Part 13 (2/2)
Very tall and grand the firs and cedars stood all around, like stately pillars with a dome of blue sky above; the birds sang in the underbrush and the brown b.u.t.terflies floated by.
Among all the beautiful things, there was one to rivet the eye and attention; a dark green fir tree, perhaps thirty feet high, around whose trunk and branches a wild honeysuckle vine had twined itself from the ground to the topmost twig.
It had the appearance of a giant candelabrum, with the orange-scarlet blossoms that tipped the boughs like jets of flame.
Many a merry picnic we had in blackberry time, taking our lunch with us and spending the day; sometimes in an Indian canoe we paddled off several miles, to Smith's Cove or some other likely place.
It was necessary to watch the tide at the Cove or the sh.o.r.e could not be reached across the mudflat.
Once ash.o.r.e how happy we were; clambering about over the hills, gathering the ripe fruit, now and then turning about to gaze at the snowy sentinel in the southern sky, grand old Mount Rainier.
How wide the sparkling waters of the bay! the sky so pure and clear, the north wind so cool and refres.h.i.+ng. The plumy boughs stirred gently overhead and shed for us the balsamic odors, the flowers waved a welcome at our feet.
In the winter there was seldom any ”frost on the rills” or ”snow on the hills,” but when it did come the children made haste to get all the possible fun out of the unusual pastime of coasting. Mothers were glad when the Chinook wind came and ate up the snow and brought back the ordinary conditions, as the children were frequently sick during a cold spell.
Now the tenderfoot, as the newcomer is called in the west, is apt to be mistaken about the Chinook wind; there is a wet south wind and a dry south wind on Puget Sound. The Chinook, as the ”natives” have known it, is a dry wind, clears the sky, and melts and dries up the snow at once.
Wet south wind, carrying heavy rain often follows after snow, and slush reigns for a few days. Perhaps this is a distinction without much difference.
Storms rarely occur, I remember but two violent ones in which the gentle south wind seemed to forget its nature and became a raging gale.
The first occurred when I was a small child. The wind had been blowing for some time, gradually increasing in the evening, and as night advanced becoming heavier every hour. Large stones were taken up from the high bank on the bay and piled on the roof with limbs broken from tough fir trees. Thousands of giant trees fell cras.h.i.+ng and groaning to the ground, like a continuous cannonade; the noise was terrific and we feared for our lives.
At midnight, not daring to leave the house, and yet fearing that it might be overthrown, we knelt and commended ourselves to Him who rules the storm.
About one o'clock the storm abated and calmly and safely we lay down to sleep.
The morning broke still and clear, but many a proud monarch of the forest lay p.r.o.ne upon the ground.
Electric storms were very infrequent; if there came a few claps of thunder the children exclaimed, ”O mother, hear the thunder storm!”
”Well, children, that isn't much of a thunder storm; you just ought to hear the thunder in Illinois, and the lighting was a continual blaze.”
Our mother complained that we were scarcely enough afraid of snakes; as there are no deadly reptiles on Puget Sound, we thrust our hands into the densest foliage or searched the thick gra.s.s without dread of a lurking enemy.
The common garter snake, a short, thick snake, whose track across the dusty roads I have seen, a long lead-colored snake and a small brown one, comprise the list known to us.
Walking along a narrow trail one summer day, singing as I went, the song was abruptly broken, I sprang to one side with remarkable agility, a long, wiggling thing ”swished” through the gra.s.s in an opposite direction. Calling for help, I armed myself with a club, and with my support, boldly advanced to seek out the serpent. When discovered we belabored it so earnestly that its head was well-nigh severed from its body.
It was about five feet long, the largest I had even seen, whether poisonous or not is beyond my knowledge.
There are but two spiders known to be dangerous, a white one and a small black ”crab” spider. A little girl acquaintance was bitten by one of these, it was supposed, though not positively known; the bite was on the upper arm and produced such serious effects that a large piece of flesh had to be removed by the surgeon's knife and amputation was narrowly escaped.
A mysterious creature inhabiting Lake Union sometimes poisoned the young bathers. One of my younger brothers was bitten on the knee, and a lameness ensued, which continued for several months. There was only a small puncture visible with a moderate swelling, which finally pa.s.sed away.
The general immunity from danger extends to the vegetable world, but very few plants are unsafe to handle, chief among them being the Panax horridum or ”devil's club.”
So the happy pioneer children roamed the forest fearlessly and sat on the vines and moss under the great trees, often making bonnets of the s.h.i.+ning salal leaves pinned together with rose thorns or tiny twigs, making whistles of alder, which gave forth sweet and pleasant sounds if successfully made; or in the garden making dolls of hollyhocks, mallows and morning glories.
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