My First Summer 



the dim burning glare toward the snowy 

 mountains and streams, though not one was 

 in sight. The landscape is only wavering 

 foothills roughened here and there with 

 bushes and trees and out-cropping masses of 

 slate. The trees, mostly the blue oak (Quercus 

 Doug fast j), arc about thirty to forty feet high, 

 with pale blue-green leaves and white bark, 

 sparsely planted on the thinnest soil or in 

 crevices of rocks beyond the reach of grass 

 fires. The slates in many places rise abruptly 

 through the tawny grass in sharp lichen- 

 covered slabs like tombstones in deserted 

 burying-grounds. With the exception of 

 the oak and four or five species of manza- 

 nita and ceanothus, the vegetation of the 

 foothills is mostly the same as that of the 

 plains. I saw this region in the early spring, 

 when it was a charming landscape garden 

 full of birds and bees and flowers. Now the 

 scorching weather makes everything dreary. 

 The ground is full of cracks, lizards glide 

 about on the rocks, and ants in amazing 



