"Never came day more joyfully upon mountains," and never was any more fully enjoyed. The dew was almost as refreshing as rain, so copiously had it gathered on the grass and flowers. Their brilliant spikes of blossoms were like magic wands, enticing us through the place like fair enchantresses. Ferns, the like of which we never beheld, grew all about the highway. Great Osmunda ferns, nearly as high as our heads, formed vase-like clusters, whose magic shields seemed guarding the home of some forest nymphs. It is a delight to be alive amid scenes so fair and on days which are as perfect as July days can be.
Imagine if you can a balmy south wind, heavily laden with the fragrance of pine mint, balsam and scented fern; myriads of pine needles each tipped with its diamond drop; musical brooks far- flashing in the morning light; twittering swallows in the sky above; add to this the mysterious veil of color that makes distance so magical, and you yet have a faint idea of the picture.
In the valleys lay velvety meadows with their stately groups of elms, beneath which droves of cattle and sheep were grazing. Now and then lakes gleamed like sheets of molten beryl in their forest setting. Here and there we observed spaces in the valley resembling sunken gardens, with houses surrounded by their graceful elms, or having tree-bordered fields in their midst. We knew not in which direction to look, for beauty was on every side and we absorbed new life, new hope, and spiritual tone from our wonderful environment.
"Today we dine at the sign of the White Pine Bough," we said, as we beheld a fine forest of evergreens, whose myriad needles seemed to be calling us to enjoy their "restful solitude." Chickadees and warblers sang among their branches. The ground beneath them was covered with a thick soft carpet of rich brown needles. Large boulders covered with moss and lichens were scattered about, which served us for tables. Tall ferns grew in abundance. The air was heavy with fragrance of pine and hemlock. Our appetites were made unusually keen by our sampling of choke cherries that grew in abundance along the highway. How delicious is a meal of buns, with honey and butter, berries and pure spring water! One learns the real flavor of food out here where the odors of restaurants are but a memory.
Thinking that there was a waterfall somewhere near, we penetrated quite a distance the forest, only to learn that we had heard naught but the wind among the pines.
Here in the lovely Berkshire country near a charming lake we saw the sturdy New England farmers at work in their harvest fields. One farmer was still using the old self rake-reaper. It was interesting to watch the old reaper in operation. A real old gentleman seeing us, came out to the road and after a friendly greeting, asked: "And what be ye doing in Yankee land?" Mr. H. could not resist the temptation to bind a few sheaves for old times' sake, and soon was binding the golden bundles, and so fascinated was he, that an hour passed by (to the utter delight of the old man's son, let it be known) while he neatly bound his first New England sheaves.
He was well aware that this stop had undoubtedly meant the missing of some grand natural scenery, but he declared with amazing indifference that he would not have missed this opportunity for many mountain scenes, however fair. The same mysterious power that threw over the hills that filmy veil of delicate blue had turned to gold the standing wheat, which so lately undulated in the rippling wind with its sea-like tints of shimmering, shining green.
Bidding our friends adieu, we thought what a grand harvest of by- gone memories the day had brought.
One can never forget the groups of yellow and silver birch that grow like beautiful bouquets along the trail. Druids built their altars and worshiped beneath the aged oaks, but surely there were no lovely groups of white and yellow birch there, or they would have forsaken their oaks for these graceful, fragrant trees. What lessons of humility they teach by their modest, humble manner!
Where the forest contains so many noble trees to challenge one's admiration, you will linger fondly among these glorious creations of God's art, where each new group is more beautiful than the last, and extol their beauty above all other New England trees. They are indeed the gold and silver censers in Nature's vast cathedral which scatter incense on every passing breeze. One could wish for no lovelier monument to mark his last resting place—and it would indeed be a noble life to be worthy of such distinction.