Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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Heralding forth The coming night. The great round moon Comes o’er the hills, Lighting even The smallest rills. And then the stars Come one by one, Until the sky Is over-run. Allen Sugden, High Nine. The Loveliest Thing (A Girl’s Idea) T he loveliest thing I have yet to see, Although I don’t know just what it will be, Maybe a flower so perfect and bright, Or it may be sunset changing to night. I’ve often thought when I saw the sunrise, That this beauty must be like a Paradise; Could it be stately trees reaching the sky, Or the mountain’s white crests that divide heavens high The loveliest thing I think I do see, Lovelier than all is friendship to me. Friendship that’s staunch and sturdy and bold, Friendship like this God gave us to hold. Emily Stout, Low Nine. The Loveliest Thing (A Boy’s Idea) T’was a cold and blustery winter day, And the children entering from hearty play, Into the kitchen so ivarm and good smelling, With boisterous whooping and howling and yelling. Then there suddenly settled a hush o’er the kids, A hush so loud you could hear the pot lids Yammering and Hammering as though from below The devil’s oivn helpers were tv anting to go.

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Fourth cousin to my bride}” It is, milord, and please accept My deep apology. We did but look for robbers here, And sadly mistook thee .” I’ve lost my interest,” said the King; For I’ve had such a scare That I’ve decided after all I’ll not go to the fair.” Elinor Skimmings, High Nine. THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SAM, A CAT My real name is Samuel, but my mistress calls me Sam. My sister’s name is Sue. I am black with a white bib” and white paws. When my mistress’ brother takes a bath, he always thinks I should have one also. But I hide under the sofa, until he is done. One day as I was taking my daily walk through the house, I had a very scary adventure. I am very curious about things and like to inves- tigate. I saw a little hole in the wall; so I jumped in. Thud! I fell on a pile of clothes. I blinked my eyes to be sure I wasn’t asleep and dreaming about Alice in Wonderland,” which my mistress had been reading. I meowed but it did no good, so I sniffed around to see if I could find a way out. Soon I heard a voice crying, I can’t find my kitty. Where are you, Sammy?” I meowed more loudly than ever and I soon saw some light. My mistress came to my rescue, picked me up, and petted me so much I was rather glad I fell into the hole. (I later found out it was the clothes chute) . Another time, I fell into the fish-pond. I was watching the gold-fish and put my paw in to catch one, when I found myself struggling to get out. Once, I went riding in the car to a farm. At supper time, I went to the barn with my mistress. We watched the men milk the cows. When they were done, I had a bowl of milk. That reminds me, I must go to supper. I would like to write to any cat that has adventures as I do. Nancy MacCaughey, Low Eight. Night T he sun has set Beneath the sea, Leaving the world In ecstacy. A star appears In splendor bright,

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The cause of this silence was there on the table , Steaming and bubbling as best it teas able. From it was spreading in vapors so fine All through the room an odor divine. Though it may seem to you, so lowly to be, ’Twas as essence of beauty that moment to me. It may seem so common, so vulgar to you, But to me it teas heavenly, that good ol’ beef stew! John Brenneis, Low Nine. SOMETHING I LEARNED FROM A FOREIGNER This is a story of harvesting in the Caucasus as told to me by my father, who spent some of his childhood years in that country. His grand- mother lived in a little town called Gori. She owned a vineyard about five miles outside of this town. Every autumn she would take all of her belongings and pile them on an arba (a two-wheeled cart drawn by buf- faloes) . This done, she would climb up on top and sit there. Thus she journeyed to her vineyard. After she arrived, she unloaded and settled herself for a stay of about six weeks. A few days later, the harvesting began. When all the grapes were picked, they were put into a very large vat. His grandmother then washed the feet of the gardener, who immediately stepped into the vat and crushed the grapes, the juice running out from a spout and into a huge jar which was sunken into the ground. The grape juice was not allowed to ferment in this, so it was transferred into buffalo skins. Then they were placed on the arba and taken to Gori. It was then emptied into large earthen cracks buried in the cellar. After it had fermented, the cracks were capped until wanted. Grandmother always saved some of the juice to make a kind of candy called tschustschella. This is made by stringing nuts and raisins and dipping them in some grape juice that had been thickened with potato starch. This was allowed to hang up for a few days, and, when well set, put away to become a favorite sweet- meat for the children during the coming months. Thus ends harvest time in the Caucasus and my story. Sophie Zane, High Seven. At Noon A tray gives a clank, Down falls a spoon; A call for some food , — That’s Garfield — at noon.