THE DESERT AND THE ROSE 111 



journed to my house to mourn alone. It was even- 

 ing, and when morning dawned upon my woe, be- 

 hold there was no woe! The floods had sunk into 

 the earth and from tall lilac bush to tiny seedling 

 all alike had burst forth into a paean of praise. The 

 little creatures were rushing heavenward, the big 

 creatures tossing flowers on high and revealing 

 round fat buds invisible until now. All was well 

 with the garden ! 



One cannot repeat too often that ours is no tropi- 

 cal climate and that citrus fruits do not grow in the 

 Valley. Also that at an altitude of 4,000 feet sen- 

 sible winter clothing, nay even furs, are accept- 

 able. 



Having referred to the absurd notion that "flow- 

 ers do not do well in this climate," further mention 

 of another absurdity will not be out of place. 



For several years I was the sole poultry expert 

 in this whole region, my birds being sold in other 

 states and winning Blue Ribbons everywhere. When 

 a Poultry Association was formed in the city the 

 first subject advertised for discussion was "The 

 diseases peculiar to this climate." Though no long- 

 er in the business, for reasons unconnected with 

 these jottings, such an announcement was more 

 than I could bear, so seizing pen and pad I wrote as 

 follows to one of the papers : 



"There are no diseases peculiar to this climate 

 other than those induced by the laziness, neglect, 

 lack of intelligence and cleanliness of the henman 

 and henwoman." 



(Signed) An Old Henwoman. 



