Great Osmunda
ferns, nearly as high as our heads, formed vase-like clusters,
whose magic shields seemed guarding the home of some forest
nymphs. It is a delight to be alive amid scenes so fair and on
days which are as perfect as July days can be.
Imagine if you can a balmy south wind, heavily laden with the
fragrance of pine mint, balsam and scented fern; myriads of pine
needles each tipped with its diamond drop; musical brooks far-
flashing in the morning light; twittering swallows in the sky
above; add to this the mysterious veil of color that makes
distance so magical, and you yet have a faint idea of the
picture.
In the valleys lay velvety meadows with their stately groups of
elms, beneath which droves of cattle and sheep were grazing. Now
and then lakes gleamed like sheets of molten beryl in their
forest setting. Here and there we observed spaces in the valley
resembling sunken gardens, with houses surrounded by their
graceful elms, or having tree-bordered fields in their midst. We
knew not in which direction to look, for beauty was on every
side and we absorbed new life, new hope, and spiritual tone from
our wonderful environment.
"Today we dine at the sign of the White Pine Bough," we said, as
we beheld a fine forest of evergreens, whose myriad needles
seemed to be calling us to enjoy their "restful solitude."
Chickadees and warblers sang among their branches. The ground
beneath them was covered with a thick soft carpet of rich brown
needles. Large boulders covered with moss and lichens were
scattered about, which served us for tables. Tall ferns grew in
abundance. The air was heavy with fragrance of pine and hemlock.
Our appetites were made unusually keen by our sampling of choke
cherries that grew in abundance along the highway. How delicious
is a meal of buns, with honey and butter, berries and pure
spring water! One learns the real flavor of food out here where
the odors of restaurants are but a memory.
Thinking that there was a waterfall somewhere near, we
penetrated quite a distance the forest, only to learn that we
had heard naught but the wind among the pines.
Here in the lovely Berkshire country near a charming lake we saw
the sturdy New England farmers at work in their harvest fields.
One farmer was still using the old self rake-reaper. It was
interesting to watch the old reaper in operation. A real old
gentleman seeing us, came out to the road and after a friendly
greeting, asked: "And what be ye doing in Yankee land?" Mr. H.
could not resist the temptation to bind a few sheaves for old
times' sake, and soon was binding the golden bundles, and so
fascinated was he, that an hour passed by (to the utter delight
of the old man's son, let it be known) while he neatly bound his
first New England sheaves.
