MARCH IN THE PINE WOODS 



T WAS my rare good fortune to spend an en- 

 tire winter among the pines of the Mendocino 

 County; to see the autumn with its glory of 

 golden oaks impalpably subside into the pur- 

 ple hues of winter, with blustering storms of 

 rain and snow, and to see the gradual 

 emergence of spring— fresh, jubilant and inspiring as in the 

 eastern states. February was an uncertain month, but March 

 was joyful with the glow of renewed life. The open glades 

 were shimmering with the fresh, tender green of the new grass. 

 The brooks, swollen with the winter rain and snow, were lifting 

 their joyous voices to the mountain tops that watched over 

 them. The willows by the stream had put forth their downy 

 catkins, and the hazel bushes were hanging their pendulous 

 blooms beneath the pine trees. 



What days of joy are these, when the tree-squirrels are 

 barking and chuckling over their love-making, when the 

 salmon are spawning in the mountain brooks, and the birds are 

 crowding back to their old nesting-places! One by one the 

 spring flowers push their tender green shoots through the wood- 

 land mold — the hound's-tongue with its clusters of blue stars; 

 the fair, pale, dog-toothed violet, and the trillium. The moun- 

 tain-quail sounds its loud, restless, whistling titter from the 



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