University of California Los Angeles - Bruin Life / Southern Campus Yearbook (Los Angeles, CA)

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green that meets the eye on every side is the peculiar charm of the landscape. The river that is the heart of the whole region winds with many a gracious curve between its mountains to the sea. Sometimes they stand back from it a little, leaving a strip of silver ' sand, or per- haps a level bluff or a sloping hillside, where there are houses and gardens and orchards ; but for the most part they gather clo.se about it as if they loved it. And no wonder ; for ever} ' bend in its course reveals some new beauty. There are long quiet stretches, where, when the wind is still, the river is like glass, and mirrors in its green depths mountain and .sk}- and passing cloud, so that to glide over it is like floating between two worlds. There are .shallows where the swift, bright water ripples noisily over its sands and peb- bles, and the rower ' s boat grazes the bottom as he passes. And along the banks, under the overhanging willows or in the shade of the great rocks, there are deep, dark pools which the bather shuns, but in which the wary fish love to lurk. The river does not alwa3 ' s flow along .so peacefully: mas.ses of debris high up in the willows show that it can rage tempestuously at times; but its summer mood is one of calm serenity. Such, too, .seems to be the mood of those who come to loiter awhile on its banks. The inconveniences incident to this woodland life — and in this case they are few and trivial — are lightly borne. Ivife moves easily along, because it moves in simple and natural channels, and evers day brings plea.sures that renew body and spirit alike. There are long nights of dreamless, life-giving .sleep. There are lazy noontide hours, when it is bliss to .swing idly in one ' s ham- mock and look up through the feathery foliage to the tender blue of the far-off sky, or gaze dreamily through the sunlit forest vistas, where lights and shadows are perpetually chasing each other as the breeze swa ' s the branches to and fro. There are invigorating tramps over the mountains, from which one returns laden with ferns or wild flowers or pails of luscious huckleberries. There are pleas- ant evenings around the camp fire, when the stars are gleaming overhead, and the leaping flames throw fantastic .shadows all about, and one ' s own enjoyment is enhanced b}- the .sounds of mu.sic and merry laughter from the neighboring camps. There are long, peace- ful hours on the river, sometimes in the morning, when the sky is still gra} ' with the fog that drifted in last night from the .sea, and the cool, moist air is unstirred by an}- breath of wind, and the only sound is the dip of oars in the water ; .sometimes in the brightness of the early afternoon, when the fresh sea breeze, sweeping up the canyon, has .set all the willow leaves a-quiver, and broken up the surface of the water into a million dancing wavelets that flash in the sun.shine; sometimes in the early gloaming, when the soft white wi.sps of fog are again stealing over the mountain tops, and then, little by little, enveloping their .sides in a gray mist, and floating slowly downward to mingle with another silvery mist that is creep- ing along the surface of the water ; or later in the evening, when the full moon, hanging above the tree tops, has turned the mid-

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We were now Hearing our destination. In half an liour or there- abouts the conductor called Guernewood Park, and with a num- ber of others I alighted from the train to find myself in a beautiful grove of young redwoods. A throng of people had gathered to see the train come in or to greet new arrivals ; but nowhere was there any sign of a house or other building. All around us rose the stately ranks of trees, with here and there, through the boughs, the glim- mer of a white tent. I had scarcel} more than time to draw one delighted breath at the beauty and wildness of it all when I was pounced upon by the Boy of our party and carried off in great glee to our camp. In and out we wound among the trees, until my guide said, Here we are ; and lifting a curtain that hung between two great redwood stumps, I entered our summer home, and after due greeting looked about me. On every side rose clusters of tall, slender young redwoods, en- circling, as is the habit of these trees, the stumps of their mighty ancestors, fallen before the lumberman ' s ax. Over the greater part of the camp, their interlacing branches made a sunlit canopy; but in the middle was an open space, roofed only by the blue dome of the sky, whence, at mid-day, streamed down a flood of w armth and light. Gay Chinese lanterns were swinging from the boughs; hammocks and rustic chairs invited one to rest; and three white tents in the background gave assurance of comfortable sleeeping accommodations. But the most beautiful spot in the camp was a point of land lying bej ' ond the circle of tents and overlooking the river. Here one could lie in the shade of great trees, and see, thirty or forty feet below, the little stream, rippling and flashing between its steep, wooded banks, and hear the water lapping softly against the sides of the boat that lay tied at the landing. All this was our own domain, and it was but one of many such scattered through the park, each shut in from the prying gaze of out- siders by a high burlap screen. The grove in which the camps were located occupies the top of a long, narrow liluff between the river and the mountains, and is everywhere surrounded b} ' scenes of quiet and peaceful, and yet majestic beauty. The landscape has none of the rugged grandeur that often characterizes mountain scenery. There are no awful precipices, no sky-splitting peaks; but the mountains with their softly curving outlines wear a gentle and benignant aspect. Nature in a kindly mood has covered over all the seams and scars in their mighty sides, and made them beautiful with verdure. Here the stately redwoods stand in solemn, unbroken ranks from base to summit, and etch their black branches against the sky. There the brighter green of bay tree and maple, or the brilliant red trunk and glossy foliage of the madrona mingle wdth and lighten the solemn grandeur of the redwoods. Occasionally there are great bare patches, where a few blackened trunks and scarred and leafless boughs tell of the tempests of fire that from time to time have swept through the woodland; but except for these, the mountain sides seem to be an almost unbroken forest, and the deep, reposeful

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stream to silver, while black shadows still lurk along the shores, and one ' s boat glides softly through light and shadow, and the spell of the night is on one ' s heart. The charm of this peaceful outdoor life laj ' S hold on the sojourner more and more as weeks roll by. He enjoys its unconventionalit} ' ; he delights in its freedom from rush and hurry and the strife for gain ; he takes increased delight in its simple pleasures ; and his soul opens wider day by da} ' to the sweet ministry of nature. It is little wonder that increasing hundreds seek health and pleasure in this region every year. For several miles up and down the beautiful river are scattered, singly or in groups, the camps and cottages of these summer pilgrims. -In remote farmhouses, too, miles away among the mountains, the summer boarder finds a peaceful retreat and helps to swell the farmer ' s scant} ' income. Many of these visitors to the Russian River return year after year. We met families that for a decade had never failed to make their annual pilgrimage to this spot. At first the new comer wonders at their constancy ; but when the charm of the place has entered his blood, he resolves to go and do likewise. And if, perchance, an unkind Fate forbids his return, he still looks longingly, as summer approaches, toward this home of woodland beauty and peace. —JOSEPHINE E. SEAMAN. .i uggesitions; for tlje i§ci)ool 25arben N the work to which the normal graduate goes forth, the school garden is so essential a feature that these few suggestions on its establishment and care are offered with the hope that they may be of general in- terest. The various points are discussed with the view of making the method of procedure logical and, in greater or less degree, comprehensible to children. Having the necessary space for the garden, what is the first step in its preparation? The schoolhouse is established so early in the life of a comnui- nity that it occupies ground that has never known the plow. Its grounds are virgin soil, so the first step is that of the pioneer — to break the sod. In your garden this is done by deep spading. A firmly trodden school yard will generally require a pick to precede the spade. But whatever the requirement, the result must be a deep and thorough stirring. The reason for this step may be con- sidered under the heads aeration, penetration and fertilization. Natural soil, like natural water, is a medium teaming with life. There are, besides the multitudes of visible forms, such as earth- worms, larvae, crickets, etc., the hosts of invisible bacteria which,