I decided to become a rustic squire when I was 32 and stupid as only 32 can be. Youth's frantic idiocy doesn't have the means. Simple-minded old age lacks the energy. In midlife, we're as dumb as we get. So I bought land in New Hampshire—first a little, then more and finally too much.

This was not back-to-the-land land. I wasn't trying to get in touch with Mother Nature or even leave a message on her answering machine. I wasn't pursuing the era's whole grain and handicraft...