Roosevelt High School - Bwana Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

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ESWEHE AN ADVENTURE WITH AN OZARK BEAR Y desire to see Big Springs had at last been realized. In a cabin on the shore of the Current River, which claims the overflow from the Big Springs as its source, Bob, Ed, and I were enjoying our supper in the quiet of the Ozarks. The spirit of adventure had taken such possession of all three of us that we didn't linger long about our cabin supper table. A night hunt was planned. Boots, spotlights, guns, and coats were grabbed. We eagerly manned our large boat as we shoved off. A mile or two we floated down stream, when we spotted an opossum high in a tree. Immediately we went into action. Quietly we pulled in toward the bank. Out came our flashlights as we advanced over unknown ground. The opossum became the center of attention. Bob steadied the light on our prize, while I began climbing the tree. My rifle made the climb a real struggle. At a proper height, I released the safety and fired. Down fell the opossum to the ground. I went into reverse and slid down the tree to the ground. Suddenly screams and shrieks rent the air. To my astonishment Bob and Ed were rushing toward our boat without the opossum. Just as they reached the edge of the woods, I could discern the cause of their strange conduct. A bear was on their trail! Into the boat the boys plunged. Their boat moved out into the water. The bear stopped. Suddenly he remembered that a third boy was left at the tree. How I climbed that tree the second time I do not know. The bear returned with threatening growls, but, after a few moments, seemed to disappear into the woods. Again I slid down that tree, grabbed the opossum, and started on a run for the river. Suddenly I heard the pat, pat of footsteps behind me. I looked back. Yes, that bear was after me. I hastened my pace, and so did he. I won the race to the river, but no boat was there as a refuge. I yelled to Bob and Ed whom I saw rowing up the river. They couldn't hear me. I fired a shot. Yes, they stopped rowing. I yelled again. To my joy, they began to row back down toward me. Which would arrive first, I won- dered: the boys or the bear? With the aid of my flashlight, I made what advance I could up the shore. We'll save you,,' they shouted to encourage me. When they began to pull into the shore, I was about exhausted. At last there they were! I fell headlong into the boat. I don't know what became of the bear, for I didn't look to see. Perhaps he is still down in the Ozarks waiting for me. ROY EMERSON Term 3 Twenty-seven

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EWEHH The ranger of the Ozark National Forest in making his rounds marks trees for logging. He weeds out trees much in the same manner that a gardener weeds his garden, as some trees are useless. There are weed trees that use up the soil and keep the useful trees from growing properly. There are some that grow so close to others that all are too crowded to grow properly and are, therefore, small. These trees are called wolf trees. The ranger must supervise the setting out of trees as planting too close tends to cause tall trunks of small diameter, and planting of trees too far apart tends to make short trunks covered with branches. The lumber from either of these two types of trees has a low market value. i'After the earth, the forest is the most useful natural resource available to man. It sustains and regulates streams, moderates wind velocity, beautifies the country, and safeguards against Hoods. A deeper study of our wood- lands would lead people to appreciate the value of the forest and also realize that the forest-ranger does much for the welfare of the country. JOHN MILOSEVICH I X! f FOREST PRAY R By cz green-shadowed pool of the creek, I sit, Humble, Come to seek The peace of soul tha! quiet waters give. Hold my soul in cool embrace Until Strengtlvened I can once more face The tangled skein of life I live. -Grace Lee Jones Term5 ' ' ',' ' lj 1 5 if vga Z ' e y X I f.-to f 4 X l Twenty-six

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EWENH AROUND THE CLOCK AND CALENDAR IN THE OZARKS Then God smiled. and it was morning- Matchless and supreme, UNRISE and springtime! The wind has lulled the stars to sleep, and the lacy mists of dawn are rising in the eastern sky. The Ozarks have awakened and seem trembling in the chill, gray air, just as the wings of a moth tremble and expand into the fullness of their beauty. A bluebird warbles its gentle song. Deep in the moist woods, the spring beauties are blooming, and over the rocks, the wild columbine spreads in slender, wiry grace. The pale purple of the hepatica and the deeper hue of the violets set off the pure white of the bloodroots and the bright hues of the wild honeysuckles. ln the higher, wooded regions, the flowering dogwoods seem like snow against the dark background. Then, above the shimmering horizon the flaming sun appears, scattering the clouds and the lowland mists and blinding the Ozarks with its glare. The sunbeams carry the messages of dawn and springtime to doubting hearts still wrapped in the fog of winter's gloom. The molten gold of the sunlight rains through shining, newborn leaves. From a thorn bush, a brown thrush, master of melodies, rejoices, challenging its hearers to awake and dare to live! The carol is answered by the clear, flute-like whistle of the meadow-lark perched on a fence-post. The Ozarks are young again. Young blood is hot and hearts are singing-singing their youth away in the glad thrill of spring-time. There is laughter in the Ozarks: laughter in the gay carols of the birds, laughter in the play of breezes through flowering trees, laughter in the sunbeams sliding down shafts of light, and laughter in youthful hearts. It is easy for youth to laugh at the midnight's scowl when the sun is smiling on a World of beauty. YVben the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, Nflnd the dew is full of heavenly love that drips for me and you. Midday and summer! The beauty of the Ozarks is in full bloom. A canopy of deep, unclouded sapphire stretches through miles of the infinite. The heat is intense, the sun has fired the world with too much joy. The air is laden with a million dreamy, sleepy lullabies. Even the song of the wind, slipping through the willows, is lazy. ln the swampy marshes, the wild roses make bright splotches of pink against dark green leaves. The blue of the sky is reflected in the day flowers, the sunlight, in the buttercups. ln shady woodlands, the jewel-weed grows in profusion. From the heart of the forest, a pee-wee calls, plaintively, incessantly. The indigo bunting, faithful serenader of summer, sings from a briar patch in an old field. From the pine woods bursts a spontaneous melody, the song of the summer tanagerg from the orchards come the sombre, melancholy notes of the yellow-billed cuckoo. The throat of the red-eyed vireo is pulsing with the heat, and a wood thrush adds Twenty-eight