HARDWOOD RECORD 



13 



it had been stricken with fire. The pine, ap- 

 parently in an effort to escape from its 

 neighbor, had leaned away from it to an 



TWIN BLACK ASH BURLS. 



angh of fully fifteen degrees, but still it 

 had suffered from proximity to the manifest 

 poison exhaled by the ash. 



The chief sources of the commercial sup- 

 ply of black ash are Canada, Michigan and 

 "Wisconsin, although in more scattering 

 growth it can be found 200 to 400 miles 

 further south. 



FOLL\GE OF BLACK ASH. 



Strode's Stuff. 



I was told to go down into Indiana am; 

 travel as I saw fit, and wherever I saw a 

 pile of hardwootl boards, I was to get off 

 the train and get acquainted and look 

 around. I was told to take such business 

 as was absolutely thrust upon me, but not 

 to look for it. I was told to jolly the fel- 

 lows along and write up the state. 



Now if 1 had my own way; if I were 

 a perfectly free agent; if that threatened 

 prosperity should materialize and I wanted 

 a rest for a week or so — I would take ex- 

 actly that kind of a trip; and I'd have it 

 written up if I had to start a paper of my 

 own to do it in. As for business, of course 

 the people down there in Indiana world 

 have insisted upon giving me enough — - 

 would, in fact, have absolutely forced it on 

 me — but there, we won't talk about that. 

 That will follow, as a matter of course. 



It is a pleasant assignment. 



The first thing that strikes one is that 

 spring has come. Spring in Indiana! Gosh! 

 but it's fine! Orange blossoms and magno- 

 lias are mighty fine, no doubt, but give me 

 a spring in Indiana with cherry trees and 

 wild crab apples in blossom. After you 

 have been cooped up for three months of 

 winter, or have been feeding stock in the 

 mud and rain and snow, you are delighted 

 when finally the "old man" comes in and 

 says, ' ' I believe it is dry enough to sow 

 oats today." The oats are hauled to the 

 field in a wagon, a sack is filled and flung 

 on your back, and you go forth to sow. 



"Behold!" the Bible says, "the reaper 

 goes forth to sow," or something of that 

 kind. I never feel so like a biblical char- 

 acter in my life as when sowing oats. After 

 you have gone a round, you lay aside your 

 coat and vest because they burden you; and 

 your muscles swell and you feel you can 

 throw the oats a mile. 



You laugh and shout from the sheer joy 

 of living. 



But things have changed in Indiana since 

 the days of Uncle John. Indiana is now a 

 literary center. Indiana now makes a spe- 

 cialty of poetry and oratory, and the like. 

 We have fought our way up into the 

 charmed circle. They objected to us at first 

 because our feet were too large and our 

 hands were coarse and red; but we got 

 there just the same. 



I used to write poetry myself. I flatter 

 •iyself that you wouldn't think it to look at 

 me, but in the days of my callow youth 

 T started on the downward path, and but for 

 the stern necessity which compelled me to 

 work for a living, who knows but I might 

 have developed into a poet. 



I was introduced to a young man the other 

 day by a mutual friend, and the mutual 

 friend said: "He is a poet." I declare, he 

 was as intelligent looking as you or I. It 

 was too bad. I felt sorry for the young man. 

 And to think, I might have been no better 

 myself! I had all the symptoms of the dis- 

 ease in its incipiency, but I had to go to 

 work and that saved me. I would go around 

 with knitted brows, apparently in deep 

 thought, but in reality some such rhyme as 

 "Beautiful, dutiful," was running through 

 my mind. Or, something like "Ham, 

 ram, sham and damn," was surging in my 

 soul. 



When it comes to thinking the fine 

 thoughts which go to make up poetry, 

 any one who was born in Indiana can think 

 them all right. It is clothing them in beau- 

 tiful and appropriate language that sticks 

 most people. 



In going over some old papers recently, I 

 came across a poem, or what I suppose was 

 intended for one. Yes, it was undoubted- 

 ly intended for a poem, and I will give it 

 to you in two spasms and an epileptic fit. 

 If I should give it all to you at once — if I 

 should have the two spasms and the epilep- 

 tic fit all combined, it would be too hard on 

 you. 



Y'ou see, a young man is supposed to 

 have the spring fever, and to be driving a 

 team of horses along the country road, and 

 communing with himself. Strikingly beau- 

 tiful thoughts and fine poetic sentiments 

 are running through the poem, if you can 

 dig them out: 



The Spring Fever. 



I am so gosh durued orful sleepy 



I dunno what to do — 

 Keep in the road, old creepy, 



Whur you a-gittin' to? 



Durndest hoss I ever saw — 

 Can't Ueep in the road. 



It he would walk like t'other hoss 

 Could lay down on the load. 

 That isn't so bad when you get used to 

 it. Do you catch the meaning? One horse, 

 you know, always has the spring fever, and 

 the other, more energetic, pushes ahead and 

 drags the wagon to the side of the road. He 

 does not seem to have a bit of sense. Con- 

 sequently the young man is prevented from 

 catching a good little nap. He must stay 

 awake to keep that one horse in the road. 

 It's too bad. Now, we will go ahead with 

 the second spasm: 



Went to church last Sunday 



Like a gosh dumed fool. 

 Might as well a been asleep — ■ 



Even went to Sunday school. 



If I could just lay down and sleep 



I'd give a dollar bill. 

 Bet I sleep next Sunday some ; 



Bet yer life I will. 



Now we are getting along. I am getting 

 this poetry into you, and you hardly notice 

 it. Breaking the poem up in this way is a 

 liappy thought of mine. We have only two 

 more stanzas, and then it will all be over. 

 Let us go ahead and be done with it. 



Et too durned much dinner, 



Cornbread 'nd pork. 

 Somehow, it don't agree with me ; 



Wish't I didn't have to work. 



I HID so gosh durned. orful sleepy, 

 CaL't hold my head up near. 



If ever I get rich 'nufC 

 Bet — I — sleep — a — year. 



But enough of foolishness. The people of 

 Indiana are facing a serious condition; the 

 people who are engaged in the lumber bus- 

 iness, I mean. The timber resources of In- 

 diana comprised at one time 28,000 square 

 miles of the finest hardwood forests that 

 ever grew out of the ground. Now, the for- 

 ests have shrunken until they represent less 

 than two per cent of the total area of the 

 state; and with all cutting away, it won't 

 last long. For a long time Indiana has been 

 a very large factor in the consuming trade. 

 Furniture factories, agricultural implement 

 factories, and the like, have naturally 

 sprung up all over the state; but now, they 

 can only be kept going by purchasing eighty- 

 five per cent of the lumber used outside of 

 the state. The state has nothing to regret, 

 for if the forests are gone, they have been 

 supplanted by beautiful farms, the finest in 

 the world; but the business of the hardwood 

 lumberman is about gone in the state of 

 Indiana. 



La me! How we do sit around and tell 



