i68 



FORESTRY AND IRRIGATION 



March 



to fight their way against storm and 

 snow and mountain torrents. 



Toward the end of December the 

 rangers, without any fuss about it, be- 

 gin to feel Christmassy. They have 

 accumulated, by dint of letters to deal- 

 ers and the United States postal-order 

 system, something for everybody they 

 know, including themselves. To the 

 sophisticated mind of a townsman it 

 might seem both amusing and pathetic 

 to see a couple of big, hearty young 

 mountaineers sitting in their winter 

 cabin after their dishes are washed up, 

 poring over the fascinating pages of 

 one of the huge Chicago mail-order 

 catalogues. They have been there be- 

 fore; they know the uncertainties of 

 the game; but still it is exciting, and 

 so every year they take a "Christmas 

 flier," much to the disgust of the local 

 storekeeper, who says to himself: "I 

 can hold them boys on flour and 

 canned truck, but every December the 

 big catalogue gets away with them." 



It is a rather sad fact that very few 

 rangers can make their Christmas gifts 

 themselves. They hardly know how, 

 and they think that what they make 

 would not be good enough for the oc- 

 casion. I often wish that we had a 

 "Wood Carver of 'Lympus" up here. If 

 one of our boys is ever brought back 

 to us a cripple for life we will build 

 him a cabin and teach him to carve 

 greatly and to put the soul of things 

 into his work, forgetting self and il- 

 luminating all our lives with his work. 

 We have a genial old whittler who 

 makes penholders and paper-knives, 

 match boxes and all sorts of useful 

 things from manzanita and dogwood 

 and mountain mahogany. But our 

 wood carver, to shape great paneled 

 mantelpieces and historic chairs and 

 mighty oaken doors for our assembly 

 hall, has not yet risen above the hori- 

 zon. 



But rangers are remarkably handy 

 in lots of ways, and I expect to see 

 them more and more give each other 

 home-made gifts — quirts, braided 

 reins, hand-forged knives, picture 

 frames, and furniture. 



The Christmas dinner up here in the 

 mountains is all our own — no flavor of 

 the caterer or the restaurant or the 

 French chef is about it. This year I 

 happened to visit one of the older 

 rangers, who owns a little farm twenty 

 miles away. When I started back a 

 box with a large live turkey in it was 

 put into the buckboard. 



"That's for the ranger boys, you 

 know." 



"Bless me, but I have already or- 

 dered a goose." 



"You an' the boys can eat that, too." 

 When the goose came, which had 

 been ordered through a ranger, it was 

 delivered with the remark: "All paid 

 for by the rangers at the northern 

 camps for the boys at headquarters." 



Then another lot of rangers gath- 

 ered up some apples one Sunday, went 

 off to a neighbor's and made cider for 

 everybody. The technical assistant 

 took his cart and horse and climbed 

 away up to the fir belt for a Christmas 

 tree. 



Up at the little Indian mission we 

 had Christmas Day services, but the 

 rangers' wives and daughters were 

 cooking dinners, and they had "di- 

 vided up the work" so thoroughly that 

 every unattached ranger and all the 

 temporary men were provided for 

 when the hour came. 



After dark the entire available for- 

 est force — men, women and children — 

 came together for a Christmas tree 

 that a committee of rangers' wives had 

 arranged for, with one ranger as 

 Santa Claus — simple little gifts, each 

 with its own cheerful "josh" or sep- 

 arate charm of forethought, each 

 hailed with shouts from young and 

 old. Then we read Christmas stories 

 and sang Christmas songs, and re- 

 freshments galore were passed and re- 

 passed, and the hours slipped away. 



In this connection let me mention a 

 pleasant thing. The lady of the nice 

 little family hotel at Southfork sent up 

 an extra large and choice cake as a 

 gift to the "U. S. boys." 



It was nearly midnight, and we be- 

 gan to think of breaking up. Sud- 



