In the afternoon, we set out early from Woodchuck Lodge for a long tramp
through the pasture south of the Burroughs farm and in the direction of
the Nath Chase farm. Back through the woods between the Lodge and the
old farm, were scattered apple trees, which had some apples on them. Mr.
Burroughs told something of the history of some of these apple trees,
that they had been grafted many years ago by his father, and that others
had been planted by the cattle as they followed the pathway through this
pasture. There were signs that the gray squirrels had been eating the
apples. We saw several piles of chips and a few apple seeds scattered on
the wall fence, which the squirrels had chosen for a festal hall. On
this wall, the naturalist would lean and look off over the hills toward
the town of Roxbury, and tell of the neighbors who had settled this
field and that. His mind sometimes seemed to be on,
"Far-off things,
And battles long ago."
Suddenly he looked around and said: "It's sweet to muse over one's early
years and first experiences. I was just thinking of the many times I
had gone through these woods. But O, how I dislike to see these trees
cut down for wood, when so many are already down and rotting. This patch
of woods extended to the bottom of the hillside, when I was a boy, and I
think it was much prettier then than it is now." A very interesting
piece of natural history pointed out to me beyond this pasture, was the
tendency of birch to trace its roots over large areas of stone almost
barren of soil. It has a preference for rocky places. The root of this
tree will sometimes trace a small crevice in the stone twenty or thirty
feet and does not seem to reach into any soil throughout its whole
length.
At the edge of the flat grass covered hill beyond the pasture, was a
perpendicular wall of several feet in height,--the outcrop of the same
stratification of stone we had observed during the earlier part of the
day. A number of birch roots had reached all the way down to the bottom
of this ledge and fastened themselves in the soil below. Several phoebe
nests had been built on the shelves of rock along under the ledge, which
the naturalist pointed out to me. Under one ledge that extended over at
least twelve feet, was a phoebe's nest that Mr. Burroughs thought had
been there for more than a quarter of a century. On the table of rock
beneath the nest was a pile of waste ten or twelve inches in height, and
there was enough material in the nest itself to build more than a dozen
phoebe's nests. The place was so inaccessible to other animals, that the
birds took advantage of this, and doubtless made of it hereditary
property, handing it down from generation to generation since its
discovery.
Passing on down through the Scudder pasture toward the lower woods, to
the south, we met a lad herding cattle for the night, and after a few
words with him, we turned to the left and went up the side of a steep
hill through a deep hemlock forest. This was a pretty hard climb, and I
kept looking for Mr. Burroughs to stop and blow a little, but not a bit
of it. He took the lead and kept up the climb without even a hint of
exhaustion. In fact, I had begun to wish that he would stop and rest for
a moment, when pointing up to a white wall of stone he said, "There is
the Old Gray Ledge. It looks like a white house from here. This is one
of the most beautiful places you will find in this part of the Catskill
mountains, and O, the times I have come here for rest and study!" There
is a rough broken surface of rock wall at least seventy-five feet high,
all covered with moss and lichens, and almost as gray as whitewash on a
stone house. In the hemlocks toward the valley from here, are hundreds
of fine timber trees, and we could hear among them nut-hatches,
chickadees and titmice. We spent almost an hour about this beautiful
place, discussing in a friendly way, neighbors and people, great and
small. Our next task was to get to the top of the Old Gray Ledge, which
we did by going a little distance south and picking the place that
showed the least resistance. The woods on the top of the Ledge were
level and consisted of much shrubbery and some large hardwood trees and
a few hemlocks and pines. We soon came out of the woods to the west and
entered a pasture on the Nath Chase farm, from which we could see across
the beautiful valley to the south and many mountain peaks, among which
were a few that Mr. Burroughs said he could see from the top of a
mountain by Slabsides, down at West Park. This was the connecting link
between the old and the new home.
Turning around, we could see to the north across the valley, in which
was the Burroughs farm and the Old Clump beyond. There was a swift
breeze from the northeast and the air was quite cool for the early part
of August. But after our climb up The Old Gray Ledge, it was quite
wholesome and renewed our strength. The pure swift mountain breeze
fitted well with my own feelings, for I had begun to feel the effects of
a steady pull up the hill and needed oxygen and ozone. But best of all,
I had enjoyed the day with the man who brought the pleasures of the
woods and the mountains to me, and I felt that I had been blest. I had
felt the sympathies and love of a strong poetic pulse. I had a
glimpse of something that,
"Made the wild blood start
In its mystic springs,"
and I wondered if we have any greater heights to look forward to! I
wondered if we should ever find in the trackless paths of eternity a joy
that would eclipse this! I thought I had learned "that a good man's life
is the fruit of the same balance and proportion as that which makes the
fields green and the corn ripen. It is not by some fortuitous
circumstances, the especial favor of some god, but by living in harmony
with immutable laws through which the organic world has evolved, that he
is what he is." We reached the Lodge just as the sun was going down, and
soon the evening meal was over. I went back across the hill to the old
home for the night, and as I passed down the road way, I called to mind
many things that had interested me during the day. After I had retired
for the night and sleep had been induced, the joys, the pleasures, the
happiness of the day, haunted me in my dreams, and I knew that I had
'staid my haste and made delays, and what was mine had known my face.'
[Illustration: A CATSKILL MOUNTAIN SIDE WHERE THE PHOEBE BUILDS]