Hamden Hall Country Day School - Perennial Pine Yearbook (New Haven, CT)

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THE MOUNTAIN GUIDE While spending a few days in the mountains I met by chance what some might call a rather eccentric old retired mountain guide. He had a sweet ruddy face and hair as white as the snow on the mountain tops. Each day he would walk with us to some mountain cavern or pass. The weird and sometimes distressing tales he told made us wonder at his truthfulness. One evening after all had retired to their rooms, I walked to the window to watch light snowflakes swirl about the crystal blue that seemed to fill every space. I saw a rather odd sight and at first thought it only a figment of my imagination, but no, it was our old mountain guide. He stood like a great god, robed in white, looking over smaller mountains and valleys. It made a beautiful and almost unearthly sight. I do not know how long I stood there, but suddenly the great majestic figure was gone and there stood only that of a withered old man. Maybe the snowdrifts had been playing tricks on me, although I do not think so. Maybe the legendary tales that the old man told about the mountains were true. I shall never know, but when we went to his little cabin the next morning, there was dust an inch thick and everything was deserted. It was as if there had been no one there for many years. As many times as we have visited the mountains since, I have never seen the old man, but on a clear night when the snow falls lightly, you may see the great majestic figure turn to a withered old man. Joyce Emminger Form Il THIS IS THE STORY Come gather iround, my friends, and see How Student Government came to be: 'Twas the sophomores, who made the first stride, Asking the seniors to join their side And submit their aims to the faculty. We thought that the plans were honest and good To administer discipline where'er we could And enable our students thereby to unite For the good of the school and the teachers' delight, So now its function is understood. To the Council we also could go and suggest A worthwhile idea to become a behest. With yet many problems upon which to embark Already the council has reached a high mark! Susan Thalheimer Form VI Fifty-four

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THE CONNECTICUT RIVER Forming neat the Canadian border and flowing southward through Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and Connecticut is the historic Connecticut River. Driving through New England one may cross the river in many towns and see the many types of land through which it passes. Taking an imaginary trip along the river, which forms at the Connecticut Lake in Northern New Hampshire, one would notice that it flows through dense wooded sections at its source. Progressing toward the border of Vermont, one could see why the logsmen of pioneer days found the river so useful for transporting the huge trunks to the mills. It is also interesting to note that the dividing line between Vermont and New Hampshire comes right in the center of the stream, and the state sign markers are placed in the middle of the bridges. Going farther south into Vermont, one would notice that piles of slate line the banks and that many of the houses and barns are roofed with this material. At Wilder and Bellow's Falls, Vermont, huge power dams have been erected, providing excellent electrical facilities. The stream enters Massachusetts at Northfield, and from here on the bed widens out, making the fertile fields which attracted the early settlers. At Holyoke, Massa- chusetts, huge mountains of trap rock rise from the river banks. From here on one would see perfectly formed terraces on each side of the river. These were left when the huge glacier released the torrents of water that rushed seaward, and these are noted as being the best formed in the country. In the colonial period towns and cities were settled along the Connecticut River Valley with unusual rapidity, so one would see many flourishing communities near the banks of the river. From Hartford, Connecticut, the stream is navigable. At Middletown the river again narrows until it reaches its mouth near Saybrook. Thus would end a journey down the Connecticut River. Bill Adams Form I II THE HOUSE ACROSS THE STREET Many people admire the house across the street, but not many of them know what a dangerous place it is. You want to know what makes it dangerous? Well for one thing the gardener is very careless. He rakes the leaves into a nice pile in the back yard, where no one can see them. When he burns them he waits until there are only a few sparks left. Little does he know that it takes only a light breeze to have it become a roaring fire again. Oh, yes, Mrs. Smith was just too busy to take time to put the ash-trays back. Mr. Smith is so absorbed in the evening paper that he puts the ashes on the arm of the chair presuming that the ash-tray is there. The chair starts burning and the Smiths have lost a valuable chair. junior takes all his old story-books and toys and piles them in a heap in the attic. Mrs. Smith comes up looking for something. Someone has neglected to put a bulb in the socket so she must carry a candle. Tripping over juniors toys, she drops the candle and the whole attic is ablaze. The Smiths may have a pretty home and grounds, but personally I would rather live in my own secure home. Elizabeth MacKay Form I Fifty-three

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THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A GRAIN OF SAND First let me introduce myself, I am a grain of sand, and I have lived on this same beach for almost 700 million years. I say almost because there was an interval of ten years when I did not live here. This is what happened during these ten years. One day I heard a great rumbling sound. At first I thought there was an earth-quake, and the other grains of sand had not told meg but no, when I looked up I saw a great monster with wheels and a long mouth that reached down and picked up all my friends around me. CThis is a steam-shovel.J Suddenly it was upon me. It picked me up so high that I could not see the ground. 4 If you remember, this was a grain of sand, so that the height was only six feet.J Then it opened up, and I fell for miles. CThe equivalent of a mile for a grain of sand is one foot.J I landed in another monster which had wheels and an open back. Later I found it was a dump- truck. I lay in the open for a few minutes until the monster with the long mouth came and dropped more sand on me. Then I saw ber! She was the prettiest grain of sand I had ever beheld. 4We fell in love with each other at first sight. We promised each other we would never part. Then the dump-truck started to move! I do not know how long it was before the truck stopped. Suddenly the back of the truck went up, and we went down, down. As we fell, my sweetheart and I were separated. I searched frantically for her, but in vain, she was nowhere to be found. I landed at the bottom of a pit. There I lay for a few months. After, a while I was scooped up with a lot of other sand by a boy who dumped me into a bowl. Then some shells were dropped on us. Luckily I was caught in one of the shells. I soon found I was in a gold-fish bowl. If I hadn't been caught in the shell, I would have been washed out when the bowl was cleaned. After a year the gold-fish died and I was thrown into a trash-can. The next day a garbage-truck came, and I was put into that. I was still in the shell and could not see a thing. Now this was in New York, and in New York the Sanitation Department puts all refuse on a garbage-scow. The garbage-scow then takes the garbage out in the water and throws it over-board. This is exactly what happened to me. As I was thrown over-board, another grain of sand fell into the shell with me. Suddenly water was all around me. Luckily the shell stayed afloat, and a great wave picked us up and brought us toward shore. I say us because there was another grain of sand in the shell with me. Being a rather bold grain of sand, I asked who it was. To my great surprise and happiness it was my sweetheart. She told me how she had gotten into the shell with me. Almost a year after we had parted, a little boy had gone into the place where she lay and got his shoes full of sandg thus she came into 'his shoes. The little boy's mother had emptied the sand into a trash-can, and from then on the same thing had happened to her as happened to me. We lay on the ocean-floor for many years, each day being washed a little bit more toward shore. At last the day came! A monstrous wave picked us up and carried us to dry land. There we stayed. Well, as I said, I lay here for 300 million years. I wonder what will happen during the next 700 million years. Rolf Margenau Form I Fifty-ive