Rockport High School - Tatler Yearbook (Rockport, ME)

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14 THE TATLER wag. Uttering loud staccato barks, he tried to pursue the fleeing hare. However, as quickly as it had come, his animation left him, and he contin- ued his solitary way, whimpering and limping as he dragged the worn pads of his feet over sharp stones. As the path became steeper, the dog's struggle to move became more painful. He began to gasp for every labored and rasping breath. At last he reached the summit and collapsed with fatigue. His head sunk onto his pawsg his eyelids droopedg he slept. Joyce Farmer '60 WHAT IS ON THE MOON? What would life on the moon be like? Would we be able to drive cars or ride a bike? The moon is said to be made of green cheese, But I think they say that just to tease. Now I wonder if there will 'be little green men, , . , And will the flowers have the same stem? Do they have music with a beat? Or do they like it soft and sweet? Will the ground be damp or dry? Will there be stars up in their sky? I would like to know if there'll be A bird, vegetable, flower, or tree. All these wondrous things I'd like to know, So I can't wait until to the moon we go! Edna Dow '60 COLORS OF NIGHT At first as night is about to set in, the sky is mingled with corals, pinks, and oranges from the last rays of the sun. The billowing clouds, growing still, seem to be resting on soft, red- violet sheets. Now the sky is turning a sweet lavender and all is quiet. All that is left of the once beautiful day is one single lonely ray of the sunlight peering from behind a far-off mountain and the now blue-outlined clouds. As this last ray disappears, the sky turns a sullen gray, leaving everything life- less on earth,-the dead brown grass, the stiff, eerie ehn trees, ,the gray houses. Now all is turning a brownish blue giving an effect of spaciousness to the countryside. Lights flash on, send- ing out yellow glows here and there along the street. Everything is getting darker in a blue haze. Finally nothing close at hand is visible. Night is here. Patricia Simonton '62 FEEDING THE GOLD FISH This incident happened one day when I was small. My mother usually fed the gold fish but this afternoon I wanted to. So I climbed up to the cup- board and got the box which I thought was fish food and fed the contents to them. Well, in five minutes the fish were jumping out of the water trying to get air. When I told my mother, she quickly changed the water but it wasn't quick enough. Mom asked me what I fed them and when I showed her the box, she discovered it was PAPRIKA! Sandra Upham '62 I REMEMBER One day while I was doing my chore of graining the hens, a rooster pecked at my foot. I didn't think anything of it then because he did it all the time. But as I bent over to gather up some eggs, suddenly the rooster flew upon my back and started pecking me, vi- ciously and fiercely. He pecked me so hard that I was very irate. I swung around, eyed the rooster, and then heaved the iron grain scoop at him, grain and all. The blow killed him and I didn't care just then. But my next thought was how would I explain it to my father! Gerry Morton '62 THE RAVEN fRevisedj Studying an ancient volume of leg- ends, I was in my room that dreary De- cember midnight. The embers of my fire were dying, leaving the fireplace as mute as the rest of the room. A slight tapping at my door roused me from a

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A CANDID SNAPSHOT OF A PLEASANT MEMORY! I remember Rockville school. The incident which I recall most vividly about our country school was our an- nual expedition to get a Christmas Tree. The entire enrollment of our one-room school enthusiastically parti- cipated in the outing. On the appoint- ed day several big boys brought hatchets for the important operation. We all donned our snow-suits and boots, hopefully expecting to encounter mountainous drifts. Armed with the hatchets and a yardstick to measure the height of the tree, we cheerily headed toward the nearby woods. How particular we were! Only a tree per- fectly symetric in design was consid- ered worthy of the place of honor at the front of our school-room. When the faultless tree was finally found, measured, and chopped down by many energetic but amateur strokes of the hatchets, we tramped back to school, tired but happy, dragging our tree be- hind us. Joyce Farmer '60 FROM A CHILD,S VIEWPOINT My eyes were wide with amazement at this thing I saw lying before me on the blanket. Of course I had seen others, but never as close as this. Why I could reach out and touch it! I wanted to, very badly, for it looked as if it would be pussy-willow-soft be- neath my fingers, but somehow I didn't quite dare. What if it should break? It was fragile, and very, very tiny. It looked something like me, only I was bigger. I wasn't tiny-I was four. I laid my cheek down on the wooly blan- ket to be closer to it, and I discovered something else. It smelled! It smelled like the first daisy I found in the spring, and like the lilacs in the yard after it rained. It smelled a little like my kitten, and like the pink soap on the top shelf. This was pink too, but it smelled twice as good as any old THE TATLER 13 soap. The blanket began to tickle my neck, I raised my head to find myself looking at a pair of eyes like the blue buttons on my Sunday coat. These buttons regarded me solemnly, and I, just as solemnly, stared back at them. Gathering my courage, I reached out and touched its hair-it was just like the milkweed fluff in the field. And then a miracle happened-it reached out its tiny hand that was no bigger than my doll's, clasped its fingers around my thumb, and gave a little gurgle fwhich I thought was the nicest thing that I had ever heardj . From that moment on-my little sister was my friend. Deborah Hanna '60 I have a car. ' It is a very nice car. It does not eat much gas. It does not eat much oil. It does does not have punctures. It has a very nice radio. It does not get into accidents. It does not collect tickets. I like my car. It is a very nice car. I wish I could start it. Anonymous THE OLD DOG The old dog straggled along the path, head drooping, tail hanging limp, look- ing as though the elastic band on which his limbs were strung had broken. The back-bone and the ribs of this pathetic cur were plainly visible, tempting one to touch the living skele- ton and hear the bones rattle. Even the dog's intelligent face was marred by a rheumy eye. While one eye was brown and clear, the other was only a shapeless gray mass, void of understanding, mute evidence of past misfortune. Suddenly, as a rabbit hopped across his narrow field of vision, a vestige of lost youth returned to the dog. His head jerked up and his tail began to

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half sleep. I was puzzled. Who could that be at this hour? No one was at the door. How I wish for tomorrow and Lenore! She was so beautiful and sweet. Sighing, I went back to my book to forget my heartache. I heard the tapping again. The curtain fluttered restlessly, filling my heart with ter- ror. Whoever you are, I cried, Pre- sent yourself! Silence greeted my outburst. Did I dare hope it might be Lenore? I whispered. Silence was my answer. Again the tapping sounded, but this time it seemed to come from the window. I whirled around and a raven stood before me. He stood per- fectly still. Suddenly, I grinned at this grotesque bird. Nevermore, spoke the bird. He'll fly away with the others, I said. Nevermore! replied the bird. Then, as if forced by some unseen object, I burst forth with these ques- tions. Will I ever find a cure for my grief and sorrow? Is she in Heaven and will I ever see her again? Nevermore, was the answer. Get out! I shouted, Get out! Nevermore, the bird said undis- turbed. Then and there, I knew I would never be free of my mourning for Lenore. Barbara Smith '60 HASTE MAKES WASTE Arriving home from school, I went into the house and hunted for some- thing to eat, found a piece of choco- late cake, and went upstairs to change my clothes so that I could go down to the corner and tease the girls. Down in the kitchen I saw an aluminum dish full of maple syrup which I had col- lected the day before. This I set on our new electric stove to boil, went off and forgot it. When George Dinsmore and I re- turned about an hour later and opened the kitchen door, there was so much smoke in the house that we couldn't THE TATLER 15 see our hands before us. We groped our way into the dreadfully smoke- filled room and through the house. I thought the house was on fire, but when I could faintly see a red spot where the electric stove was, I sudden- ly knew what the trouble was: I had left the electric burner on high and the sap had boiled over. We opened the doors and windows as fast as we could find them. Then I shut off the electri- city, picked the pot off the stove and threw it outdoors. There wasn't any bottom in it, it had melted. The house was a dirty, smoky mess. The smoke had even gone upstairs to the bedrooms. But the stove was the most pitiful sight. The syrup had burned into the enamel, the electric burner was all black, and the top of the stove was warped into a sag in the middle. My mother was heartbroken but my father wasn't the least bit an- gry with me, to my surprise. A little later when things calmed down, we worked together and got the black scraped off with razor blades, and after the metal cooled completely, even the warped middle rose up to its normal shape. Donald Hamalainen '62 ON READING A BOOK To me, reading a book is a challenge. It evokes comparison of my interpre- tation and opinions with those of the author. I have often picked up and discarded a book whose title dissatified me be- cause it did not adequately describe the book. On the other hand when someone whose opinion was interesting enough to stimulate me has recom- mended a book, I have read it under the urge to compare my thoughts with those of the other reader. By means of word pictures and illustrative anecdotes I am given a glimpse of, perhaps, life in another country, ideas and opinions on politics or religion, and even of personal ac- centricities.