e on 



it would prepare the way, and other plants, and 

 the pines too, would come back to carpet and 

 plume the slope and prevent wind and water from 

 tearing and scarring the earth. 



The seeds of Kinnikinickare scattered by birds, 

 chipmunks, wind, and water. I do not know by 

 what agency the seeds had come to this slope, but 

 here were the plants, and on this dry, fire-ruined, 

 sun-scorched, wind-beaten slope they must have 

 endured many hardships. Many must have per- 

 ished before these living ones had made a secure 

 start in life. 



Once Kinnikinick has made a start, it is con- 

 stantly assisted to succeed by its own growing 

 success. Its arms catch and hold snow, and this 

 gives a supply of much-needed water. This water 

 is snugly stored beneath the plant, where but 

 little can be reached or taken by the sun or the 

 thirsty winds. The winds, too, which were so un- 

 friendly while it was trying to make a start, now 

 become helpful to the brave, persistent plant. 

 Every wind that blows brings something to it, 

 dust, powdered earth, trash, the remains of dead 

 insects; some of this material is carried for miles* 



