The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933, 1904-06-16

On up the river we wend our way
until we pass the beautiful mountain
stream of White Salmon and in few
moments more our boat whistles fol
Hood River, the famous berry town.
| A crowd of beople are gathered on
the bank and to add to the picturesque
scene, Indian squaws and papooses clad
in blankets Of the most brilliant red
/ green, yellow and blue, with stripes and
plaids both large and small.
+ pleasing picture the whole landing
presents, where graceful cottonwood
aud willows waving to the gentle breeze,
| almost touch the boat, the gang plank
is thrown out and OF our $50 passengers,
over 800 stop at this picturesque
and prosperous little city.
The town, half hidden by spreading
oak, is charmingly situated on the hill
side with a background OF sweetscented
pines and graceful oaks. Below, through
a vista of green the blue waters of the
Grand old Columbia lies in smiling in
the sunlight, while beyond lies those
silent tir-clad mountains. Still further
back and towering above all Mount
Adams rears its snowy head, and Just
below, the stream of White Salmon like
a silver thread emerges from the dark,
cool forests and empties its clear waters
into the Columbia.
1t is lovely, fascinating scene long
to be remembered. With q delightful
climate and cool, fresh air, surely ma.
ture has poured her wealth upon this
spot with lavish hand. We go on far
ther. What panoramic view meets
our eyes Before us like lake of green,
basking in the sunlight lies the beauti-
full, fertile valley OF Hood River, fairly
groaning with its weight of fruit
The valley seems alive with the hum
OF busy workers. Acres OF delicious red
Strawberries peep out from among the
green leaves.
Tentsare pitched in every direction Be-
sides the white pckers and packers
who are employed, hundreds OF Indians
from the reservation bring their tents,
dogs and ponies, and remain during the
berry season. Lazy braves, may often
be seen lying in the. shade smoking
while the squaws, with their little sun
burned papOoses on their backs labor in
the fields.
Nestled in the lap of the valley be.
yond are orchards loaded with green
fruit, and, as if to Id beauty and fresh
ness to the scene, winding around
among the green, Hood river comes
toaming and dashing over the rocks in
its mad rush to reach the Columbia.
Stretching away in the distance, in
their soft, blue smoky caps, the hills
fade away against the blue sky like the
sweet, half faded memories of the years
behind us. Beyond, at the head of the
valley, like a grand old white-h haired
sentinel stands Mount Hood as if guard
ing the little valley at its feet.
The setting sun throws its golden tint
on his snowy robes-words fail to de-
scribe the grandeur and beauty of the
scene, and as the sun sinks out Of sight
and the shades OF night are closing soft
ly, gently oeer the now quiet valley
below and the gray shadows are creep
ing up the mountain sides, we bid good
night to grand old mountains and beau
tiful vale and wend our way back
among the murmuring pines.
Though the beautiful scenes have
faded from sight, their memory re-
mains, and as the tide of years drifts by
floating us far out upon the great swells
Of life, may it sometime bring us gently
again up the Columbia to Hood River
valley. JESSIE d. BELKNAP.