when he says.
Mighty pleasin' sport, you bet, sittin' on a rock;
Beats a store or office an' workin' by a clock.
Clears away the cobwebs from your weary brain;
Gives you inspiration; makes you a man again.
There ain't no medicine I know for the appetite
Like a summer mornin', waitin' fer a bite.
Lazy summer days are here--ain't you kind o' wishin'
That you had your old clothes on, an' was settin here a-fishin'?