Blazing The Way Part 13

A merry party of pioneer young people, invited to spend the evening at a neighbor's, were promised the luxury of a candy-pull. The first batch was put on to boil and the a.s.sembled youngsters engaged in old fashioned games to while away the time. Unfortunately for their hopes the mola.s.ses burned and they were obliged to throw it away. There was a reserve in the jug, however, and the precious remainder was set over the fire and the games went on again. Determined to succeed, the hostess stirred, while an equally anxious and careful guest held the light, a small fish-oil lamp. The lamp had a leak and was set on a tin plate; in her eagerness to light the bubbling saccharine substance and to watch the stirring-down, she leaned over a little too far and over went the lamp directly into the mola.s.ses.

What consternation fell upon them! The very thought of the fish-oil was nauseating, and that was all the mola.s.ses. There was no candy-pulling, there being no grocery just around the corner where a fresh supply might be obtained, indeed mola.s.ses and syrup were very scarce articles, brought from a great distance.

The guests departed, doubtless realizing that the "best laid plans ...

gang aft agley."

The climate of Puget Sound is one so mild that snow seldom falls and ice rarely forms as thick as windowgla.s.s, consequently travel, traffic and amus.e.m.e.nt are scarcely modified during the winter, or more correctly, the rainy season. Unless it rained more energetically than usual, the children went on with their games as in summer.

The long northern twilight of the summertime and equally long evenings in winter had each their special charm.

The pictures of winter scenes in eastern magazines and books looked strange and unfamiliar to us, but as one saucy girl said to a tenderfoot from a blizzard-swept state, "We see more and deeper snow everyday than you ever saw in your life."

"How is that?" said he.

"On Mount Rainier," she answered, laughing.

Even so, this magnificent mountain, together with many lesser peaks, wears perpetual robes of snow in sight of green and blooming sh.o.r.es.

When it came to decorating for Christmas, well, we had a decided advantage as the evergreens stood thick about us, millions of them. Busy fingers made lavish use of rich garlands of cedar to festoon whole buildings; handsome Douglas firs, reaching from floor to ceiling, loaded with gay presents and blazing with tapers, made the little "clam-diggers'" eyes glisten and their mouths water. In the garden the flowers bloomed often in December and January, as many as twenty-six varieties at once.

One New Year's day I walked down the garden path and plucked a fine, red rosebud to decorate the New Year's cake.

The p.u.s.s.y-willows began the floral procession of wildlings in January and the trilliums and currants were not far behind unless a "cold snap"

came on in February and the flowers _dozed on_, for they never seem to _sleep_ very profoundly here. By the middle of February there was, occasionally, a general display of bloom, but more frequently it began about the first of March, the seasons varying considerably.

The following poem tells of favorite flowers gathered in the olden time "i' the spring o' the year!"

In the summertime we had work as well as play, out of doors. The garden surrounding our cottage in 1863, overflowed with fruits, vegetables and flowers. Nimble young fingers were made useful in helping to tend them.

Weeding beds of spring onions and lettuce, sticking peas and beans, or hoeing potatoes, were considered excellent exercise for young muscles; no need of physical "culchuah" in the school had dawned upon us, as periods of work and rest, study and play, followed each other in healthful succession.

Having a surplus of good things, the children often went about the village with fresh vegetables and flowers, more often the latter, generous bouquets of fragrant and spicy roses and carnations, sweet peas and nasturtiums, to sell. Two little daughters in pretty, light print dresses and white hats were flower girls who were treated like little queens.

There was no disdain of work to earn a living in those days; every respectable person did something useful.

For recreation, we went with father in the wagon over the "b.u.mpy" road when he went to haul wood, or perhaps a long way on the county road to the meadow, begging to get off to gather flowers whenever we saw them peeping from their green bowers.

Driving along through the great forest which stood an almost solid green wall on either hand, we called "O father, stop! stop; here is the lady-slipper place."

"Well, be quick, I can't wait long."

Dropping down to the ground, we ran as fast as our feet could carry us to gather the lovely, fragrant orchid, Calypso Borealis, from its mossy bed.

When the ferns were fully grown, eight or ten feet high, the little girls broke down as many as they could drag, and ran along the road, great ladies, with long green trains!

[Ill.u.s.tration: A VISIT FROM OUR TILLIc.u.m]

We found the way to the opening in the woods, where in the midst thereof, grandfather sat making cedar shingles with a drawing knife.

Huge trees lay on the ground, piles of bolts had been cut and the heap of shingles, clear and straight of the very best quality, grew apace.

Very tall and grand the firs and cedars stood all around, like stately pillars with a dome of blue sky above; the birds sang in the underbrush and the brown b.u.t.terflies floated by.

Among all the beautiful things, there was one to rivet the eye and attention; a dark green fir tree, perhaps thirty feet high, around whose trunk and branches a wild honeysuckle vine had twined itself from the ground to the topmost twig.

It had the appearance of a giant candelabrum, with the orange-scarlet blossoms that tipped the boughs like jets of flame.

Many a merry picnic we had in blackberry time, taking our lunch with us and spending the day; sometimes in an Indian canoe we paddled off several miles, to Smith's Cove or some other likely place.

It was necessary to watch the tide at the Cove or the sh.o.r.e could not be reached across the mudflat.

Once ash.o.r.e how happy we were; clambering about over the hills, gathering the ripe fruit, now and then turning about to gaze at the snowy sentinel in the southern sky, grand old Mount Rainier.

How wide the sparkling waters of the bay! the sky so pure and clear, the north wind so cool and refreshing. The plumy boughs stirred gently overhead and shed for us the balsamic odors, the flowers waved a welcome at our feet.

In the winter there was seldom any "frost on the rills" or "snow on the hills," but when it did come the children made haste to get all the possible fun out of the unusual pastime of coasting. Mothers were glad when the Chinook wind came and ate up the snow and brought back the ordinary conditions, as the children were frequently sick during a cold spell.

Now the tenderfoot, as the newcomer is called in the west, is apt to be mistaken about the Chinook wind; there is a wet south wind and a dry south wind on Puget Sound. The Chinook, as the "natives" have known it, is a dry wind, clears the sky, and melts and dries up the snow at once.

Wet south wind, carrying heavy rain often follows after snow, and slush reigns for a few days. Perhaps this is a distinction without much difference.

Storms rarely occur, I remember but two violent ones in which the gentle south wind seemed to forget its nature and became a raging gale.

The first occurred when I was a small child. The wind had been blowing for some time, gradually increasing in the evening, and as night advanced becoming heavier every hour. Large stones were taken up from the high bank on the bay and piled on the roof with limbs broken from tough fir trees. Thousands of giant trees fell crashing and groaning to the ground, like a continuous cannonade; the noise was terrific and we feared for our lives.

At midnight, not daring to leave the house, and yet fearing that it might be overthrown, we knelt and commended ourselves to Him who rules the storm.

About one o'clock the storm abated and calmly and safely we lay down to sleep.

The morning broke still and clear, but many a proud monarch of the forest lay p.r.o.ne upon the ground.

Electric storms were very infrequent; if there came a few claps of thunder the children exclaimed, "O mother, hear the thunder storm!"

"Well, children, that isn't much of a thunder storm; you just ought to hear the thunder in Illinois, and the lighting was a continual blaze."

Our mother complained that we were scarcely enough afraid of snakes; as there are no deadly reptiles on Puget Sound, we thrust our hands into the densest foliage or searched the thick gra.s.s without dread of a lurking enemy.

The common garter snake, a short, thick snake, whose track across the dusty roads I have seen, a long lead-colored snake and a small brown one, comprise the list known to us.

Walking along a narrow trail one summer day, singing as I went, the song was abruptly broken, I sprang to one side with remarkable agility, a long, wiggling thing "swished" through the gra.s.s in an opposite direction. Calling for help, I armed myself with a club, and with my support, boldly advanced to seek out the serpent. When discovered we belabored it so earnestly that its head was well-nigh severed from its body.

It was about five feet long, the largest I had even seen, whether poisonous or not is beyond my knowledge.

There are but two spiders known to be dangerous, a white one and a small black "crab" spider. A little girl acquaintance was bitten by one of these, it was supposed, though not positively known; the bite was on the upper arm and produced such serious effects that a large piece of flesh had to be removed by the surgeon's knife and amputation was narrowly escaped.

A mysterious creature inhabiting Lake Union sometimes poisoned the young bathers. One of my younger brothers was bitten on the knee, and a lameness ensued, which continued for several months. There was only a small puncture visible with a moderate swelling, which finally pa.s.sed away.

The general immunity from danger extends to the vegetable world, but very few plants are unsafe to handle, chief among them being the Panax horridum or "devil's club."

So the happy pioneer children roamed the forest fearlessly and sat on the vines and moss under the great trees, often making bonnets of the shining salal leaves pinned together with rose thorns or tiny twigs, making whistles of alder, which gave forth sweet and pleasant sounds if successfully made; or in the garden making dolls of hollyhocks, mallows and morning glories.