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.
He was well aware that this stop had undoubtedly meant the
missing of some grand natural scenery, but he declared with
amazing indifference that he would not have missed this
opportunity for many mountain scenes, however fair. The same
mysterious power that threw over the hills that filmy veil of
delicate blue had turned to gold the standing wheat, which so
lately undulated in the rippling wind with its sea-like tints of
shimmering, shining green.
Bidding our friends adieu, we thought what a grand harvest of by-
gone memories the day had brought.
One can never forget the groups of yellow and silver birch that
grow like beautiful bouquets along the trail. Druids built their
altars and worshiped beneath the aged oaks, but surely there
were no lovely groups of white and yellow birch there, or they
would have forsaken their oaks for these graceful, fragrant
trees. What lessons of humility they teach by their modest,
humble manner!
Where the forest contains so many noble trees to challenge one's
admiration, you will linger fondly among these glorious
creations of God's art, where each new group is more beautiful
than the last, and extol their beauty above all other New
England trees. They are indeed the gold and silver censers in
Nature's vast cathedral which scatter incense on every passing
breeze. One could wish for no lovelier monument to mark his last
resting place - and it would indeed be a noble life to be worthy
of such distinction.
The most beautiful of all eastern evergreen trees is the
hemlock, which forms a most vivid contrast to the groups of
birch, and when they are massed in the background the birch
stand out in fine relief. Then how different from the vigorous
aspiring pines they are. Poor soil seems to be no drawback to
the pines, for they appear to possess a native vitality found in
no other tree, and push upward sturdily toward the light; their
"spiry summits pointing always heavenward." The slender,
graceful branches of the hemlock trees are hung with innumerable
drooping sprays of bluish green foliage, beautiful as the
Osmunda ferns that grow in these wonderful woods. Then how
charming their blue flowers and rich brown cones that form
clusters at the ends of their numerous sprays They are just the
ornaments to enhance their delicate foliage, and a bloom of
silvery-blue clothes the trees like that which veils the distant
mountain sides.
The trees became thicker and the scenery more rugged as we
neared a place where the road doubled back, forming a sort of
triangular piece of land known as "Hairpin Curve." This seems to
be one of the shrines of travelers, and the goal of many a
summer pilgrimage. There is an observation tower here, where a
wonderful view of the country may be had. The view, though not
so extensive, is very much like that obtained from Whitcomb's
summit. Here we met two boys with pails well filled with
blueberries and huckleberries.
