Ferndale Union High School - Tomahawk Yearbook (Ferndale, CA)

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It was on a sunshiny spring day that I was aroused from my long slumber, and, feeling quite warm, pushed my way up through my thick covering. Everything looked so different now, and so very much prettier and fresher, that I pushed up farther and farther until I towered far above the other plants about me. A great transformation had taken place in me. My dress which had been all black was now changed to a delicate verdant hue. My black, stiff ribs were changed to shining green ones, graceful and supple. Somehow, as I looked myself over, that gloriously bright morning, I felt very proud. Hearing the familiar murmur of that old brook, I called to it, and asked how such a change had come about. But the stream only laughed and ran on merrily. My pride instantly fell, for I thought she surely was making light of this peculiar inquiry, and I was wishing myself tucked away safely be- neath the green turf, when I saw my mistress, not changed a particle, trip- ping merrily toward me. I wanted to ask her many things, but as I did not know how to make her understand me all I could do was to look down-hearted. She smoothed my stalks and seemed so pleased with me that I was dug up and taken home by the gardener. This pleased me very much, but my changed personality still puzzled me. I was put into a large jardiniere, and placed on a pedestal in a fine bay window, overlooking a budding garden. But would you believe it? It was not until some callers happened in one day.and exclaimed, So this is the strange new plant called the umbrella plant ! that my anxiety was quieted. OUR TOAST Blanche Monroe, '12. Here's to our faculty, To all and to each 3 May success crown their efforts As long as they teach. Here's to our students, Who dig, delve so hardy May the future bring each A goodly reward. I-Iere's to our School Board, Tried, faithful and true: May we keep them for ages, And ne'er change for a few. Here's to our tax payers, Who built us our High, May gratitude generous In our hearts ever lie. Here's to the knockers- There's only a few 3 May they awake to their folly And begin life anew: For we need all their helpg And they'll happier be, In doing a bit For humanity. PAGE TWEN TY-NINE

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Origin of the Umbrella Plant Melia Thompson, '11, T CERTAINLY was an eventful day for me All morning I had covered the rather grimy face of my mistress young houses out of the brickish colored dirt I was angrily snatch- ed up closed and thrust into the umbrella case where I ex- pected to stay for the next month or so but to my happy Wifi surprise, after a last look at the charming image reflected in the hall glass, my mistress tucked me under her arm. A blast of wind helped to open the door, and made it a little difficult for me to be raised. However, we both enjoyed the light rain-I, because I was glad to be useful, she, because it brought such a rosy glow to her cheeks. Our pleasure was rather short lived, for a zig-zag streak of lightning her- alded the approach of a burst of thunder. My mistress looked thoughtfully toward home, but did not turn back, though the rain was now falling in blinding sheets. The wind was unmer- ciful, and, just as I was doing my best to protect my mistress, 1 was ruth- lessly snatched away by a terrible gust of wind. My companion retreated beneath a swaying tree, making a very for- lorn picture indeed, but I was swept swiftly by leaps and bounds over the prairie. I became so dizzy, as I whirled around bushes, jumped over rocks and along the ground, that I wished I might be caught by some bush, if it were only to be torn to pieces. At length, worn out from being dragged and mauled about, I settled down near a hillside, along the banks of a turbu- lent stream, not far from my owner. My ribs had been bent and torn from my dress so roughly that I was hardly recognized, and surely of no more use to my dainty mistress. Being entirely beyond repair, she went home without me, when the storm had ceased, greatly to my disappointment. As I was getting chilly, and was now scantily clothed, I snuggled be- neath some loose foliage, and there intended to await the clearing of the skies. But the exhaustion from my long chase caused me soon to fall asleep, not to awaken for a long time. Q :bu 'B lm? . I . , rqlgfj 'W' sister from the intense heat, until the two of us were dis- mg-,U 5:25225 covered--I, lying in the dusty road 5 the little sister making s'5iQa':.G:-stir - - - - ef' If . . ' V, 9 J 1 Qi. 'E 3 A vw PAGE TW!NTY EIGHT

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Old Pete Dee Morrison, ' 14. Old Pete, as he was always called, was not a great warrior, but he was great in his own way. He was born in Upper Mattole, and belonged to the Mat- tole tribe. He was called Six Toed Pete because of peculiarity of one of his feet, which had between the big toe and the next one a large wart closely re- sembling a toe causing it to look like he had six toes. While he was a young man his tribe was massa- cred and he was one of the very few who escaped. He came to Bear River and joined the Bear River Tribe. He had not been with them long until a very close friendship grew up between himself and the chief of the tribe who was known to the few white settlers as John. After a few years the white people came into the country and took the land from the Indians who be- came widely scattered. However, the two, john and Pete remained to- gether lived in the same little cabin, hunting, fishing and traveling together until john was stricken with paralysis. Then Pete though old and feeble himself, hunt- ed and fished, cooked for, fed and cared for his friend for five long years, when the gates of the Happy Hunting Ground opened and john passed through. He was buried by the settlers who had come to respect the two old Indians very much for their hon- esty, cheerfulness and devotion to one another. Into his rude coffin were put food, his pipe and tobacco, his guns, knives and everything he would be likely to need to make him comfortable on his jour- ney to the Happy Hunting Grounds, according to the Indians belief. He was laid to rest in the Indian's burying ground on a picturesque little knoll overlook- ing Bear River valley and shaded by stately pine trees. Through it all Pete had made no moan nor com- plaint but a few days after the funeral a party of white people happening to pass by the burying ground noticed a solitary figure standing by the new made grave so motionless that at first they thought it was a stump, but a closer scrutiny proved it to be Pete standing mournfully by the grave of his friend. For hours he stood there never mourning, but when the sun finally PAGE THIRTY