My wife Ramona and I just returned from a mini-vacation on a ranch in the foothills of the Beartooth Range. It reminded us of the remarkably hard work accomplished by the homesteaders, of their poverty, and today's easy living.

Consider our history and try to imagine how pleased and excited we were when several of our friends gave us a very special anniversary gift-two nights lodging at The Torgrimson Place on Bench Ranch near Fishtail, Montana. It's an old log house featuring wood heat.

For many years Ramona and I lived on our own ranch in a small log house heated with wood. This may sound romantic but burning wood is messy and polluting. And it only works when someone is there to fire the stoves.

We found good excuses to defer using the gift for several months. Finally, during Ramona's spring break from MSU we exercised our option. We were amazed to have wonderful experience. The log house was crafted of hand-hewn logs dovetailed at the corners. The interior was modernized and beautifully appointed.

We didn't have to feed stock, plow snow, or burn wood. We merely rested, read, and adjusted the thermostat. It was a wonderful vacation.

It was also a history lesson, for the Torgrimson Place was homesteaded a century ago. Its barn, root cellar, and several outbuildings were just out the door. Horse drawn machinery, not abandoned junk but interesting artifacts, punctuated the yard. All testified to hard work and to the modest output of agricultural labor in that era.

I was reminded of my grandfather's place. Aside from the Amish, my grandfather was among the last who farmed with horses. His favorite team was Mabel and Bell. I'm writing this sitting under a photograph of my grandfather posing with those huge creatures.

Although he had cars and a truck, he favored horses. "They stop when you say 'Whoa!', they know gee and haw, and they don't pack the soil". Finally, in his mid-seventies, he hired a neighbor with a tractor to do the spring plowing. Otherwise, he stayed with horses until he died. Although the farm stayed in the family, my grandfather Baden's two college educated sons found other occupations. For them, and now for Ramona and me, agriculture was a culturally important but financially minor addition to (or today, monetary subtraction from) our livelihoods. While at the Torgrimson Place, I better understood why my dad and uncle left the farm. This knowledge added to the value of being there.

I could easily relate to our vacation setting. My grandfather was born in 1876 and his generation homesteaded the Torgrimson Place. In 1900 farm and ranch work meant applying muscular force against the resistance of soil, grain, and fodder. Although he had a windmill, a natural gas well, and electricity for his grain elevator and feed grinder, muscle power was supremely important. Although successful in his day, in modern terms his productivity was miniscule.

Farming then required many people working the land and, by today's standards, living in serious poverty. The synonyms for work were travail, drudgery, and grind. For miles around the Torgrimson homestead we saw evidence of a time when labor was cheap. The most compelling data is mile after mile of abandoned side hill irrigation ditches with fallen flumes which originally crossed draws.

These modest structures were painfully and laboriously constructed in the early 1900s. The people who built them invested time and labor in moving water to flood irrigate arid pastures and hay meadows to make them more productive. Given their limited opportunities, building ditches was the best use of their time and energy.

These ditches required huge investments in labor. Their abandonment is definitive testimony to the decreasing value of agricultural products and the great increase in the value of people's time. Aside from labor and cheap canvas dams, flood irrigation is nearly free. Yet, even with the structures in place, many miles of ditches have been abandoned.

This story contains important lessons for the preservation of open space. Here is the most compelling. However high the investments in agricultural practices and structures, if their expected benefits are less than costs, eventually they will cease.

The scenery, culture, artifacts, and habitat which make the West so attractive, require the open spaces of farms and ranches. As we contemplate the social value of lands remaining open, remember this economic lesson: if a private activity is a consistent loser, ultimately it will stop.