A COINCIDENCE 
Editors are not apt to accept fiction stories founded on a coincidence. 
But this is not fiction, and the Ed. of T. & T. rather likes a good coincidence. 
If it had not been an unusual season in 1933, there would have been snow on 
the ground that day, late in October, just below the glacier. It did snow right 
afterward, and if we had not gone just then we shouldn’t have found the 
Sheffield trowel, covered with rust, all but buried in the gravel. And if just 
the right person had not happened to see the new trowels we sent to England 
for, exactly like that one, we should never have known that it had been 
dropped on Mt. Hood by such a distinguished English plant explorer. Finders 
keepers, Mr. Clarence Elliott! 
-o- 
If you bought Eleanor’s Weihnachtskuchen last year, you must have 
noticed how plain the packages are. You see, all the expense goes into the 
ingredients of these genuine German cookies. Eleanor herself is 14 years old, 
and since she was five has helped her mother make these cookies every year. 
Her mother learned to make them from her mother in Germany and she in 
turn learned from her “Grossmutter.” Now the cookies are helping with 
Eleanor’s education. 
-o- 
FOR THE LARGER DOOR 
The door on the cover of the holly list is 42 inches wide, the wreath 
20 inches across. If you want wreaths of larger sizes than the 17-inch wreath 
at $2.00 offered in the Holly List, to fit a particular space, write for prices. 
Special Holly arrangements made to order—but give us time. 
If you want TROWEL & TYPEWRITER or the Christmas list sent to 
a friend, drop me a post card. 
To all my Correspondents: Your handwriting is very stylish, but I just 
can’t read it. PLEASE PRINT all names and addresses. 
-o- 
Finding wild berries in the mountains is as different from gathering 
fruit in your own garden as digging up buried treasure on a lonely island 
is different from opening your Saturday pay envelope. If I were making jam 
from wild berries, I should leave in some of the things that come down the 
mountain with them, such as hemlock needles, bits of fern, an occasional 
alpine flower. Not so Marion Hardy; she patiently picks them over and 
removes every bit of local color. But she does leave in all the tang and 
flavor that mountain air and sunshine put there. If you like the jam you 
try this winter, and want other Marion Hardy products, write me about 
quantity prices and advance orders next spring. 
