BIRDS OF “THE MOUNTAIN” 
Dwellers in the places high. 
Teach me thy song that I may know 
The language that the mountains cry, 
_ As on my path I upward go. 
—-Nina Moore © 
As the long summer days approach there are lovers of _ 
nature in the far Northwest that appear to be listening to _ 
thin sounds that are too slender and elusive for the ordinary ~ 
ear to catch. There is a far-off look in their eyes as if they 
were recalling visions unknown to their companions. They ~ 
become uneasy, dissatisfied with their ordinary lives, and | 
finally announce that the mountain is calling. They must 
away to find a nook where they may wander and find rest’ 
upon the mountain’s breast. | 
Rainier has many such places, but not even ‘Paradile 
Valley, or Paradise itself, is more desirable than Summer 
_ Land, which lies just below the eternal snows on the eastern ~ 
slope of “the Mountain that was God.” Fortunate is the > 
man or woman who listens to the voices and is able to © 
- follow them into this wonderland. 
A long-ago eruption must have thrown out a mighty 
stream of molten lava to form a huge spur upon the topmost 
slope of the mountain. Ages have slightly hollowed this 
mass in places, and covered it with the fine soil that the | 
melting snows deposit. Nature has used her winds and her | 
animals to carry seeds of hemlock, alpine fir, and Alaska 
cedar with which she has fringed the edges of the spur. 
| A good fairy must have helped to plant the flower seeds, 
for every inch of surface of the hollowed places is spread 
with a brilliant carpet of such pleasing shades and hues 
that it would give patterns to the most inventive Oriental | 
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