Saturday, July 4, 2026

The No-Blight Development Standard:A Companion Article To The Luke, Maryland Verso Equilibrium Plan, The Water Equilibrium City, And The Data Center Heat-Cascade Building

The No-Blight Development Standard:

A Companion Article To The Luke, Maryland Verso Equilibrium Plan, The Water Equilibrium City, And The Data Center Heat-Cascade Building

DOI: To Be Assigned

John Swygert

July 4, 2026

TSTOEAO Applied Civic Systems

Development Must Pay For Its Own Future

Every major development arrives with promises.

Jobs.

Tax base.

Investment.

Progress.

Reuse.

Growth.

A better future.

That is the beginning of the story.

But communities do not only live with beginnings.

They live with what happens ten years later.

Twenty years later.

Thirty years later.

Fifty years later.

Eighty years later.

They live with empty buildings, broken pavement, utility burdens, rate increases, abandoned lots, failing roofs, dead shopping centers, closed factories, silent mills, useless industrial shells, contaminated land, and the public costs left behind after private profit leaves.

The old development model is incomplete because it asks what a project will create when it arrives, but not what it will cost when it ages, fails, closes, changes tenants, or leaves.

That is no longer acceptable.

No major development should be approved unless it funds its own full lifecycle.

Not just construction.

Not just operation.

Not just jobs.

Not just tax projections.

The whole lifecycle.

Arrival.

Infrastructure.

Operation.

Tenant turnover.

Decline.

Closure.

Demolition.

Cleanup.

Reclamation.

Land restoration.

If a project cannot afford its own future removal, it cannot claim to be economically viable.

The Central Point

The whole point of the Luke, Maryland Verso Equilibrium Plan, the Water Equilibrium City, and the Data Center Heat-Cascade Building is not simply to imagine a better use for an old industrial site.

The point is that development must not be allowed to transfer its costs onto the public.

That is the central issue.

Not a side issue.

Not a bargaining point.

Not a community-benefit extra.

The public should not be forced to pay later for infrastructure burdens that should have been planned and funded before approval.

The public should not inherit private abandonment.

The public should not clean up private profit after the profit cycle ends.

A developer should not receive zoning, permitting, road access, grid connection, water access, wastewater access, tax treatment, civic permission, and public cooperation while leaving the community exposed to future burden.

The rule should be simple:

You want the site, the zoning, the grid connection, the water access, the road access, the tax environment, and the civic permission?

Then you pay to protect the boundary you are entering.

Preloaded Equilibrium, Not Reactive Burden

AI infrastructure should not be permitted under a reactive-burden model. It should be permitted only under a preloaded-equilibrium model, in which the developer identifies, funds, and maintains the infrastructure required to prevent power, water, wastewater, heat, road, tax, emergency-service, and civic costs from being transferred onto the host community.

That principle applies to data centers.

It applies to AI campuses.

It applies to industrial redevelopment.

It applies to warehouses.

It applies to malls.

It applies to shopping centers.

It applies to housing developments.

It applies to logistics hubs.

It applies to energy projects.

It applies to former industrial sites.

It applies to new construction.

It applies in cities.

It applies in suburbs.

It applies in rural counties.

Development should not be approved under the assumption that the community can “figure out the burden later.”

That is how blight happens.

That is how utility rates rise.

That is how public services get strained.

That is how infrastructure ages without funding.

That is how old buildings become civic wounds.

That is how private projects become public invoices.

We should not wait for the burden.

We should preload the correction.

Development Is Boundary Entry

Every development enters a boundary.

A water boundary.

A sewer boundary.

A road boundary.

A grid boundary.

A tax boundary.

A labor boundary.

A public-safety boundary.

A housing boundary.

A stormwater boundary.

A civic boundary.

A development is not just a building on land.

It is a pressure entering a living system.

It changes flows.

It changes costs.

It changes risks.

It changes public obligations.

It changes what local government must maintain.

It changes what residents may eventually pay.

Through TSTOEAO, this is simple.

Development is boundary entry.

Approval is boundary permission.

Infrastructure is boundary protection.

Blight is boundary failure.

If a development enters a community without protecting the boundary it enters, the project is not balanced. It is extracting.

The Demolition And Reclamation Fund

Every major development should be required to establish a demolition and reclamation fund.

This fund should exist for one purpose only:

future demolition, cleanup, reclamation, environmental mitigation, land restoration, and public protection.

It should not be available for ordinary business operations.

It should not be available for bonuses.

It should not be available for shareholder distributions.

It should not be available for refinancing games.

It should not disappear in bankruptcy.

It should not be optional.

The money should be legally protected.

It may be held in a trust, escrow, reclamation reserve, surety-backed account, insurance-backed structure, public-private fund, or other legally secure instrument.

The form can vary.

The requirement should not.

A community should never be forced to choose between living with abandoned blight or taxing itself to clean up a private project after the profit is gone.

The Fund Should Begin Before The Burden

The demolition and reclamation fund could be created in several ways.

One option is an up-front deposit before construction.

That is the cleanest form.

The developer puts the money in place before the project begins.

Another option is a required annual contribution.

That allows the reserve to grow during the life of the project.

A third option is a percentage-based formula.

The tenant or operator could contribute a predetermined percentage of gross sales, net sales, lease value, energy load, water load, square footage, or another measurable operating factor.

A fourth option is a hybrid model.

A base deposit before approval.

Annual contributions during operation.

Revenue-based increases when the project earns more.

Periodic review.

Inflation adjustment.

Risk adjustment.

Required replenishment if the expected demolition or reclamation cost rises.

The exact formula should be established before approval.

Not afterward.

Not when the project fails.

Not when the tenant leaves.

Not when the roof collapses.

Not when the community is already stuck.

Before approval.

The Money Should Grow While The Project Operates

If a development operates for thirty, fifty, or eighty years, the fund should not sit still while cleanup costs rise.

The reserve may be invested under strict fiduciary rules in conservative, legally approved instruments.

Blue-chip stocks.

Index funds.

Treasury instruments.

Bonds.

Insured accounts.

Other carefully governed vehicles.

The point is not gambling.

The point is preservation and responsible growth.

A long-lived project should have a long-funded exit plan.

If the project makes money for decades, the fund should grow for decades.

The community should not discover, fifty years later, that the original cleanup estimate is useless and the fund is too small.

No More Single-Anchor Collapse

The old industrial model often relied on one giant anchor.

One mill.

One plant.

One mine.

One factory.

One utility customer.

One employer.

One identity.

One tax base.

One collapse.

When that anchor left, the community did not merely lose a business.

It lost jobs, utility support, tax base, service stability, public confidence, and civic identity all at once.

That is not resilience.

That is single-point-of-failure economics.

Modern redevelopment should not repeat that mistake.

The better model is multi-use, modular, replaceable, and resilient.

Different tenants.

Different uses.

Different building types.

Different utility loops.

Different economic functions.

Different stages of life.

If one tenant leaves, the whole site should not die.

If one building empties, another use should be able to enter.

If one industry changes, the land should remain useful.

If one company fails, the community should not collapse with it.

The purpose of multi-use redevelopment is not simply variety.

The purpose is civic survival.

Smaller variables can change without destroying the whole system.

This Is Not Anti-Development

This standard is not anti-development.

It is anti-abandonment.

It is not anti-business.

It is anti-cost-transfer.

It is not anti-growth.

It is anti-blight.

Real development strengthens the community boundary it enters.

False development extracts from that boundary and leaves damage behind.

A project that cannot afford its own lifecycle is not truly profitable.

It is only profitable because some of its costs have been delayed, hidden, externalized, or transferred to the public.

That is not value.

That is accounting camouflage.

Public Permission Requires Public Protection

Development often depends on public permission.

Zoning.

Permits.

Road access.

Water access.

Sewer access.

Grid connection.

Tax treatment.

Public services.

Emergency response.

Land-use changes.

Infrastructure commitments.

Environmental review.

Sometimes even grants, incentives, bonds, or public financing.

If a project receives public permission, it must accept public obligation.

No public support without public protection.

No public risk without private lifecycle funding.

No private extraction without future reclamation.

That should be the rule.

Why This Should Become Federal Law

Local governments are often outmatched.

A small town may not have the legal staff, engineering resources, financial analysts, or political leverage to negotiate properly with a large corporation.

A poor county may accept weak terms because it is desperate for jobs.

A state may weaken standards to compete with another state.

A developer may play one community against another.

That is why a national No-Blight Development Standard should be considered.

Federal law could set a minimum baseline.

Any major development above a certain size, cost, acreage, utility load, public subsidy, infrastructure demand, or environmental impact would be required to establish a legally protected demolition and reclamation fund.

States and local governments could go further.

They could not go lower.

This would create a level playing field.

It would also protect communities from being pressured into bad deals simply because they need investment.

A uniform standard would tell every developer the same thing:

If you build it, you fund its future.

AI And Data Centers Make The Issue Urgent

AI infrastructure makes this issue urgent because data centers can bring large power, cooling, water, road, grid, tax, emergency-service, and land-use questions into a community very quickly.

These projects may be useful.

They may bring investment.

They may support compute.

They may create tax base.

They may anchor redevelopment.

They may allow heat reuse.

They may support water reuse.

They may help rebuild post-industrial sites.

But only if they are designed correctly.

The wrong model says:

Approve the project, collect the promises, and deal with the consequences later.

The right model says:

No approval until the project proves how it will protect the host community.

For AI and data-center projects, that means the developer must address:

power demand,

grid upgrades,

backup generation,

water demand,

wastewater impact,

cooling systems,

heat reuse,

stormwater,

road burden,

emergency services,

tax-base effects,

decommissioning,

tenant turnover,

and land reclamation.

The project should not be judged only by compute capacity.

It should be judged by civic equilibrium.

The Same Standard Applies Everywhere

This is not only about data centers.

A dead mall can become blight.

A failed shopping center can become blight.

An abandoned big-box store can become blight.

A half-finished housing project can become blight.

A vacant warehouse can become blight.

A closed factory can become blight.

A failed office complex can become blight.

A rural industrial site can become blight.

A suburban commercial strip can become blight.

A city block can become blight.

The form changes.

The failure is the same.

Someone built.

Someone profited.

Someone left.

The public inherited the cost.

The No-Blight Development Standard says:

No more.

The Questions Every Project Must Answer

Before approval, every major project should answer the following questions:

What infrastructure burden will this project create?

Who pays for that burden?

What happens if the primary tenant leaves?

What happens if the business model fails?

What happens if the building becomes obsolete?

What happens if the land must be restored?

What happens if demolition is required?

What happens if cleanup is required?

What happens if public services must respond more often?

What happens if utility costs increase?

What happens if the project no longer produces the promised tax base?

Where is the protected fund?

Who controls it?

How is it audited?

How does it grow?

What triggers its use?

What prevents it from disappearing?

If the project cannot answer those questions, it is not ready for approval.

The TSTOEAO Structure

Through TSTOEAO, the structure is direct.

E is development capacity.

Money.

Land.

Buildings.

Tenants.

Utility load.

Jobs.

Commerce.

Compute.

Housing.

Projected tax base.

Y is boundary regulation.

Zoning.

Permitting.

Infrastructure requirements.

Lifecycle funding.

Reclamation reserves.

Monitoring.

Auditing.

Public reporting.

Legal enforcement.

V is realized civic value.

Useful development.

Stable tax base.

Protected infrastructure.

Reusable land.

Tenant resilience.

Reduced blight.

Public trust.

Long-term equilibrium.

When E rises without Y, development becomes extraction.

When Y is too weak, cost relocates.

When V is measured only as private profit or short-term construction activity, the public loses sight of real value.

The No-Blight Development Standard strengthens Y so that E can become real V.

The Moral Standard

The moral standard is simple.

Development should leave value, not wreckage.

A company should not be able to take the life of a place for its profitable years and leave the death of the place to the public.

A community should not have to pay twice:

once to support the development while it operates,

and again to clean up after it fails.

A project should not be approved if its ending has not been planned.

A project should not be celebrated if its abandonment has not been funded.

A project should not be called progress if it creates tomorrow’s ruin.

We do not need urban blight.

We do not need suburban blight.

We do not need rural blight.

Conclusion

The old development model is not good enough.

It rewards arrival and ignores departure.

It counts jobs and ignores abandonment.

It celebrates construction and ignores demolition.

It projects tax base and ignores future public burden.

It allows private profit to end before public cost begins.

That is not equilibrium.

The No-Blight Development Standard proposes a better rule.

No major development should be approved unless it funds its own full lifecycle.

The developer must protect the boundary it enters.

The tenant must contribute to the burden it creates.

The public must not inherit private abandonment.

The land must not become the forgotten invoice.

The core principle is plain:

If a project cannot afford its own future removal, it cannot claim to be economically viable.

Development should not leave wreckage.

Development should leave value.

References

Swygert, John. The Luke, Maryland Verso Equilibrium Plan.

Swygert, John. The Data Center Heat-Cascade Building: A Companion Paper To The Luke, Maryland Verso Equilibrium Plan.

Swygert, John. The Water Equilibrium City: Local Water Treatment, Storage, Reuse, Flood Resilience, And Civic Life In The Rebuilding Of Post-Industrial America.

Swygert, John. Platform Equilibrium And The TSTOEAO Lens: A Secretary Suite Proposal For Search, Social Media, AI Systems, Recommendation Engines, And Online Civic Trust.

Swygert, John. The Symmetric Metatheory Booklet: A TSTOEAO Booklet On Unified Scientific Grammar, Foundational Physics, And LLM-Native Structural Reasoning.

Swygert, John. The Core Evolution Of The Scaling Formula: V = E × Y.


Sunday, June 28, 2026

My Theory Siri ~ Poetry / Lyrics ~ Stereo Types Stereotypes / Mobius∆Tripz

I was talking to the drummer
About the shape of history
I said, man, I had this thought
Way back in 1983

He said, here he goes again
With the cosmic commentary
I said, no, just listen up
I’m talking ’bout my theory

Then his phone lit up blue
Like it wanted to get near me
Said, how can I help you?
I said, no, I said my theory

My theory
Siri
Serious
Larry

My theory
Siri
Serious
Larry

No theory?
No, theory
Siri
Serious Larry

The drummer said, hold up, man
Why’d my phone just call you Larry?
I said, I don’t know, my friend
But this is getting kind of scary

He said, you got something going on
With my phone when I’m not around?
I said, brother, I swear to God
I just made a theory sound

She said, calling Larry now
I yelled, cancel, cancel, cancel
The drummer backed away from me
Like I’d started dating Apple

My theory
Siri
Serious
Larry

My theory
Siri
Serious
Larry

No theory?
No, theory
Siri
Serious Larry

I said, my theory
She said, I’m Siri
I said, no, theory
She said, this is serious

I said, not serious
She said, okay, Larry
The drummer said, how does my phone
Know your term of endearment?

I said, brother, I don’t even know
My own passwords
He said, don’t play dumb with me
That phone knows all your hazards

Now every time I open up
My mouth to say a thought
Somebody’s phone starts glowing
Like the robots have been taught

I can’t discuss the universe
I can’t explain the sky
Without a tiny pocket cop
Saying, Larry, don’t you lie

I said, it’s just a concept
She said, contact saved
The drummer said, you better run
Before my phone gets brave

My theory
Siri
Serious
Larry

My theory
Siri
Serious
Larry

No theory?
No, theory
Siri
Serious Larry

No, no, no
That ain’t my name

My theory
Siri
Serious
Larry

The drummer’s phone
Has got no shame

Saturday, June 27, 2026

John Burroughs ~ Homecoming: A Personal Experience By R.J.H. DeLoach ~ My Great GrandFather



Homecoming: A Personal Experience


By R.J.H. DeLoach


The station was crowded, as usual, and crisply cold with a stiff wind whipping in viciously off Lake
Michigan a few blocks away.

It was the forenoon of March 28, 1921, but spring had not yet arrived in Chicago.

The Santa Fe Limited had just pulled in from the West Coast, adding to the general confusion of the
station, the special clamor and tumult that always accompany such an arrival.

Passengers poured down the steps, joining the stream of people on the platforms—some into the arms of waiting loved ones glad to be home, some casually losing themselves in the crowds,and others hurrying away eagerly to their business appointments.

Ladened porters and Redcaps heaved baggage to and from the loading carts, unmindful of the settling coal dust, the jets of steam from beneath the cars, and the teeming people.

But there was a special bustle about one of the Pullman cars down the line, something unusual was
taking place, and the usual crowd of curious onlookers had gathered.

A man, an invalid, apparently, was being removed on a stretcher from the train.

A section had been taken from a window, and porters were carefully easing the [stretcher out]—some working from inside and some outside below.

A man, obviously a doctor, stood outside directing.

Beside him with anxious face stood a uniformed nurse.


In a moment or two, as stretcher-bearers moved into the station waiting room with the gaunt-faced [patient], word passed through the crowd.

The sick man was John Burroughs!

And in the curious, heterogeneous throng was a singular response of recognition of the country’s famous nature lover, nature writer, and nature philosopher.

Yes, John Burroughs, aged and ill, was going home, hopefully looking forward to his 84th birthday and to spring and summer in his beloved Catskills mountains of Upper New York state.

But it was a dark, cold day in Chicago, where he had to change trains.

About two hours before his arrival at the station, I had received a letter from Dr. Clara Barrus, his
secretary and personal physician, and later his literary executor, informing me that he had become suddenly ill aboard the train.

She asked that I make the arrangements to have him removed by stretcher for the changeover.

Her wire had told me that he was “helpless,” but it did not prepare [me] for the shock of my last meeting with my old friend.

Thin, gaunt, sallow, barely able to move on the pallet we had provided for him, he seemed already almost lifeless.

Worst of all, he was unable to speak to us, but his penetrating blue eyes, not yet dulled by his suffering, told us that he recognized us. His only other communication with us was his intermittent weeping.

It was a poignant experience for those of us who knew him well.

How out of character lying there helpless on a pallet in the old railway station was the great “Sage of Slabsides.”

How far away and alien from his native Empire State mountains and the Georgia upland fields we had roamed together.

Although he evidenced extreme discomfort, he lay patiently and uncomplainingly, with thin, blue veined hands folded across the blanket, and waited for his train.

“Serene I fold my hands and wait . . . ”

The words came to me unconsciously as I looked down at him.

The line from his poem, “Waiting,” made an even deeper impression on me than it had twenty-four
years earlier when I had first read the piece.


WAITING 
by: John Burroughs (1837-1921)
    ERENE, I fold my hands and wait,
    Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;
    I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
    For, lo! my own shall come to me.
     
    I stay my haste, I make delays,
    For what avails this eager pace?
    I stand amid the eternal ways,
    And what is mine shall know my face.
     
    Asleep, awake, by night or day,
    The friends I seek are seeking me;
    No wind can drive my bark astray,
    Nor change the tide of destiny.
     
    What matter if I stand alone?
    I wait with joy the coming years;
    My heart shall reap where it hath sown,
    And garner up its fruit of tears.
     
    The waters know their own and draw
    The brook that springs in yonder height;
    So flows the good with equal law
    Unto the soul of pure delight.
     
    The stars come nightly to the sky;
    The tidal wave unto the sea;
    Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
    Can keep my own away from me.

    http://www.poetry-archive.com/b/waiting.html


It had occasioned our first correspondence.

I had written him to ask if he would tell me what had stimulated him to write the poem.


“I was young, and in doubt about my future,” he answered in a letter, “but underneath it all, I felt that what was mine would come to me.”

That was in 1903.

He had written the poem much earlier, before the death in 1892 of Walt Whitman, the great American poet, his friend, who had encouraged and inspired him.

Among other things, he was always one to cherish the memories of his youth, and it was perhaps in true sorrow that he learned, as all of us do at one time or another, that he could not return.

I thought of these things as I looked down at him in the station.

He was a great and famous man, and yet the things I remembered and cherished most about him were little things.

What Elbert Hubbard, a long-time friend, and one of the most distinguished Americans of his time,
said about John Burroughs, I think, is probably the most complete statement that could be made.

Following a series of visits with the naturalist, Hubbard published a small book, Old John Burroughs.

“John Burroughs is the most universal man I can name at the present moment,” Hubbard wrote.

“He is a piece of elemental nature.

He has no hate, no whim, no prejudice.

He has no airs, and he believes in the rich, the poor, the learned, and the ignorant.







He believes in the wrongdoer, the fallen, the sick, the weak, and the defenseless. He loves children, animals, birds, insects, trees, and flowers.

You would confess to this man—reveal your soul and tell the worst, and his only answer would be, ‘I know! I know!’ and tears of sympathy and love would dim those heaven-blue eyes.”

My correspondence with him about his poem began an association which lasted fifteen years. He was impressed with my interest in his work.

His first nature book, Wake Robin, which I discovered when I was very young, opened up to me the wonderful and satisfying world of nature. It made a bird-lover out of me and it has served as my bird-guide [ever] since.

Also it helped to introduce me to its author.

Although a young man then, he says in a personal autograph [that] he “lived over again the days spent with the birds amid the scenes of youth.”

Subsequent to our correspondence, he invited me to visit him at West Park, New York, and it was in December of 1906 that I met him.

“Well, you did come, didn't you,” he said as he welcomed me.

Some years before, he had built a stone mansion, a bark covered study, and an outdoor summer house at West Park, about seventy-five miles south of Roxbury, N.Y., his birthplace.

During this visit, he showed me about the place and introduced me to his hideaway, a study in the woods, over a steep hill to the west.

The rustic cabin he had named “ Slabsides ”, and it was there that he did much of his writing and where many famous people visited him year after year.

President Theodore Roosevelt called on him there and was treated to Mr. Burroughs’ famous brig and steaks, a process we would label shish kebab today.

Despite the old December weather, the ice and a little snow, we walked over the estate and grew acquainted in the woods.

I was happy to be accepted as a sort of protégé of such a man.

He did me many services, most of which he never dreamed of, and now I could only spread a pallet for him in an old railway station and he could acknowledge my efforts only by tears.


Early in the afternoon we placed him aboard the New York Central—the same precarious operation
of sliding the stretcher through the window of the Pullman car.

At 1:45 the train departed, and I had seen my old friend the last time alive.

He was going home.

He was perhaps looking for a comfortable place to die, as he had said once about a starving robin we found in a warm corner next to the chimney of my home in Georgia.

Spring was late in Athens that year.

The day had been windy and the warm sun had not been able to dispel the chill.

The bird had huddled in a corner next to the chimney, had found a cozy spot, and appeared to be half asleep.

I told [Burroughs] that [the bird] was drunk from China berries, but he said, “No, no, the bird is
perishing to death and seeking a comfortable place to die.”

To prove his point, he suggested that we dig some worms and feed him.

We found the worms easily, and went into the warmth of my library to do the feeding.

I held the bird while Burroughs fed him.

The robin swallowed the worm hungrily and begged for more.

He came to life immediately and elected to stay with us for the several days of Mr. Burroughs’ visit,
often lighting on his shoulder as he read in the library or study of my house.

As he turned it loose, Burroughs said he hoped to see it on his estate in New York that summer.

His friendliness with the birds, of course, is a thing well-fabled, but his innate understanding of
them and his human feeling for them never failed to impress me.

On my first visit to “Woodchuck Lodge,” his home at his birthplace a mile out into the hills and fields from Roxbury, he was involved in the writing of some of his philosophical papers, later recorded in his book, Ways of Nature, and had set up a workshop in an old hay barn.

Within three feet of his impromptu desk, an old dry goods box, a slate colored Junco had built a nest and was raising its young, oblivious to [Burroughs’] comings and goings or somehow understanding that this man, too, was involved in nature’s miraculous cycle.


He loved the fields and hills of Georgia and I always felt that our association, at least, gave me the
opportunity of offering an introduction to this state to [Burroughs].

Although he had passed through Georgia many times on visits to friends in Florida, he had never stopped over, until his first visit with me.

It was in 1908.

At that time, I was a botanist and plant pathologist at the Georgia Experiment Station, in the flat lands
of middle Georgia.

He was greatly impressed with our work, especially the experiments I was involved in at the time in my laboratory, and he made my lab his vacation resort—except for the time he spent roaming the nearby fields.

He was delighted with the climate, and often remarked, on his numerous visits in the early spring,
of the contrast to his native ice-covered New York state.

It was on his first visit that I encountered my most embarrassing moment with him.

As I look back now, I know that I was trying to impress him by what I said, and my face turn[s] red.

We were walking the short distance from the railway station to my home, and hearing a bird singing away in the twilight, I asked, “Do you hear that mockingbird?”

“That is not a mockingbird,” he said with his typical objectivity, “but a Brown Thrasher, a much superior singer than the mockingbird.”

I never hear a mockingbird, or a Brown Thrasher today that I do not think of that late afternoon fifty-odd
years ago.

He went on to explain to me a thing that I was later able to discern with my own ear.

The Brown Thrasher, although perhaps a trifle more nervous, and certainly a “busier” bird, is more accomplished and has a better repertoire than the mockingbird.

[Burroughs’] visits to us were always a pleasure—at the Experiment Station, and later at Athens,
where I was a member of the University faculty.

His wife accompanied him on the visits, and it was a pleasure for my wife and me to entertain them.

He loved the south, as he loved all nature, and all things, but there was one southern tradition that he could not get used to—the feather bed.

My wife and I, as most of our neighbors, were proud of the deep feather-filled ticks with which we supplemented the comfort of the mattresses on our beds. It was a thing we were used to, but not so the Burroughs.

When I entered their room to awaken them, on the occasion of their first visit with us, I was shocked to see the feather tick pushed aside to the floor and my guests blissfully asleep on the single mattress.


Often he would be on the way to Florida to meet his friends, Thomas A. Edison, Henry Ford, Harvey Firestone, or others.

It was in connection with one of his Florida vacations that I received an unexpected and pleasant surprise.

In March 1914, he and his wife had spent a few days with us in Georgia on their way to meet Henry Ford in Fort Myers, Florida.

A few days later, I received a highly complimentary letter from Mr. Ford, whom I had met only once previously, directing me to a nearby auto agency where I was to be presented with a brand new Model T Ford with his compliments.

I was sure that my good friend Burroughs had had a hand in this.

He was a man who always looked back to youth, not with the unhealthy nostalgia that is common with many of us, but with the wholesome appreciation of having lived days to the very fullest.

His age never dulled his enthusiasm for the outdoors, the open spaces, and the opportunity to participate in nature.

In 1916, in his late seventies, we were on a camping trip with Ford, Firestone, and Edison through the Adirondacks.


ADD MY LETTER FROM HOME HERE: (John S. Swygert , 03-04-2013)

This is my letter from home and I will update it as soon as I can get a better more legible picture.

It is addressed to Friend Burroughs on August 16, 1916, and is written by Thomas Alva Edison.

In the letter, Thomas edison invites my Great GrandFather, R.J.H. DeLoach, to join them all on the camping trip mentioned right here in this same text. 

I will also type the entire text of the letter as well, when I visit next.

It does say they will be traveling by motor car outfitted with lights!



Much younger than my distinguished fellows, I was almost exhausted by the trip, but Mr. Burroughs was with them unfailingly through camping escapades through Albany, Ausable, across Lake Champlain, and on into Burlington, Vermont.

His distaste for the aroma surrounding his cigar-smoking colleagues encouraged him to withdraw aside into the woods after campfire dinner in the evenings [which] occasioned the nickname of “Tenderfoot Burroughs”
from his lifelong friend, Thomas A. Edison.

But the fellowship, the fireside jokes, and the observations of the different sections of the country we visited were always interesting to him.

In the late autumn of 1916, I moved to Chicago to direct an education bureau for the Armour Corporation.

It was here that [Burroughs] visited me regularly on stopovers from train trips to the west coast in the
latter years of his life.

The newspapers always gave considerable publicity to his visits.

On occasion, special groups would call by my house to see the great naturalist.

Once a pretty 15-year-old girl from a group of visiting teachers and students presented him with a

bouquet of red roses.

“I’m glad someone loves me,” he said to the audience on my lawn.

Then the crowd shouted, “We all do, we all love you!”

He was visibly moved by this demonstration.

Most people who knew him felt that way.

It was hard not to love John Burroughs—simple, plain, unpretentious, gentle, kind to all of God’s living things.

I remembered him and those things as I left the railway station in Chicago that day, somehow knowing that he was truly going home, that what was his had come to him, and that I wouldn’t see him in life again.

Three days later, I got the telegram from Clara Barrus.

He had died a few hours after leaving Chicago, on the fast-moving train in the eastern edge of Ohio, at 3 A.M. on March 29, [1921]. Somehow, in the miracle of death, he had managed to speak and his last words were, characteristically,

“How far are we from home?”

The telegram also asked me to act as pall bearer, among such others as Hamlin Garland, Harvey Firestone,
and Henry Ford.

Funeral services in West Park were simple, although many distinguished persons were present.

[There were a] few words by the Episcopal minister [and] two of his favorite selections from
Brahms.

The funeral procession went from West Park the seventy-five miles upstate to Roxbury, his birthplace.

He was buried, out in the open, at the foot of his beloved mountain, “Old Clump,” beside his boyhood thinking rock, where he often suggested that he be laid to rest.

His special friends were asked to read a short, appropriate poem relating in some way to the man.

I read a few lines from May Morgan, a friend of Burroughs, who in anticipation of his death, had written:

". . . That year unheralded the spring
Will weeping come,
With halting footsteps wondering
Why thou art dumb.
I think the very streams will know
That thou art gone,
And full of heavy sorrow, flow
More slowly on . . ."

John Burroughs had at last come home.


Credits: 

My Great GrandFather, R.J.H. Deloach  , Robert John Henderson DeLoach

and


Carol Haines Wellington, the great-granddaughter of Robert John Henderson DeLoach (1873-1964), provided this text, which she typed up from the original typed document in her family’s possession. 

R.J.H. DeLoach wrote “Homecoming” as a remembrance of his longtime friend John Burroughs. 

They had first met in 1906, after DeLoach wrote to Burroughs about the poem Waiting, and Burroughs invited him to West Park.

They had many visits together after that, some of which are recalled here. Their last encounter was on March 
28, 1921, when DeLoach lived in Chicago and Burroughs was traveling home from the West. 

Burroughs had become suddenly ill aboard the train, and Clara Barrus asked DeLoach to make the arrangements to have Burroughs removed by stretcher for the changeover to the train going to the East Coast. 

Burroughs died just hours later, on March 29. 

The text mentions a memory with Burroughs some “fifty-odd years ago,” so this was probably written in the 1950s.


Wake-Robin Volume 41, Number 1, Summer 2008

http://research.amnh.org/burroughs/wakerobin_pdfs/WR-41-1_summer_08_-6.pdf