In the Sierra 



We have been out of bread a few days, and 

 begin to miss it more than seems reasonable, 

 for we have plenty of meat and sugar and tea. 

 Strange we should feel food-poor in so rich 

 a wilderness. The Indians put us to shame, 

 so do the squirrels, starchy roots and seeds 

 and bark in abundance, yet the failure of the 

 meal sack disturbs our bodily balance, and 

 threatens our best enjoyments. 



July j. Warm. Breeze just enough to 

 sift through the woods and waft fragrance 

 from their thousand fountains. The pine 

 and fir cones are growing well, resin and 

 balsam dripping from every tree, and seeds 

 are ripening fast, promising a fine harvest. 

 The squirrels will have bread. They eat all 

 kinds of nuts long before they are ripe, and 

 yet never seem to suffer in stomach. 



July 4. The air beyond the flock 

 range, full of the essences of the woods, 

 is growing sweeter and more fragrant from 

 day to day, like ripening fruit. 



Mr. Delaney is expected to arrive soon 

 [99] 



