Farmington High School - Laurel Yearbook (Farmington, ME)

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l 1. 22 THE LAUREL the soft grey rocks. And in the depths of a limpid pool a silvery Hash betrays the hiding place of a wary trout. Listen! Was that the snapping of a twig? A slight movement disturbs the foliage. Carefully picking her way toward the tumbling waters is a small doe and at her heels, less cautious, a spotted fawn. Eagerly they taste the cool waters, then, as a gentle breeze carries to them the danger signal, they disappear with graceful bounds into the depths of the forest. With the last van- ishing flash of the white tails our tension relaxes, and our thoughts turn back to the way before us. Refreshed by the peacefulness of this lovely scene, once again we resume our journey. Gradually the murmuring of the little mountain stream fades away, and we find ourselves walking silently along a soft brown carpet. Tall pines like the giant pillars of a mighty cathedral tower above us, catching the secrets of the four winds. Softly they whisper among themselves, and one may well imagine he hears the hushed voices of angels mingled with the rustling of the pines. What lessons they might teach us there in that vast place of worship if we only understood the whispered words! A quiet peace, such as comes to one only in the deeper moments of life, rests upon us as we reverently stand in that hallowed at- mosphere. Filled with this new, rich ex- perienee, we reluctantly direct our steps onward. Not far beyond we enter the open Helds once more. Standing upon a grassy slope we look down at our right upon a tiny village nestled among the hills. Through the green leaves a white church spire, symbol of pur- ity and peace, lifts its slender form toward Heaven. At our left, in the valley below, a silver lake holds the clear reflection of the blue sky. Not a ripple stirs the water, and Heecy clouds are mirrored on 'its smooth surface. Heaven herself is smiling down at her likeness there below. Along the shore slender white hirches lean far out over the clear water, lovely maidens entranced by their own beauty. Mountains, softened by the distance to a deep blue, stand like silent sentinels over the peaceful lake. Far up in an inland cove the mournful cry of a loon re-echoes weirdly across the still water. But we must hasten on. Soon a broad expanse of newly-mown meadow land stretches before us, sending forth a mingled aroma of drying grasses and sweet clover. By their death only come such perfections. And now we have traveled many miles to a far different scene. An invigorating breeze greets us, and a new sound falls upon our ears. As we draw nearer a steady beat- ing, slow and rhythmic, gradually grows louder, and we taste the tang of the salty sea. Then, dashing high over jagged rocks, the sea rushes toward us like a thing en- raged, only to fall back again to receive new strength for the next onslaught. Some unseen, unfelt power rules those mighty waves, or breaking loose, they would fall upon us in all their fury. But they are slaves, those waves, driven throughout the ages to the endless task of rising and fall- ing, rising and falling. Far out across the swelling waves a tiny sail gleams in the sunlight. Nearer the shore, the sea's lonely companion, the gull, wheels to and fro, uttering its plaintive cry as it scans the bleak rocks for some small bit which the sea might bring it. And still the waves toil on and on, never resting, never WCZ1l'y- ing. To some small degree we are made to realize the omnipotence of our Creator. 'Wonder ills our being and we stand in awe as we see the glory and might of God. lt is good for us to be here. Then far inland a new voice calls us, and the Spirit of Winter directs us swiftly over paths of time. We finally come to a shadow of the protecting brow of a hill. The silence of winter lies upon the whole valley. Every field, every tree and shrub is sleeping under a soft blanket of pure whiteness. The shadows of day lengthen, twilight broods over the sleeping landg and, rising over the crest of the mountain, the queen of night

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THE LA SALUTATORY N behalf of the class of 19157 it is my happy privilege to welcome you, our be- loved parents and our friends, to these ex- ercises which mark the end of our course in Farmington l-ligh School. We are going forth confidently into the future with the realization that you have done everything possible toward our success. Now it is our responsibility to make you proud of our achievements. liven as I speak. I am reminded how futile are words to express our imnost thoughts, to convey to you our deep ap- preciation that it is largely through your interest and cooperation that the completion of this part of our education has been made possible. The words which come to our minds are the same words which have been repeated again and again on similar oc- casions. Hut for us they have a new and deeper meaning as we, the Class of 1937, welcome you. OUR HERITAGE The heart of almost every man responds in some way to the stirring message of Nature: but as the poet so aptly ex- pressed it, To him who, in the love of Nature, holds communion with her visible forms, she speaks a various language. God's gift to us. People of Maine, has been the privilege of living in one of the most beautiful spots in our nation, perhaps in the world. But carried along by the swift stream of life. we are often forced to pass by these beauties unheeding. So it is my hope tonight that l may bring back to you a longing for a deeper appreciation of the heritage that is ours. Maine's charm lies not so much in her grandeur as in her simplicity. lf you will come with me along the by-paths of our state, perhaps the journey will recall to you thoughts of once familiar scenes which have been crowded out by the constant demands which Hll our lives. lt is a long journey, but the spirit of Maine. youthful and full UREL 2l of life-giving power, will lend us strength for the way. The morning dew is still upon the grass as we wend our way along the winding lane which leads to yonder orchard. The air is filled with joyous sounds, and our hearts respond in glad refrain. Tiny birds dart here and there among the tender green shrubs which border our path. A long, rambling stone wall overgrown with vines straggles along the way. At the end of the lane, the rails of an old fence, weather- beaten and worn, must be let clown in order that we may pass. At last we reach the orchard. Beautiful trees decked in flowery garments of pink and white stand upon the hillside like lovely bridesmaids in hushed expectancy. The busy hum of bees among the blossoms hlls the air, and here and there a yellow butterfly Hits lazily in the warm sunshine. As with reluctant step we leave the festive scene, the sweet fragrance of the apple blossoms lingers in our memory. See! Here before us is another path beckoning to the depths of a forest. As we reach the entrance to the woods, dainty violets lift their lovely heads to us. Making our way along the edge of a tract of swampy land to higher ground, we catch a glimpse of soft green mosses far within the shadows of the overhanging boughs. The scent of mellow earth mingled with evergreen fills the air. A bright-eyed squirrel scolds' at us as he seampers through the overhanging branches. But hark! I hear the murmur- ing of a brook. Its voice will lead us per- haps to some secluded spot where we may enjoy the coolness of the forest stream. Leaving the path we make our way up a steep embankment in the direction whence the sound comes. At last gaining the sum- mit, we look down upon a lovely mountain brook in the ravine below, pursuing its merry course in a hundred miniature cata- racts. Beside the sparkling waters in the shade of the overhanging branches is a moss-covered bank inviting us to linger by the laughing stream. Dancing spots of sun- shine flickering through the leaves play upon .4

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THE L enters upon her journey across the heavens, shedding a silver sheen on the silent earth. Our journey is ended. Many beauties of our state have been passed by unheeded. Yet it is my earnest hope that from these few glimpses of Nature's wonders we may have gained a fuller appreciation of her hidden secrets, and that in this way we may have become more closely attuned with our Creator. .llarian Svnitlz '37, YT' THE VIOLIN T has always been with a kind of rever- ential awe that l have contemplated that in a world that is constantly changing and improving there is something which cannot be improved because it has already attained perfection. This is true of that hollow wooden box whose four strings. when set in vibration by the bow, send forth tones which hold the whole earth spcllbound. XVe, who are in- clined to ridicule the tallow-candle status of life, must in one instance humbly step aside and pay due homage to those who molded instruments of unsurpassable quality over two centuries ago. Although the violin is very simple in its construction, every detail of shape and po- sition of parts is very important and has been evolved by experts. The violin is the offspring of many gen- erations -Jmf cruder instruments. Its ancestry is enveloped in a mist. livery authority has different conjectures concerning its prede- cessors. ln vain do we search the records of ancient ligypt, Greece and Rome for a stringed instrument played with a bow. However. in India there is an old tra- dition which says that about seven thousand years ago, Ravana, the mythical King of Ceylon, invented a crude bowed instrument and called it the Ravanastron. To this day the beggars of lndia find comfort by drawing forth its nmted tones from its two strings. ls it not possible that a similar instrument was brought to Europe by conquering East- A UREL 23 ern races and in that way became the seed of our own violin? We know that during the Dark Ages Vagabond minstrels wandered from one European country to another play- ing various kinds of stringed instruments. Because of this, instrumental music was scorned by the church and all respectable people. In the fifteenth century we are con- fronted with the unmistakable sires of our own violin, the viol family. The viols possessed many of the characteristics of modern stringed instruments but were more awkward to handle. VV ith the coming of the viol, the disreputable minstrel ceased to exist and instrumental music was widely used to beautify all of life. .-X century or more later the violin itself received a cordial welcome from many peo- ple throughout Europe. The person who deserves the credit of inventing it was prob- ably either Duiffoprugcar or Gasparo da Salo. The job of perfecting it went forward in leaps and bounds. From the latter half of the sixteenth to the middle of the eigh- teenth, Cremona, Italy, the home of the great violin makers, fairly buzzed with the busi- ness of Fiddle making. Most famous of all her sons was Stradi- varius. There is something about the story of Stradivarius that appeals to everyone. His lifetime of ninety-three years was spent in carving instruments from dawn tillndark. VVhat a monotonous and yet what a grati- fying existence that must have been! Un- like many geniuses Stradivarius was an heir to wealth, and therefore he could experiment unhampered by the necessity of earning bread for his family. He was born in the middle of the seventeenth century, at a pe- riod when many boys cherished the ambi- tion of becoming violin makers. At the age of thirteen, Stradivarius made his first vio- lin in the workshop of his teacher, Nicolo Amati. During his youth and early man- hood he learned every detail of his art and made many fine instruments in the style of his teacher. Between the ages of forty and Efty-five, however, he made few instruments and we know very little about his life at .l