The Dalles times-mountaineer. [volume] (The Dalles, Or.) 1882-1904, 1898-05-17
Picturesque Hood River.

beautiful OF all the valleys OF the y Orth-
west. 1t is in the very heart of the
Cascade range, yet sweeps down in
gentle undulating slopes to the Column
bia, where it is only fifty feet above
tide water. The valley proper, is from
three to five miles wide and about six
teen miles long, but it's limits would be
hard to place. The gentle slopes that
bound 1t rise, at first, almost impercept-
IDLY growing gradually more and more
inclined until the line of demarcation
between valley and mountain can not
be determined. Starting from the Col
umbia, as has been stated, almost at
tide-water, one can drive for twenty
odd miles due south and then only real
ize that the valley has been left behind
when the snow line of Mt Hood is but
half dozen miles away.
Nature was in her happiest mood
when she designed it, and evidently in
tended it as the especial property OF her
lovely daughters, Flora and Pomona.
To the north Mt. Adams, distant
thirty miles, lifts its snowy dome to the
skies, while the Columbia pours its GER
ulean tide ever past on it's wav to the
Pacific. To the south Hood pierces the
summer sky with its snowy minaret,
while on the east and west, the ever
green forests lift terrace on terrace
until the green shades into a purple,
and then a misty blue, that meets and
blends with the azure of the sky.
Hood river, a typical mountain stream
winds its way from the glaciers of Mt
Hood to the Columbia, noisy with its
from mountain to river.
Majestic oaks, each fit abiding place
for laughing Dryad, gnarled OF bole
rugged limbed and glossy-leaved, dot
the hill sides and send their long
branches protectingly over trail and
road. The grassy slopes show brighter
green by comparison with the thousand
wild flowers scattered by Natures hand
in patterns too intricate for mortal ken.
The violet peeps demurely through the
green curtains of the sward. butter-cup
and spring beauties lift their yellow and
pink blossoms from the long grass, the
wild rose bolder, f1irts with butterfly
and bee, blushing anon at her deceitful-
ness, and the wanton honey suckle
twines her tendrils carressingly on
~
all her gold-lined chalices Intoxicating
perfume on the wing of every vagrant
breeze. The dog-wood opens its green
white petals, delight to the eye and
on the hill side the rhododendrun
flashes crimson flame, as bright as
that in the bush, which Moses SAW as
he herded the focks of the INDIAN
priest in Egypt.
For wonder, man has not spoiled
Natures work, but this was caused by
more than by sentiment
tai love of Nature. 1t was not that his
hand had become less ruthless, to fell
the oak or prune the vine, but that the
Uses TO WHICH the SOIL WAS adapted
made a few acres sufficient for all
his needs. The vine and the fruit tree
found here their homes, and orchards
heavy with yellow and scarlet fruit, in
stead of billowing grain fields, were the
husbandmans' care and pride. In con-
sequence though the valley contains Il
population of more than 1000, much OF
the land is in the condition that man
found it. The mountain streams have
been diverted, and instead of leaping
and laughing as of old, adown the rug
ged canyon, they toll slowly noiselessly
patiently the long summer through,
between rows of vines and trees, until
swallowed and absorbed by the thirsty
soil.
The roads are perfect, the wheelmans'
paradise. But why attempt to describe
it? Some future Goldsmith may do so
in flowing verse. Some painter, yet un-
known to fame, may here find inspira-
ton, but the unpoetic pencil can but
conceal the beauties it most would
show To be appreciated it must be