Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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ummm C A M P I N G the Fraconian Notch. About the middle of the afternoon my cousin turned the car from the highway into an old dirt road that ran toward the Merrimac river. The spot was familiar to him, and by careful maneuvering we came within two hundred yards of the river. We carried all our equipment to the bank and pitched our tent between two old gnarled pines that stood about twenty-five feet from the edge of the sparkling water. I named the camp Twin Pines, in honor of the two aged, stern sentinels. No place around was there any sign of other human beings, we were alone with the joys of Nature. The water hurrying over the rock toward the sea looked inviting, so I determined to take a plunge. My cousin said not a word. I jumped in with a splash, and I came out in just as big a hurry. B-r-r-r-h! The memory of that ice-cold water still chills my blood. I gathered driftwood left along the shore by the spring floods and built a fire, over which I might warm myself, and over its coals we cooked our supper. Never did a meal taste better: steak, fried potatoes, fried biscuits, peas, and j ellyg and we ate like ravenous wolves. We set the camp in order, made our beds, and settled down to admire the beauties of the approaching night. The shadows between the mountains had deepened, and the night soon wrapped us in a blackness only broken by the little fire that burned before the tent. All around, the majestic fir trees towered in grandeur toward the sky. These stately trees and the thickly covered mountains created a dark shade, relieved by the practically cloudless sky. We listened to the lapping of the river on the rocks, to the call of the night birds, We watched the myriads of stars spring unexpectedly into our sight. We were lost in reverie, dreaming of the wonders of nature and the joys of living a care-free life. We endeavored to identify the constellations as they appeared, the Dippers, Cassiopeas's Chair, Taurus the Bull, the Pleiades, and Orion's Belt. A little way up the river, we heard a stag calling his mate to drink. Then came the discordant note of a locomotive, whistling in the distance. Alas! we were reminded that this is the twentieth century, the age of prog- ress, the age of materialism. Not even for an evening were we allowed to forget our times. So rudely awakened from our meditations, we arose and entered the tent. A smouldering log broke, sending a shower of sparks into the dark. Peace and quiet reigned in the little camp on the Merrimac,

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' A Q f it I I W W I Wd mmiullullr MM Indian Summer Twilight The hills are bathed in purple haze The golden day is at its close, Beyond the margin of my gaze The sun has slipped with tints of rose. Faint light still lingers in the skyg Flushed clouds refiect the sun's last rayg Above the hills the moon mounts high And bids farewell to dying day. -Josephine Davidson. C A M P I N G JOHN DAVID MILLETT N EVERY boy there is a little bit of the primitive, a desire to live without all our ultra-modern con- veniences. We tire of the everyday order of things and would like to return, for a while at least, to the simple life and habits of our ancestors. Afterwards we better appreciate what we have today in com- parison with just a few years ago. Unfortunately we don't all get this opportunity to live with nature. I didn't until last summer, when visiting my cousin. We determined to go camping into the famous White Mountains of New Hampshire, the home of the Great Stone Face! On a Saturday morning we headed for the sparsely inhabited mountains and the forest primeval. Of course it wasni the original growth, but that didn't spoil my dream. In the early afternoon we entered the White Mountains proper. What a thrill was the first sight of those old majestic peaks with their varied and inter- esting memories! What stirring deeds of men and action might they not tell if I had only the power to hear them! The tales of the silent Indian bowing in reverence to the majesty of the Great Stone Face! The stories of the daring white men, of brave Captain Stark, who escaped from the Indians and later saved his beloved mountains from the defiling hands of the British invaders, and of the many other bold frontiersmen. All these and countless other happenings have they witnessed with haughty aloofness, sharing their secrets with no one. On and on, up and up, we followed the road of modern engineering into

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tx flmmullum MM WILL IT BE ROSES? 'I - OSES, or not roses: that is the question, paraphras- ed Dave Harris, lazily. And if so, worried Jim, carefully removing his carrot-colored locks from their clashing proximity to Dave's scarlet sweater, will they be pink? Because if they are, he continued with awful solemnity, I say, if those girls insist on carrying bright pink flow- ers at commencement, why I-I might not even come! Trust old Jim to be all wrapped up in his auburn tressesj' hooted Charlie. Now I've got to root for sweet peas, because Sue says they'd be 'perfectly , preciousj and roses would be positively putrid'. ' Dave looked up. Lorraine and Mary Jo and Helen want mixed bouquets, and I heard somebody say that Evelyn Stratton 'in- tends to get special permission to carry orchids'. Well, exactly why is she an exception? Jim had a special antipathy to Evelyn, who insisted on wearing a tangerine-colored dress and sitting next to him in history class. Tru Edgerton came out of the high-school building in time to hear his question. Perching herself on the low balustrade around which the boys lounged, she said, Oh, Evelyn says that roses are entirely too common, and that sweet peas with her lace and silver formal would be like a Rolls-Royce with a trailer. Personally, I can't see it, but- She shrugged her shoulders with a willingness to end the subject, but Dave said, Thought you girls all decided to wear white. We did, said Tru resignedly, but of course you have to leave it partly up to the girls' willingness to co-operate,-and silver is practically white. I'm only thankful she doesn't insist on her 'perfect right, to wear royal blue. Or bright red, suggested Jim pessimistically. Evelyn Stratton was neither the richest girl in town, nor the traditionally spoiled only child, but from earliest childhood she had zealously guarded her personal rights exclusive of the interests of the group. Evelyn has such remarkably distinct traits of character for a child of her age, that we dislike to curb her individuality in any way, Mrs. Stratton had somewhat cooly informed the grade school teacher who had suggested that Evelyn conform a trifle more to the school regulations. Little Jimmie Rostron, who was 'fstaying after school, had been an ap- preciative listener. But he looked very innocent the next day when his gang