Oak Grove Coburn High School - Oak Leaves Yearbook (Vassalboro, ME)

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. OAK LEAVES 1945 and the combination of designs is very pretty. Skirts are simple, blue or green with an embroidery a little way from the bottom. On their heads they wear ribbons that are woven too, and they wrap themselves within big shawls which are also very colorful. After the mass is over many go back to their houses again, walking very fast as they feel cold and hungry. But some of them walk slowly, thinking about the sermon that the Priest explained that morning and which they were not able to understand very well. In a few houses one can see smoke from the chimney and as one goes by them one smells coffee, tortillas. and black beans with chile. Their lives run very peacefully and languidly. They work hard and have few pleasures besides working on their farms. There is really nothing outstanding in the pueblo but if you like to see the Guatemalan Indians work on their pattern blankets and weave native designs, and if you enjoy Spanish architecture, come and visit the little church and the monastery at Santa Barbara. THELMA IBARGUEN, '46. -l,l... i.. SPRING Spring has come to drink up all the snow She's freed the leaves and dancing blades of grass And set the brooks to singing as they flow The birds to warbling gaily as they ifiyg She's burst the buds full blown upon the trees And called the tiny fledgelings from their nest To float upon the muted, warm, spring breeze. GENE PINTER, '47. u CORNER or EAST GARDEN FROM STUDIO WINDOW 12

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OAK LEAVES 1945 These towers erect as soldiers- And far-seeing as any dreamer- Hold at bay all turmoil, The fretful world twisting Unrested at their feet. Oh world beyond the mountains, Men swearing in the valleys, Even your cries are lost In murmurs among the pines Singing upon this summit. You may look to our towers, But not climb the height, Lift your heart to our lighted Turrets, but only kneel at their feet. For this is the stronghold of Beauty! And she is jealous of her peace. Men among the surging mountains Remember always that these towers Keep the stronghold of bright Beauty, Tread you softly by here And never break her peace. NANCY KEEFER SPIERS, '41.' THE PUEBLO OF SANTA BARBARA This small pueblo in the highlands is famous because it has a very big market on Tuesdays. It is a little white village with a small adobe church, a convent, and a court house that serves at the same time as a prison, post- office and other things. The market-place is in front of the church. The Indians from different pueblos have to start long before sunrise and walk miles and miles to arrive rhere early in the morning to find a good place to put their merchandise. Then, they sit on a small stool and wait for the customers to buy their pottery, textiles, baskets, candles and candy. In the middle of the street, there is a big fountain, made of stone, with a strange figure carved on it. There the Indians come to fill their small mud pitchers and big jars, and carry water to their homes. On Sunday morning they get up about 4 o'clock to be able to go to church at 5 o'clock mass. Some of them also go to a later mass. Since it is very cold in the hills where they live, when they go out they wrap themselves with big ponchos and blankets, made in many colors and different designs. They wear their best costumes, which are made of silk with different colors. The women's blouses have a great deal of work as they are woven by hand, 'FSpring song from an Alumna in the Service ar a distant post. 11

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OAK LEAVES 1945 IN A PERSIAN GARDEN-OCTOBER DANCE RECITAL DRAMA Laugh Pierrot! ! Cry Pierette! ! The whole world is your stage, For the Drama has gone on and on And increased its light with Age. The fire of Drama was kindled in an old Grecian day And now the flame of Avon Blazes triumphantly along our way. So laugh Pierrot! ! Cry Pierette! ! The whole world is your stage, For the Drama shall go on and on And glow brighter age after age. BARBARA PETERSON, '46 SILHOUETTE She stood in the meadow quietly, Silhouetted against the blue horizon, Her beautiful coat shone like polished bronze, And her mane whipped about her arched neck like red flame. NANCY KNOX, '45 13