Dusk waltzed arm in arm with the cold. I lounged around the fire with an older couple who were camping in a trailer. The fire was the typical Australian-built inferno; they seemed to always build a bonfire even when an average blaze would have sufficed.

Then the couple boiled a giant billy, a kettle or pot used to heat water. We drank only a few cups of tea. Wood and water were both previous commodities in a desert landscape.

I had expected the average Australian to be more conservation minded. I assumed that the lack of wide-spread urbanization would have made their natural heritage easier to protect. Americans had lost so much that Australia seemed lucky to be able to recognize mistakes before they occurred.

I didn't know that much of the land had bent centuries ago. Herds of cattle and sheep had stripped away the poor grass and compacted the soil. Acres of trees had been uprooted so that pastures might grow. The pastures were so poor cattle and sheep stations had to be tens of thousands of acres big to support any kind of herd.

I kept quiet. America had a too-similar history.