Ashland tidings. [volume] (Ashland, Or.) 1876-1919, 1917-07-19
Home Poets
Tn the Oregon Country

Close to nature, is close to God,
so on Sunday while some visit city
or village church, others HE away
to Gods green temple-the woods in
the Oregon country where birds sing
freely, and little wild creatures
scamper and are unafraid Where
the pure mountain air whispers, II
am life, breathe me! Breathe deep,
breathe deep"
There is no hesitation about where
to go for there are a thousand and
one of the bookiest places to picnic
along the creeks, rivers, mountain
streams, and in the glades, canyons,
hills and mountains where one may
camp, fish, ramble, hike or take part
in almost any outdoor diversion we
could mention.
Laden with picnic baskets, pillows,
books and other necessities for the
coziest kind of a woodsie Sunday, we
are off for the day and remain un-
til tinkling cowbells and low-drawn
moos of Jerseys drawing nearer and
nearer inform us 1t is time to de-
part.
AS we make preparations for leav-
ing, heads are thrust through the
bushes into our secluded nook and
wide, starry liquid-brown eyes gaze
for an instant wonderingly and SEEM
ingly reproachfully at those who dare
invade their domain, then with strait
ed moos they are off and away on
the homeward path.
Refreshed for the business of life
for another week we wend our way
homeward singing.
It is never lonesome in the Ore
gon country, for most of us have
neighbors almost within sound of our
voice. At early morning are heard
sweet singing voices Of children
vending their way to the village
school. Throughout the day, puff
ing of freights, whistling of coast
passengers, footing of auto horns of
interurban cars and trucks, and priv
ate motors sounding from the Pacific
highway; whirring Of merchandise
delivery and touring cars from the
city speeding by on the country road,
and the cackling hens, lowing cattle,
whinnying horses, all serve to elimi-
nate the muddying touch of lone
someness from the setting of emerald
green.
Sometimes band of bleating sheep
are herded down the lane by horse
men and sherherd dogs that nip heels
of sheep daring to stop and nibble
tender succulent greenery. And
sometimes at the brow of hill
number of objects appears stately
steeds, they clatter down bearing on
their backs rosy shocked, laughing
girl riders.
At eventide, colorful shadows from
the sunset slowly o'erspread the
then gradually are blend
ed into soft, velvety shades of law
ender purple and delft blue. From
orchard and field the farmer wends
his way homoward, and whistles mer-
rily as he streams tinkling milk into
the pail.
Just at twilight on the highest
heights of distant mountain glows
a dimly mellow light-the headlight
of a PASSENGER speeding down and
like a glow worm with a thousand
eyes, 1t wriggles its way toward the
city from whence CLEAN lights softly
incandescent and glistening brilliant
ly radiant like rope of pearls and
diamonds suspended in a. mist of sap
phire and sea of turquoise blue.
Now and then there are those of
us who, like the mule desirous of
grass seemingly growing greener in
a neighboring pasture, stray far
afield, but like the old cat, we al
ways come back for
There is no land like Oregon, the
land OF the western sea-
In east or west, It is the best; its
where we long to be.
Though we wander on and on, no
matter where we roam,
Our hearts still cling to Oregon
for its home, home, home"
Eleanor Madeline Daily, Talent,
0regon)