_May 7th. At Crab-Apple Hedge._
We are in a new world. All day long we press forward, sometimes riding
and again on foot, for the roads are rough and often muddy; and on every
hand the beauties of an Illinois spring unfold before our enraptured
gaze.
With the western spring I am familiar. In March and April acres on acres
of greasewood blossoms and wild lilacs were all swaying in the ocean
breeze that sweeps the wide reaches of our Southern California valleys
each afternoon. A wild spirit of freedom, an almost Pagan joyousness and
gaiety is manifest, which speaks of primitive things and appeals to the
elemental essence of the soul. But here Nature approaches in more tender
intimacy. Little love flowers snuggle on her breast. The whole earth
palpitates with a sweet warmth and promise of beauties to follow.
On our right stretches a crab-apple hedge in full bloom, a veritable
glory of beauty and fragrance, which crowns a ridge whence rolling acres
fall gradually away, revealing, here and there, farmhouses surrounded by
kitchen gardens and groups of fruit trees, billowy plumes of soft
colour, some outlined by the tender green of spring. The smoke of
noontime fires lazily ascends from the chimneys, the cackle of hens and
other barnyard sounds come faintly on the breeze. My heart aches with
the homing impulse. My mind turns to the experiences of the past few
days.
Wednesday the air was clear and balmy, and as night approached we
stopped beneath a bridge where thick trees screened our camp from view.
The wires were driven in the ground, the modest campfire lighted, and
soon the delicious aroma of boiling cocoa and grilled steak whetted
appetites already ravenous.
Our hunger appeased, we were settling for the night, when I was seized
with foreboding of a coming storm. Dan laughed and called it a crazy
notion and beyond all reason. But the feeling increased in intensity
until I insisted on seeking the shelter of some building. Dan acquiesced
reluctantly, but by the time we had repacked and loaded the wheel, night
had fallen.
At the nearest farm we asked permission to sleep in the barn, but were
abruptly denied. At the next house the inmates refused to answer our
knock.
“Well, what are you going to do now? Walk all night?” expostulated Dan.
On our left a dark mass appeared in the darkness and proved to be the
ruins of a race track grandstand. As I stumbled beneath the tiers of
seats, hoping for some promise of protection, a man leaped up almost at
my feet.