Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

Page 24 text:

Sebastopol (First Prize Poem) By MILDRED CROSBY, 21 The gentle hills come sloping ’down To the very feet of my little town, And over the valley and far away The mountains guard her night and day. At night the moon and her gentle beams Keep silent watch where the Lagoon gleams Like a silver thread through the meadows white, Keep silent watch till the dawn of light. And thol I may wander away in time, Still always you’ll keep this heart of mine. My heart’s where the soft green hills slope down And the mountains guard you, little town. Page 16

Page 23 text:

After burying the two dead bodies, they asked the wise medi¬ cine man, who was supposed to know everything, if Cliitani would wander about the desert forever and ever. The wise medicine men stayed in their dark cave many days and nights and when they came out they said: “The Gods will not make Chitani roam the desert forever. Their gift of immortality is now a curse. When the desert thru which he roams is fertile, Chitani shall go to the Happy Hunting Grounds.” Often, in the night time, the Indians heard long-drawn wails and sighs. “That is Chitani,” they would say. ‘,He is still roaming o’er the desert. But when the desert is fertile he will join Agu. ’ ’ The legend was handed down from generation to genera¬ tion and the baying of the coyotes was always thought to be the wailing of Chitani. Now there are but few Indians in California. Perhaps they do not know this legend, but those that do will probably tell you. The wailing is no longer he,ard in the South, for our desert is nearly gone. In the Imperial Valley fertile farms take up every acre. The Colorado river is irrigating the Mo¬ have Desert. The white man might think he is wise and did it all, but the Gods helped him, for they were sorry for Chitani. Now Chitani is joyfully wandering hand in hand with Agu thru the Happy Hunting Grounds. Page 15

Page 25 text:

bim plum to sea. He never meant fer Molly ter be livin’ in that dark old shack down on them lonesome rocks all these years. N ' ’taint right she did, neither; no sir, ’taint right.” “But, captain, ain’t we done everything in our power ter get her ter come up on the bay. But no, sir, she ain’t goin’ ter leave the house Jim built her; it’s good enough fer her and it’s good enough fer her boys, and them poor little kids, with no education, no fun, no nothin’. That scranny little Dave a sittin’ there day in and day out with nary a thing ter break ther monotony. His big, brown eyes so wistful, ’bout breaks my heart every time I go down there; an that Chester, sakes he just scares me clean thru every time he looks at me, so sullen and morose. Some day he—My land, there goes that good fer nothin’ Bertolini boy a drivin’ his cows right over my vegetables. Seems like a body’d have sense enough to—” Martha ’s voice floated back to Captain Cris, as she rushed to save her poor garden, the brisk sea wind blowing her clothes around her spare figure and loosening the white hair which was bound in a firm pug at the back of her neck. Captain Cris’s eyes twinkled as she descended on the culprits, but shadowed again as he gazed at another figure scarcely discern¬ ible on the rocks that rose in a jagged line from the sea that threw and drew its line with the skill of a veteran, and he sor¬ rowfully shook his head as he turned on his. way. Meanwhile the gaunt figure on the rocks continued with her pole and line. The wind flapped a ragged skirt against Page 17