The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1919-09-11

muddy bed a salty, weedy,
slightly smoky, cedary, and piney
smell upon the air; windows of kelp
and other weedy drift upon the slith-
ering slope of bank; squirt of clans,
In every fairly fiat place, and ripping
scuttle Of founders upon the bottom /;
drifting moons Of stray medusae luml-
nou In the water-there Is q typical
woodland setting in northern British
Columbia, says a writer In the Chris.
tian Science Monitor. The crow is
ubiquitous, not unlike a raven; beloved
he Is of totemic designers and carvers,
from Tillamook up to Nome, calling
his hoarse "caw" from the shadows of
some disheveled cedar.
On the high water mark of spring
tides, ragged cedar and pessimistic-
looking hemlock in silhouette against
the sunny blue, purple-courses with
raven-like shadow the distant noun
tain side. At the base of the irregu-
larry standing timber, spared of log
gers, an impenetrable thicket of sallal,
salmon and button berry, blackberry
bramble and whortle berry, under q
taller growth Of alder, willow and pop
lar, together mask a tangle of fallen
trunks and upturned roots, amid which
the epilobium, the fireweed of the Pa
cific coast, overtops a mans head. a
spire Of vibrant pinkly purple flame.
At the forks of the creek, a wide
eaved bunk house, Its foundation posts
lifting its floor well above the damp
ness of the marsh, stands upon a bit
Of ground where solid soil, washed
down from the heights, supports rank
grass. Rapidly built throughout of
cedar, walls and roofs of split cedar
shakes, In weathered redness 1t has a
fitness to its place. Smaller shacks
near, in color and size, match piles of
cordwood near the water: awaiting a
scow, a favoring high tide, and trans
portation across the water to the city.
The Ever-WeIcome "chow."
A scrap of straw mating and a mo-
mentary glimpse Of a short and sturdy
figure. round and black Of head, the
bronze skin In quiet contrast with blue
overalls, showed IL to be a japanese
woodcutters' camp. The sun was high
and the shadows short by the time the
sketch was finished. An eruption from
the woods and cordwood piles toward
the bunk-house suggested possible re-
freshment, ever II the calling of the
dish-pan, banged with a stick Of fire.
wood at the door, did not. There was
too much good sketching about for
the artist to want to return across the
harbor for such an inconsequential
thing as lunch, which. however, would
quite likely suggest its lack some time
between then and the shutdown he
knew he would linger for. So, port
folio under arm, he strolled to the
bunk house.
Within, on either side, were two
TERED hunks against the walls, stop
ping short of the further end, which
stove beneath the end window-a rear
door letting In breeze and sunshine
was combined kitchen. dining room
and place Of assembly. About six per
sons, on either side Of a three-p!ank
table covered with oilcloth, looked
curiously and courteously at the
stranger as he stepped within. The
cook poislng loaded dishes on either
hand, nodded and smiled the inscruta.
BILE Japanese smile. The mention OF
"chow" brought a cheerful grin to
three or four faces at once, and q wei.
coming indication of a seat at the end
OF the table, as the three on that side
hunched along to make a place-deftly
shifting food with them. In 10 sec
onds more-with a grave courtesy
was placed before the guest the usual
food. each portion in a blue-and-white
bowl; to him vas apportioned a sep
arate teapot and a handleless cup
both Of palegreen seki-ware.
Art In q Woodmen's Camp.
The artist ate and conversed. Such
Of these woodcutters as spoke English
(and they nearly all did,, spoke IN
measured carefulness, out of which al
intervals cropped a Chinook" word OF
a phrase of this coast as bold amid
the careful English as a single dark
cedar in a green meadow. Looking
about, the gueNt noted a print on the
bunk house wall. He got up and
walked across to GET Q better view,