TREES AT TIMBERLINE 75 



I have seen wild sheep wading shoulder deep 

 through wide meadows of coloured bloom. 



A typical timberline garden is a ragged-edged 

 acre fenced off and sheltered by a weird, low wall 

 of trees. Here and there a blooming open way 

 connects it with an adjoining garden. A young 

 tree clump and a boulder pile add artistic touches; 

 here and there appear low-growing, many-tinted 

 phlox; tall, stately columbines with silver and blue 

 ribbons at the top; blue mertensia, taller still; paint 

 brushes touched with a variety of shades; anem- 

 ones; gentians; white monkshood; and, bending 

 upon its stem, a ray-faced, golden-brown gaillardia. 



One winter the snow drifted deeply over a stretch 

 of forest as large as a huge circus tent. The fol- 

 lowing summer it partly melted. The next winter 

 new snow was added, and the following spring the 

 drift was larger than before. It did not melt away 

 until the third summer. In the meantime, the 

 several hundred spruce trees were kept asleep in a 

 natural cold storage and had failed to grow. This 

 is why their annual rings were two less in number 

 than those of the neighbouring trees of the same 

 age. 



Trees have tongues. They record in their an- 

 nual rings the larger experiences of the years, the 

 triumphs of friendly seasons, and the batterings 

 and the burns that fall to the lot of those in the 

 front ranks of high mountain forests. A timber- 

 line veteran might tell of the wealth of moonlight 



