Oroville Union High School - Nugget Yearbook (Oroville, CA)

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A LITTLE I V I A High up in the mountains near a roadside, a little Hr tree sprang up. It was sheltered by many huge pines and other forest neighbors. As it grew into a pretty little tree, people in passing spoke of what a beautiful tree it gave promise to become. The little tree began to listen to those kindly remarks and when passersby forgot to notice it, it would become very dissatisfied and would think. ‘If I were only away from these rough old pines and rickety hillsides among prettier trees and flowers, how I would become admired! Then it would dream of how beautiful it would glow and of the great admiration it would receive. It became so busy with its dreams that it forgot to wave its branches, when the tall pines nodded to it, forgot to sway them gently when the little birds stopped to twitter their songs, and forgot to shelter the small flowers from the sun and rain. One day a young lady who was making a collection of plant3 and flowers for her garden, passed and saw the pretty tree. She said, How beautiful! I shall take it with me, and the little tree was very happy. She planted it in a beautiful garden, among many wonderful flowers and trees. The little tree was very much excited by all the wonderful beauty, and thought. How I shall be admired among all this!” But the day of visitors came. FIR TREE and as the many visitors passed they would exclaim: What a wonderful place,” or How beautiful it all is!” The little tree felt hurt and crushed and found itself beginning to notice and think of many things. It found, as the hot summer sun beat down, it missed the sheltering shadows of the rough old pines. It longed to whisper to the beautiful trees near by. but when it tried to be friendly, they only seemed to drop lower around them, their long trailing branches, and it thought of the trees on itt own mountain side, with their branches spread wide like open arms. It longed for one brief moment to turn away from the wild confusion of color in the many flowers around and thought of how bold it had thought the red bells and pink wild roses. It thought of the sweet, white mountain lilies, in all their stalely beauty, and could almost feel their beautiful perfumes in the air. It thought of the wee white flowers that came with the first breath of Spring, and the pale yellow Easter bells that were so sought by the small boy and girl. Day by day it found itself watching the changes in the sky and when the first white capped clouds began to gather and grow blacker, it could almost feel the first Summer Storm: could hear the loud peal of thunder as it rolled from one mountain side to another; could almost see the lig’.t- 28

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m I V I A SAFETY LAST Father Yellowjacket walked around his paper house to see how many of his children had hatched out during the night. He walked all about but found only one that had lifted the cover from hb little bed. ‘Only one this morning.” he shouted back to his beautiful mate. The tiny infant climbed out and followed its father to the roof of tl.eir home. Now. sit right here until your wings get straight.” instructed the father. If the great sun likes you well enough he will change your white shirt into a beautiful yellow jacket.” When Daddy Jacket thought his son was well done, he said. Follow me, and I will show you how to sharpen your tall. A yellowjacket without a weapon, you must know, b no more than a mere bug. First you walk up o one of those pebbles, then walk around it one way ten times. After that walk around the other way ten times, but always keep your tail on the stone.” IJy the time the young one had fulfilled the instructions, his stinger was so sharp he was almost afraid of himself. Now. you must mix some dope for stinger, for a stinger is not dangerous without some poison. Kill that bug with the red head, smash him, mix him with some pollen from the deadly Night Shade and a piece of Poison Oak Leaf. Put a little of that on your tail and you are safe. Whenever you meet an enemy, just back up and sit down. —CHESTER THUNEN. 18. The W in nor Her tongue need not be framed to music.” Nor her hand be armed to kill. Her face need not be the mold of beauty.’ Her heart not the throne of will Above the crowd she may not rise By wealth, or deed of fame. Nor lean upon the treasured gift of some ancestral name. But somehow, somewhere, patiently, By heroism led. She lives her life, from day to day; Her heart with greed ne’er fed. As true to life’s best aims is she As the sunbeams to the sun— ” 'Tis she.” methinks. the angels say, In the race of life—has won.” II R. GASKINS. 16. 27

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ning cut the air and could see the mighty Hash, that seemed to come straight from the heavens into the earth, and knew some mighty tree had been stricken, from top to bottom, and again felt the quiet stillness that for a moment comes as if they too. felt the presence of the Great Mystery. After the first storm came the cool nights and still warm days when all the oak3 and small trees contested one with the other for the most beautiful coloring, when the stillness is broken by the anxious call of the mother quail to the little ones, scurrying through the leaves, by the whir of the grouse, and the saucy chatter of the squirrel and chipmunk, as they gather their winter supplies. When the shadows grew longer and longer, and the valleys were but purple mists, then again it seemed to hear the lonesome call of the Katydid as the day laded into night. Then, with the first great winter storm, came the wild forest carnival when every tree and shrub swayed madly to and fro. while the hills were one mighty roar, when the huge pines and oaks swayed earthward and every branch was one mad swirl as they piled high their confetti of long pointed needles and brown leaves. Then as it watched the sky line grow grayer and grayer it knew the time of Peace on Earth and Good Will. reigned again on its mountains. It could almost see the great white 2f I 7 I A Hakes softly falling, could almost see the rough old pines spreading their branches so that about their feet would still be a feeding 'place for their small feathered friends. It longed to once again droop its branches under the soft white tent and sleep. Time passed and the little tree knew it never could be one of those it was among. One day, when the young lady stopped beside it, she noticed its drooping air. Poor little tree. I am afraid it is not going to live, and it was so beautiful. I think I shall take it back to its home in the mountains. Once again the little tree found itself on its own beloved hillside. At first it felt strange, as the rough old pines stared down so rudely and the little birds forgot to come: even the little flowers about it had all gone away. At last, it thought, “I 11 show them that 1 have not changed; my heart is still with them. So it began gaily to wave its branches to the tall pines above it and gently sway them that the birds might see and stop to sing their happy songs. It sheltered the wee flowers about it. Days passed and the little tree grew taller and more beautiful. People passing spoke often of its great beauty, but the tree no longer heard them—it was busy with the things about it. —ARDA TRELEAVFN, 19.