East Oregonian : E.O. (Pendleton, OR) 1888-current, 1910-09-27

covery awaited me. When l heard of
sage brush always thought of Mary
MacLanes "All gray sand and bar
reness" OF deserts where nothing
grew. A withered barren shrub But
il blooms. Sage brush blooms a
cheerful, featheryi golden bloom. See
this great bunch in ped OF rock and
sand. water, not drop near. and yet
it blooms.
If l could only look away from the
alluring hills l would have time to
think of what it is a symbol. Like
lump of ice in the clear, cold moon "
il is symbolic, this shrub of 1.-The
gray sand and barrenness" bearing
its cheerful, golden, feather bloom.
Can one become SO accustomed to
the beauties of these hills that they
cease to allure? Then take "The
stranger within your gates" if like
Elizabeth's guest they have mo
soul" until after dinner which in
cludes a salad of cabbage. Give them
the dinner and the salad and take
them upon the hills. Take them any
way. The climb, the wonderful air,
the pause at the top where after a
while you can almost hear your "soul
grow" 1t is solitude. yet the sweet
est of solitude, for the city is so near.
You are alone, yet there is a life just
below you throbbing up against your
own.
Along the winding valley-a canon
did you say?-(but 1 like valley so
much better)-it is so green and fer
tile and bright and "homey' and cam
on sounds like a deep dark pass with
great boulders sheitering a crouch
ing Indian and bears and things.
Do you see down below the bridge
that cluster of tepees? While far up
near the base of a hill thin spirals of
smoke go up from many council fires.
Crouching near the central tepee of
the group a young Indian woman sits
stolidly waiting, waiting, waiting.
There are canoes far down the stream
and an old woman is hanging a pot
on tlre fire. Children play about with
other papooses. Hunting and fishing
is good
See, there is no road yet, a great
band of Indian ponies trail along
near the stream. But with a whir
and a flash. a shrieking locomotive,
and they vanish. There is only a
squaw in a gay Pendleton blanket, a
brave and two Indian ponies just
coming across the bridge.
Would you dream and think great
swelling thoughts?" Cross the bridge
and follow the first street "Out to the
West" "Out, out beyond" Then
climb the hill.
These glorious autumn-no PEN
dleton, days. Look at the sweep of
the hills the town, the river, the
changing colors, the faint line of sky
and snow and you will think with
Olive Schriener who said, If there
were a wall of rock on the edge Of
the world and l could look far, far
out into space with the stars above
me, would not say anything, but the
feeling would be a prayer
Go upon a frosty, morning and
watch the fog creep up and float
away, dissolve and disappear like
some of our problems when we nave
passed on mp above them, only a mist.
The fog came floating up from the
river as I passed the old graveyard
so need must stop and look about
me. for Plps convict among the lean
ing tomb stones He was not there,
nor-for l lOoked-was the tomb
stone on which read phillip Pirrip,
late of this Parish. and Georgiana, his
wife" But I linger, linger long near
the grave of THE little boy who
died" A blot upon the street you
say? Oh, no; for ever we walk side
by side with death. There are no
graves, only the ones we carry in our
hearts.
1t is good to live these bright Sep
tember days in a city of beauty.
Some one is entertaining. l pass the
guests along the street beautiful wo-
men. beautiful gowns, beautiful Pen
dleton
Genie June Nissen, in Lee Moor
houses Indian Book