CAPE COD CRANBERRIES. 



583 



been sure that any answer was desired. Then the 

 Colonel made his way in the direction from which 

 the voice had come, and found a cabin hidden 

 among the pines. Having taken his bearings anew, 

 we resumed our way and were soon at our des- 

 tination. 



A supper of corn-bread, muddy coffee, fried 

 pork, fried chicken, fried eggs, fried potatoes, fried 

 turnips and sundry other fried things preceded our 

 introduction to a little room with a huge fireplace, 

 in which some logs were smoldering and smoking. 

 Two beds, one of which was already pre-empted by 

 three tow-headed children, suggested that this was 

 where we should seek repose. I went outside, 

 partly to commune with nature, partly to escape 

 the smoke and the unaccustomed odors. 



The night was intensely dark ; not a star was to 

 be seen, not a single ray of light penetrated the 

 over-hanging canopy of cloud. The dark fringe of 

 the forest, that had made a dense, black shadow 

 before, was now absorbed into the all-pervading 

 blackness of the night. The wind soughed faintly 

 and dolefully ; the far-away cry of a hound chasing 

 some belated reynard to his hole, was blended with 

 it. Nearer, sounded the occasional weird hoot of 

 an owl, prowling for prey. It was grand, mysterious, 

 sublime ; it was night on the mountain. 



"It is the abomination of desolation." The 

 Colonel stood beside me, and had spoken his thought 

 aloud. He was correct, as usual. I was glad I 

 had kept mine to myself ! 



James K. Reeve. 



CAPE COD CRANBERRIES. 



A DISTINCTIVELY AMERICAN INDUSTRY ITS MOODS AND TENSES. 



-| RANBERRY-GROW- 

 ing is the most unique 

 of our horticultural 

 industries. It is en- 

 tirely unlike a n y - 

 thing else. All one's 

 knowledge of garden- 

 ing and fruit growing 

 in general is of no 

 avail when he under- 

 takes to grow the 

 cranberry. He must lay aside his common notions 

 of soils and tillage, and even discard the very tools 

 which from boyhood he has considered the essen- 

 tials to any kind of cultivation. 



The cranberry-growing sections of the country are 

 few and scattered. The Cape Cod district is the pioneer 

 ground of cranberry culture, and it still undoubtedly 

 holds first rank in general reputation. The country in 

 which these Cape Cod berries is produced is a most 

 peculiar and interesting one. In fact, it is a surprise to 

 anyone not intimately acquain-ted with it. 



Let the reader lay before him a map of Massachusetts, 

 and let him locate Plymouth and Barnstable counties 

 upon its eastern extremity. Upon the south, Buzzard's 

 bay thrusts itself between the two counties, and all but 

 cuts off the long and low hook which stretches eastward 

 and northward to Cape Cod. In provincial parlance the 

 Cape Cod region includes all the peninsular portion of 

 the state, beginning with the lower and eastward projec- 

 tion of Plymouth county. The cranberry region extends 

 from this eastern portion of Plymouth county eastward 

 to the elbow of the peninsula, or, perhaps, even farther. 

 Upon one of the upper arms of Buzzard's Bay the 



reader may locate the old and quaint town of Wareham. 

 Here the tides flow over long marshes bordering the 

 inlet, and rise along the little river which flows lazily in 

 from the Plymouth woods. Here the sea-coast vegeta- 

 ion meets the thickets of alder and bayberry and sweet 

 fern with their dashes of wild roses and viburnums. 

 And in sheltered ponds the sweet water-lily grows with 

 rushes and pond weeds in the most delightful abandon. 

 In the warm and sandy glades two dwarf oaks grow in 

 profusion, bearing their multitude of acorns upon bushes 

 scarcely as high as one's head. The dwarf chestnut 

 oak is often laden with its pretty fruits when only two 

 or three feet high, and it is one of the prettiest shrubs in 

 our eastern flora. 



We drive northward over the winding and sandy roads 

 into the town of Carver, where the largest cranberry 

 plantations are located. We are now headed towards 

 Plymouth, and our journey lies in the "Plymouth 

 woods." And here the surprises begin ! Do you look 

 for fields of corn and grass, and snug New England 

 gardens, and quaint old houses whose genealogies run 

 into centuries ? Yes, you are picturing an old and over- 

 worn country, from which the impetuous youths have 

 long ago fled to the new lands of the west. But while 

 we are busy with our expectations, we are plunging into 

 a wilderness ! — not a second growth, half-civilized forest, 

 but a primitive waste of sand and pitch pine and oaks ! 

 The country has never been cleared, and it is not yet 

 settled ! And in its wilder portions deers are still 

 hunted and lesser game is frequent ! And only fifty 

 miles away is the bustling hub of the universe ! 



This Cape Cod region is but a part of the sandy waste 

 which stretches southward and westward through Nan- 

 tucket, along the north shore of the sound and through- 

 out a large part of Long Island ; and essentially the 

 same formation is continued along the Jersey seaboard. 



