The Mason County journal. [volume] (Shelton, W.T.) 1886-1927, 1899-05-19
che Story u ValIey $bMt.1n.
Whore the Ruins Of Desolate Cottage
Rest on the Spot of Happy Home.
THE Valley Shut-In is secluded from


den among wooded hills in the widest,
most inaccessible part of the Arcadian
mountains. It's charm is unknown to
many, and only score or more Of aged
men and women give fleeing thought
to the homes of their childhood in VAL
ley Shut-In. No one ever visits the lone
ly spot but those who till the meager
soil, and no one views the ruins of
Desolate Cottage, once Happy Home,
that lie therein.
Flowing through the Valley Shut-In
is shallow river that gurgles plain
lively through a wilderness of forest;
an unknown stretch of river. for it turns
abruptly away from the valley road and
n noisier smaller tributary two miles
or more away; turns at such en- obtusc
angle. hid with trees. that few travellers
notice where it leaves them, and Won
der later where the river turned its
flood another way; but we who love the
shallow stream always watch for the
turning, and when we view it our fancy
travels wishfully along that unknown
path, impossible, they say, except in
the driest season, and we wonder
where the turnings, where the deep.
dark pools and CHANGING shadows.
what the flowers and birds along its
winding way.
But ere long it reaches the Valley
Shut-In and energies again. unsad-
dened by the loneliness there, to ripple
down through many a forest and
meadow to the greater river and the
sea.
On either side of the river the hills
frown down upon it, and the trees ON
either side bend lovingly down to drink
side sees the stream, only listens to it's
drowsy murmur in the summer days,
Or q louder, wilder song when it's wa
tiers come plunging down.
On the eastern side of the valley the
trees crowd thiclsly up the hillside, and
on the other alternate with brown pas
ture land and rugged lodges.
One reaches Valley Shut-In from this
western side through a forest where
rare ferns grow and orchids hide and
no one finds them, through wild wood
road that is lined with the flowers that
nature loves, and is carpeted with moss
and understanding chips, dropped here
from the winter shedding; path trav-
eled oftenest by timid denizens of the
forest and things that creep and crawl
in lowly ways.
We leave the path moment just be-
fore it dips steeply down the hill to-
ward Desolate Cottage, once the road
to Happy Home, leave the path and fol-
low ledge that lies at right angles
with it, and creeping under the under
brush little way suddenly find our
selves standing on the brink of preci-
pice, where giant trees growing at its
base GO feet below rest their topmost
leafy branches gently on the rocks
above.
Below us are yawning cracks where
great slabs of rocks threaten 10 fall
away, and then in places are narrow,
gloomy caves, and an echo that living
here guarGs all living things and tells
them in many revcrberating, oft-re-
peating voices when a human being
or rucer spirit stands in natures home.
Many years ago some fortune hunter
Guarried in the ledge, ard the ragged
aperture thus made frowns in its side.
though its frown is almost hidden by
the 1ilmy lace of vines that creep low
lngiy across its furrowed cheeks and
the delicate rock ferns that have found
foothold in its wrinkles, and close
by fragment yet unbroken by geolo-
gist's hammer fingers to tell the story.
For some strange freak on natures
part filled the lcCge with streaks of
feidspar, in the coarser granite rock,
and in places flung bright bits of mica
IN, and in others crowded it with crys-
tails of green tourmaline, brittle. vet
tantalizing, as they protrude their
pentagonal sides from the lighter
rocks. and then again vein of smoky
or yellow quartz peers out from the
stone.
Below the ledge, out from under the
trees and the guarding echo, we stand
in pasture where blackberry bushes
and brarbles grow at our feet. and
there we look across the abandoned
apple orchard with Desolate Cottage
standing forlornly there.a across mead
ow that slants to the rivers side. across
the path Of the river betrayed BY the
trees, to the wooded hills that rise to
the sky that sinks behind them and
shuts out the world beyond.
The shingles of Desolate Cottage are
covered with the moss of many years.
but now even the moss finds no wood
beneath it and slowly falls away.
The bricks of its chimney were long
ago built into the walls OF another
home. The door stone is sunk in tho
grass and hid by a tangle of wild
rose and burdock that quarrel and
are friends again.
The floors are bending and saggine
downward with the rotten sleepers. A
few bits of plaster, green with years:
few bits ct wall paper discolored
past all resemblance to what it once
was, cling to the walls. The frames
OF the windows and the glass that
was in them are long fallen away.
and driven in by the valley wines the
leaves of last years spring rustic and
frclic in the tenantless rooms. In the
low-roofed kitchen great brick oven
yawns beside the vacant chimney
place; and all else that remains to
tell that here was once home is
an ancient cradle, once red, now paint
less, rocked by the passing breezes IN
the empty Desolate Cottage of the
Valley Shut-In.
Many years ago. when the great
beeches where the echo fingers were