In the summer of 1979, I served as a “wilderness ranger” in the Shawangunk Mountains of New York. I lived in a little wooden shack without electricity or running water. It stood on the shore of a scruffy body of water called Duck Pond. I cooked meals on a little Coleman stove. Instead of an outhouse, there was a porta-potty provided by an outfit called “Johnny-on-the-Spot.” They are still in business. No surprise, given how much shit happens. The shack, alas, is long gone, but the view from the front door remains.