THE ROADS OF OUR LIVES 



BY SMITH RILEY 



UNITED STATES DISTRICT FORESTER 



THERE arc many d ifferen t ways of courting rest 

 when one is distraught with exhaustion or wakeful 

 pain. 1 have heard of those who recite ]x>etry, 

 count slowly, or picture themselves ascending endless 

 steps that are counted as they advance. There is also the 

 sleepy road suggested by the doctor to a restless patient 

 unable to sleep. 1 low many 

 if us have dream roads 

 that loom out of the past 

 and extend into the future, 

 a dream indeed, yet based 

 upon pleasurable roads we 

 have traveled since mem- 

 ory has formed. 



In many cases, it may be 

 roads we have traveled 

 daily to school, or to work, 

 through the changing sea- 

 sons. I recall one traveled 

 often in the early years of 

 my life, a long stretch of 

 straight turnpike construct- 

 ed of white quartz. This 

 road lay through a farming 

 country and led across a 

 series of ridges. From 

 their crests, over spacious 

 distances, fields, hedges, 

 groves of broad-leaved 

 trees and groups of farm 

 buildings could be seen. In 

 the early spring there was 

 the newly ploughed ground 

 and the smell of freshly 

 turned earth. These active- 

 ly worked fields of brown 

 soil struck the eye in di- 

 rect contrast to the bright 

 stretches of winter wheat 

 growing lustrous green in 

 the first warm days of 

 spring to be whipped later into wonderful waves of move- 

 ment by the gusty winds of thunderstorms, or when, in 

 the still hours of dusk, this grain being golden ripe for 

 harvest, fire flies arose in countless numbers giving forth 

 their yellow light. At one point, the way led from the 

 broad, open highway into a side road through a stretch 

 of oak forest where the branches of the trees formed a 

 tunneled canopy. Here, in winter the trees giving shel- 

 ter from the sweeping bitter winds, or cool shade in the 

 summer, the call of birds and the rich woods odor filled 

 the soul with contentment. 



So our minds go back to a particular stretch of road 

 or a series of stretches fixed in our memory to form the 



Th< 



STARTING OUT ON 



trail our own Forest Service 



forest, and wc follow, eager 



one dream road. The road starts in the past, but it 

 must continue into the future to a dream land where, 

 far from the routine of life, the calm surroundings fill 

 our souls with rest. 



( )ur dream road, then, is a soothing relaxation formed 

 to give us an opportunity to regain strength and charity 



of soul with which to bat- 

 tle further. These dreams 

 take shape in the green 

 magic of the open, in the 

 call of the out-of-doors, 

 where roads lure one on to 

 scenes of mountains, val- 

 leys and plains, lead one be- 

 side swift-leaping streams 

 of placid lakes rippled by 

 jumping trout or passing 

 breezes. 



Dream roads are endless 

 in the National Forests of 

 this country. There are 

 155,399,809 acres of these 

 Forests, extending through 

 Alaska to Florida, and 

 from the Atlantic to the 

 Pacific, where Nature is 

 supreme. Here children 

 can create their dream 

 paths, and their fathers and 

 mothers can add to their 

 roads a new, deep-shadow- 

 ed wave, or the vista of a 

 purple mountain height. 

 Such roads are never com- 

 pleted, man can build them 

 until the end of time. 



Upon a Forest trail one 

 awakens into consciousness 

 at the first stirring of life 

 before dawn, when the 

 birds call in sleepy twitter- 

 ings and animal life bestirs itself for the coming day. As 

 the stock starts to graze, the horse bell sounds, the bull 

 bats' swift wings give forth their how-wow whir, and 

 a 'poorwill calls sharp and clear. And after making the 

 fire, we wash at the tumbling stream, where delicate 

 little flowers grow along the banks. Our attention is 

 attracted to a small gray bird that wades jerkily from 

 the deep water, and as it perches upon a stone, bobs an 

 "ousel" welcome. All who love the mountains know 

 the enchantment of locality, the pleasure of an early 

 morning view from a stream side where bright blossoms 

 cover the clumps of cinque foil. 



THE DREAM ROAD 



trail leads first through the spruce 



to learn what it will reveal. 



