Lou Ella Jones Bronson

Over a year ago, My Uncle Simon handed me a book of remembrance and asked me if I wanted to type it up. It contained photocopied pages of the column and other newspaper articles my Grandma Bronson wrote for the local newspaper in Junction Valley. The name of the column changed periodically. Here is the first several months of the column when Grandma called it 'Hash':

Hash
By Lou Ella J. Bronson

November 6, 1936

Say, it was indeed generous and kind of the Democrats that they did not, as one commentator stated, “gloat over the poor Republicans”. Perhaps the “poor Republicans don’t understand the meaning of that word, “gloat.”
Well, now that the big excitement has subsided, we can settle back to normal and continue the routine of living much the same as usual, with hopes for a bright future. Next Friday is the 13th, a combination that creates a hoodoo for lots of superstitious folks. A friend of mine once had a flock of turkeys, and when she set them she numbered them consecutively one, two, three, etc. When it came to number thirteen she would leave that out, instead giving them the distinction, twelve one, twelve two, fourteen and so on. If I remember correctly, when hatching time arrived number twelve two hatched not a single egg and twelve one sat on her next and starved to death. Instead of convincing my friend that there was really nothing in the thirteen superstition, she was only more sure that the unlucky number had been the ruin of both turkeys.

So if you think thirteen and Friday are unlucky, I’d advise you not to let any black cats pass in front of you, don’t walk under any ladders, and it might be well to carry a rabbit’s foot on that day at least.
An old gentleman who used to live in this part of the country had for years worn a heard. Finally he decided to shave, so one day a friend met him and after staring at his face he remarked rather rudely:

“Well, sir isn’t it surprising how much ugliness a beard can cover up.”
I thought of that when a fresh sparkling blanket of snow covered the barren ugliness which Jack Frost has left in his wake for a few days.

Friday, November 13, 1936

Although Armistice Day will be passed by the time you read this, it will not hurt any of us to recall that important event. Those of us who are old enough remember those hectic days during the war when our best orators in stirring terms appealed to the patriotism of the citizens of the united States; urging them to send their finest young men far across the ocean, to fight in a war in which we should have had no more interest than we have in the present European conflict. But the boys went gaily and jauntily while we cheered them on. Only those who had sons, husbands of brothers at the front know with what fear and anxiety the casualty lists were searched each day and only those who experienced it know the heart-rending anguish that came with the finding of the name of a loved one in the list of dead or missing. How happy we were on that autumn day in 1918 when we heard that on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month hostilities would cease.

Remember the joy when the boys returned; the sorrow for those who remained on Flanders Field; and those who came back maimed or crippled. Strange that time should so soon erase these things from our memories and that they are so seldom mentioned that a ten-year-old child has to ask (as one asked me recently) “What is Armistice day?”

This has been National Education week and it is said that thousands of parents would visit the public schools this week. Doubtless other thousands never think to visit the schools where their children receive their education, during this week or any other week. Teachers should invite the parents of the pupils to visit the school twice or three times during the school term and parents should accept those invitations. You are likely to learn more about the progress of your child in one visit than the report cards you ever read could tell you. And incidentally, we might absorb some of the information that is being dispensed to our children- which probably wouldn’t hurt any of us.

A couple of years ago it seemed to me that the word “thrill” was being overworked. So when our five-year-old daughter used it to describe some excitement she’d had, I thought it was time to find out if she knew what it meant so I said, What is a thrill Georgie?”
(Illegible)

November 20, 1936

If a new highway is built through our valley via the old Immigrant canyon, I wonder if any of us who travel that route occasionally will be alive to enjoy the luxury of riding on it. We certainly won’t if we persist in traveling on that road as it now is. Those old timers who traveled that way long ago and who were in fear of being ambushed by the Indians were in but a little more danger. They merely faced the possibility of losing their scalps while their modern descendants risk being shaken into a million pieces.

There is, near the spot where the old City of Rocks stage station stood, an ideal place for a dude ranch, tourist cabins, etc. A spring which does not dry up makes water available at all times This land, which is owned at present by Charles Johnston, will someday, if a highway is built through it, help its owner to make a small fortune.

As soon as hay fever season is over, it seems that the cold-catching season is in; so that, for some folks, life is just one big sneeze after another.

November 27, 1936

While stuffing yourself with stuffed turkey on Thanksgiving Day did you (illegible)___ pause to think of how many (illegible)_____ you had to be thankful for? It would not hurt any of us. In fact it would be profitable to stop and reflect much oftener than once a year on the many causes we have for Thanksgiving. Take friendship for just one example: What would you take for the confidence and esteem of your friends. Of course you can place no price on them for they are invaluable.

There should be some law. If only the law of human kindness, to compel trappers to visit their traps daily. Many valuable domestic animals are crippled and killed each year by being caught and held in traps, sometimes for days. It is pitiful to see good dogs or sheep with a foot missing. And no conscientious person would use those horrible devices of torture with diamond teeth which invariably cause the death of any poor animal they chance to catch. Even the wily coyote, for which I have no love at all, deserves a kinder death than that.

It is interesting to see how some people (perhaps all of us) imagine they are hurrying when standing with a door open. They will stand and talk for an hour with the door ajar whereby if you asked them to step in and shut the door they just would have time. This characteristic is especially noticeable in the winter time. In fact they’re likely to act just contrary in the summer, and step inside closing the door very carefully when it’s a hundred and ten in the shade.

December 4, 1936

Well! Well! What strange sights one will see at times! The other day in Burley I saw a big Indian chief in full regalia, including a headdress of brilliant feathers, who was driving a large, shiny new auto. He was doing it very efficiently, too, as Indians seem to do almost everything they undertake.

Have you ever heard of the River of Rocks in Junction Valley? No? Well neither had I till a young lady from Lynn described it to me recently. This strange phenomenon of nature is located about two miles from Raymond Lind’s place. I intend to see this rare formation next spring when nature is at its best. Then if you haven’t seen it first perhaps I’ll try to tell you about it in more detail.

The road between our valley and Almo has at last been given a fitting name by one of our residents. The title is Forgotten Road. Upon first thought I could not recall that any work had ever been done on this road, but by questioning other residents with better memories it was found that at one time we actually had a road supervisor here- strange as this may seem to some of us now- and has made some changes and some much needed improvements in the road then. This credit is due Gordon Edwards who was the said supervisor when he lived among us. However all traces of any improvements have been erased by time and erosion. Last summer some tourists stopped to inquire the route to City of Rocks. They said if the rest of the road was as bad as that over which they had come from Oakley, they believed they would turn around and go back. Well if one were truthful he could but admit it was ten times worse. But far be it from any of us to be the cause of any one’s missing the thrill of seeing that wonderful city for the first time, so of course on such occasions very little is said about road conditions, and a great deal about the marvelous sights at the end of the road.

December 25 1936

The report that more than three thousand young pines were taken from our valley for Christmas trees this year, seems rather alarming to me. Although a few have been removed in former years, no such great number as this have been taken before. If those who profit by this business appreciate the value of it to such an extent that they inagrate a system of reforestation, no harm will be done. But if on the other hand a similar number were removed each year, without systematic replacement, in a (illegible) reality where pines are not very plentiful, there would soon be a serious shortage. The pines, in addition to their beauty and usefulness for lumber for various purposes, form a growth which is one of the best of watersheds. Because of the scarcity of water in this valley this is an important consideration.
An even greater crime than taking young pines for Christmas trees is committed every year by careless sheepherders and others, who set fires which burnt over hundreds of acres. As fire isn’t particular what sort of fuel it has, every type of growth goes before it, including the pines and other trees; sometimes even the farmer’s hard-earned crops are burned.

Isn’t it swell to be living in the good old U.S.A. where, although we may make some mistakes in government, we still have common sense enough not to do such an uncommon place thing as to banish our first citizen and probably greatest leader, because of his desire to marry the woman of his choice?
There are many other reasons, too. That cause one to rejoice because of being a citizen of the best nation on the earth. One of them is the fact that there is a big ocean or two between us and the fireworks on the eastern hemisphere. May they always keep their distance well.

The spirit of Christmas is again abroad in the land. What a lot of good would result if we were all able to carry out the generous desires this fine spirit brings us. Some folks are eternally embarrassed because they receive gifts and cannot return them each year. Ah, if they only knew it they could make as much happiness for the giver by receiving the gift graciously, as if they were in a position to return each remembrance with one a little better. At least I am still optimistic enough to think that most people believe this saying in the Good Book: It is more blessed to give than to receive. Folks get real lasting joy from giving. But to make this Christmas happier than usual, try putting a little extra emphasis on the “thank you.”
My wish for each of you is; that you may have this year the merriest Christmas you’ve ever had enjoy health and prosperity during 1937.

January 8, 1937

Rich Whittaker was telling of an experience with one of Keogh’s wild steers. As he was walking along one day one of the long-horned critters attacked him. The only protection he could see was a rather big willow bush. By the time he reached it, the steer was right at his heels. When he had made a few turns around the bush he decided he would have to stop to consider, the steer no doubt having a kind streak in its nature, stopped too.

Thought Rick, “I don’t believe it would be any crime if I’d shoot that beast. It’s no better than any other wild animal that would attack a man.” But on second thought he decided it was too valuable an animal for him to do such a ruthless thing. So when the steer started after him again, he circled the willow a few more times. Once more when he was about to drop from exhaustion he stopped. The beast again allowed him a short breathing spell.

“By golly, I will shoot the brute.” Said Rich to himself. “But no,” he reconsidered. “Mr. Keogh has never done me any harm. I must not serve him such a trick as that.” So Rich climbed into the willow and stayed till the steer left. After telling this he asked a friend “George, what would you have done in that case?”
“I think I’d have killed the critter,” replied George.

“You bet,” answered Rich, “and so would I if I’d only had my gun along.”

January 15, 1937

It’s getting to be about time that all our New Year’s resolutions should be, according to nearly all past experience, either broken, cracked or at least very badly bent. Well, perhaps now we can go peacefully on through the remainder of 1937 without having to hear that remark which all “revolutionists” hate – “I thought you had resolved…”

It’s a sturdy and staunch soul indeed who can faithfully keep a New Year’s resolution for an entire month. My sincere and heartfelt congratulations to any of you who are still carrying on. May success finally be yours.
The mail carriers are very popular fellows in these rural districts where folks are practically snowed in for sometimes three or four months out of the year. Ever accommodating and considerate, they bring a bit of cheer to one and all. Even when he brings nothing more interesting than a price list from some fur house, the mail carrier is greeted with pleasure. On the gloomiest days when blizzards rage outside, we look forward to seeing at least this one person abroad and rarely if ever does he fail us. Occasionally one may hear a few minor complaints about the mail carrier, but never do we hear the mail carrier’s complaints about his patrons. I’d like to hear a list of them, wouldn’t you? They would no doubt be enlightening. It has been said of one man who carried mail on the route for four years that there was not the faintest murmur against him. With a reputation like that, it’s no wonder he never tries to get the job again. Not telling what might happen another time.

There is an old saying that has been repeated often: a poor man has two dogs, a darn poor on has three, and a rich man doesn’t have any. If this is true, the poverty of some folks is positively beyond description. After they’ve had the much-talked-of rabbit drive, it might be well to have a dog drive too.

January 22, 1936

Although the complaints of mail carriers are as rare as roses in January, here is one which was found “hidden among the stuff.” With apologies to the author of “Strawberry Roan.”

Mail Carrier’s Lament

I was out on my farm and a trapping coyotes
When along comes a Senator looking for votes.
Sez I, “You can have mine and all I can mail
If you’ll get me a job a hauling the mail.”
He says, “Okay, pardner, that job you may land
If you and your friends will but lend me a hand,”
Sez I, “It’s a deal.” In my jitney I hop
And I drive in to Oakley with never a stop.
“I signs up the papers and seals ‘em up tight.
Then for once in my life I sleep through the night.
But it doesn’t take long before Even I see
That some (illegible)ded a fem ….me.
The roads they are awful could rarely be worse
No words can describe then politely in verse
Every kind of mail box en sues on this route
From a blue bird’s abode to an old rubber boot.
In a big syrup can I must dig in the snow
For the flag is raised up so a letter must go
When I get to the bottom I find without fail
That nothing is there but last Friday’s mail
One guy orders freight, half a ton, less or more
He wants it delivered right up to his door
I charge him two bits, be grumbles at that
He sez “You’re a robber --- you’d steal a man’s hat.”
For a long list of groceries one fellow does send.
Says he, “We’re right out, so on you we depend
The baby needs shoes and my wife she is ill
And the doctor prescribed for her this special pill
We are needing some flour and sugar and tea
Some bags of potatoes at least two or three.
But if one of these items you’d happen to miss,
I’ve sent for Bull Durham – be sure and get this
I must trudge through a blizzard and four feet of snow
My horses so weary they scarcely can go
But I’m warmed by the thought as I plod through the cold
I’m praised for my service by both young and old.
My joy comes to naught in a very short time
For here are six letters and one measly dime
The fellow who wrote ‘em has three sections of range
And he asks me to mail them and bring him the change
Kind friends, let me tell you, this job is no snap.
For every bouquet there is many a rap
So the next time a congressman’s looking for votes
I shall stick to my farm and trapping coyotes.

January 29, 1937

“Don’t you nearly die of loneliness?” is a question that is asked of rural folks more often than any other by urbanites who visit in the country. The almost invariable reply is, “I’m too busy to get lonesome.”
“I don’t see what you can find to occupy your time.” The city dweller will remark. This amuses any farmer or farmer’s wife who can scarcely crowd, into even the longest days of the year, more than half the things that need to be done. In fact about the only time a country person ever feels lonely is when duty or pleasure takes him to the city. There, freed from the responsibilities to which he has been accustomed, the surrounded by hundreds of people, he may really be lonesome- an emotion unknown to him in his country.

In the commencement of this cold spell, when the sun arose one morning there were two very brilliant sundogs. Later in the day a huge double ring encircled the sun; and in the evening as the sun was setting the sundogs again appeared. These signs, said some of the self-appointed weather prophets, were a sure indication of severely cold weather. Well, maybe they are but it seems to me that during the summer months when similar phenomena occurred, it was claimed then that they foretold intense heat. It’s getting so that the only weather forecast one can really believe is that of the old Indian who said he knew only one sure sign of rain. “And what is that?” he was asked

“When it’s black all around and pouring down in the middle.” He replied.
The other night when I saw a large bonfire coming up the road toward me I was startled, to say the least. However, as is the case with most mysteries, the solution to this one was simple enough. Once I had learned it. During the coldest weather we’ve ever known here, some of the boys have originated a unique method of keeping warm while riding in a sleigh. They make a fire in a galvanized tub and take plenty of wood along to keep it replenished.
An occasional intrepid flyer still dares to wing his lonely way across our wind-swept, snow-covered hills to give us just a fleeting-glimpse of the hurry, bustle and excitement of the busy world outside.

Fred Taylor and Lee Kirkpatrick showed more hardihood than most of our residents by bucking the snowdrifts to Oakley this week. Fred lost considerable weight from having to walk so much to keep warm, and so fast to keep up with Lee.

February 5, 1937

I am a hollyhock fan. When a friend said last summer, “My flower garden is a failure – nothing is blooming but the hollyhocks.” I felt sorry for her, even though my sorrow was mixed with envy. Perhaps my love of these old-fashioned flowers might be traced by a psychologist back to childhood days when I spent many happy hours at my grandmother’s, making dolls with gorgeous glowing gowns and colorful parasols from these brilliant posies.

When the earth is covered with a sparkling white blanket and the mercury is wavering from zero to way below, it’s pleasant to think of delightful summer scenes. One of the most inspiring views in summer is that which meets the eye on making the last turn on the road to Vipont mine. No matter how often I travel that road, the beauty of that wonderful landscape makes me catch my breath for sheer joy to wish that I were an artist with the ability to reproduce on canvas those beautifully molded hills and the delicate coloring of the trees and shrubbery which grace them. I wish that everyone in the world could gaze upon that inspiring scene. It would not hurt anyone and would surely do a lot of people good.

February 12, 1937

The question of whether Mr. Ground Hog saw his shadow on his annual day this year was answered most emphatically by the blizzard which has raged for the past few days. He did.

The Moulton Lynn mail was held up – but not robbed – by bad roads last week. The mail carrier left for Oakley on Wednesday as usual but because of the storm and road conditions he was unable to return until Saturday. People were beginning to fear for his safety, so when he pulled in everybody heaved a big sigh of relief. There was such a blizzard Monday that he did not even attempt to start from Lynn.
The big measles scare seems to be over, the two youngest Benson children being the only victims of the disease, now we can sing that old vaudeville chorus:

Because we’ve all had ’em. We’ve all had ‘em
Some folks turn up their nose and say, “Oh, my!”
But we’ve all had ‘em, we’ve all had ‘em.
And you who haven’t had ‘em.
You will have ‘em bye and bye.

Mr. Leavitt has needed a magnifying glass to see his school; it has been so small the past two or three weeks.

Two holidays in three days! I think February is the only month which can claim such distinction.

Today, February 12, the one hundred twenty-eighth anniversary of his birth, we do honor to one of the greatest men who ever lived – our own Abraham Lincoln. Memories of this great American are both pleasant and sad. The sorrow of course being because of his tragic and untimely death. I think all Americans love and revere him, but all too seldom to we read and ponder on his life and works. Many stories of his life have been written and one at least would be told each year by young and old. He only lived and died that “government of the people, by the people and for the people, might not perish from the earth.”

Valentine day seems to be an occasion when young folks especially send to each other such love-lade greetings as this one expressed by a picture of a young farmer with an armful of vegetables who says; “I wouldn’t carrot all to live without you, my valentine.”

Or this one. A young fellow mowing a lawn with hearts scattered all about says to his valentine, “I love you ‘mower’ each day.

February 19, 1937

Some blackbirds have spent the winter here, one pair at least becoming somewhat domesticated, so that they go into the barn and eat with the pigeons. At present the blackbirds are even tamer than the pigeons. Many birds would spend the winters here if they were provided with shelter and food. I for one would like to see some trees growing around more of the homes to help encourage our feathered friends to take up their abode here.

A good work is being done by some of the men folks here in getting rid of many of the jackrabbits, and as the rabbit skins are a good price at present, those who obtain them are paid in more ways than one. It is regrettable that others do not join in helping exterminate these pests. More than five hundred skins have been obtained by two hunters who have used some of their spare time during the past month in this manner.

Visiting the sick on skis, though probably not a new thing, is a novelty here. That was the method used recently by Mr. and Mrs. Chester butlers to reach the Joe Moon ranch where Mrs. Moon has been ill for some time.
Though the roads are very bad and the cold has been extremely sever, there is not as much snow here as last winter. Also last year, because of several warm spells, the snow settled and contained much more water than the same depth this year would have.

A Sketch of the Life of Elijah C. Ried

March 5, 1937
Lou Ella J. Bronson

Elijah C. Reid was born February 26, 1875
At Stone, Oneida county, Idaho. His parents were Elijah C. and Sarah M. Bates Reid. The family moved to Locomotive Springs (now Carma), Utah, when Elijah Jr. was three years old. At the age of five he took typhoid fever. A doctor Mallory from Kenton was called and everything was done that loving hands could do to relieve the little sufferer.

Though he was near death for almost three months he finally recovered. He had become so weak that he could neither talk nor walk and had to learn these accomplishments all over again just like a baby. In spite of all this he grew to be a sturdy youngster with a splendid physique.

After making several moves, the family settled at what is now known as the Reid Springs in the Raft river valley, these springs, which are similar to the Land ranch springs in the Oakley valley, were named after the Reid family, the firs residents there. Elijah received what schooling he had while they lived at this place. There was a little school house between the ranch which is now known as the Chris Hansen ranch. Owned by Daniel Beus and the John Ward place. Here Miss Lily Fisher taught the Reid children and others of that section the three Rs. Later he went to the school at the cove between Almo and Grape creek – taught by Mr. Thornton.

When he was but fourteen years old, Elijah was left an orphan and being the oldest boy, he took the responsibility of working out for wages to help support his younger brother and sisters. He worked for John Blyth, a typical Scotchman, off and on for about twenty years; sometimes for two years steady. Mr. Blythe liked him and would always vouch for his honesty and dependability. During these years he gained much useful experience and in working with sheep it was discovered that he had rare ability in the training of dogs. If you were fortunate enough to get “Bud” Reid to train a dog for you, no price could persuade you to part with it, as any dog he trained showed almost human intelligence. He was also an excellent horseman: one of his intimate associates says he never knew him to be thrown and it is said that he rode some tough ones. He was very fond of animals and those in his possession were always well cared for.

From 1899 to 1901 Elijah worked with Samuel O. Bennion for John C. Sharp of Salt Lake City; they worked with sheep in Monte Christo, Colorado. S.O. Bennion later became president of the Central states mission and is at present one of the seven presidents of Seventy of the L.D.S. church. President Bennion once said of him, “Lije Reid was one of the best hands I ever knew and he has a heart as big as a beef ox’s. He would never refuse to help a friend in need.”

While working in Soda Springs in 1924, Elijah met and married Mary Meiss. They are the parents of nine children, six of whom with their mother survive. He also has two brothers and two sisters living: they are Mrs. Lucy Allred of Pocatello, Mrs. Laura Bronson of Moulton, Ormus Reid of Los Angeles, California and Orson Reid of Basin.

March 12, 1937

Mrs. Joseph Moon, who has been seriously ill for some time, accompanied her daughter Mrs. McAllister and Mr. McAllister to a Burley hospital last week. The McAllister’s came via Almo in a car as far as the mouth of Immigrant canyon. From there the snow was too deep for an automobile, so they started out on foot, but were met by Mr. Moon in a sleigh. Though Mrs. Moon has lived here but a short time she has made many friends, all of whom wish her a speedy recovery.

Mr. and Mrs. Floyd Leavitt and Lamar Bronson went to Almo on horseback to attend the gold and green ball. The Leavitts then went to Elba by motor to visit relative there. On Sunday the entire party returned with a sleigh.
Rufus Wright, with the help of Ray Roberts the mail carrier, took his turkeys to Twin Falls to sell them. George Bronson accompanied them to Burley. These folks too made use of sleighs and a car on their trip.

There seems to be fad or something for using two or three methods of transportation on each trip these days. It is hoped though that this won’t be necessary much longer: In fact, the past few days have been so warm that some are even daring to hope that spring might come eventually.

March 12, 1937

The pupils are all again in attendance at school. Many books are being toted home by reluctant youngsters who must catch up on lessons that have been missed.
A pair of blue birds are said to be building a nest in the attic of the Buller's house. Many more pairs are moving into the apartments they occupied last year.
Another sure sign of spring was noted by a Moulton resident when he saw a flock of geese flying northward over our valley.

I.R. Stowers is now visiting his daughter, Mrs. Joe Millard, and family. When Mr. Stowers was asked if he and Mrs. Stowers intend to remain in Idaho, he answered, “We couldn’t find a better place.”

LaDell Wringley, who went to Lynn, Utah, for a load of hay, found the sleigh roads not so good. The snow being gone about half the way.
(From Last week)

Blue birds, robins and blackbirds are all daring to face the wrath of that grim old tyrant, Winter, who has ruled the land for the past few months. These cheery messengers of spring keep popping up here and there in spite of an occasional furious blast by north Wind. The chief commander of King Winter’s forces.
Our school gave additional proof of the adage that good things are done up in small parcels when on Washington’s birthday, a party and program was enjoyed by a few of the parents and patrons, Although the program was one of those surprise affairs, it would have been a credit to a much larger school.

March 19, 1937

The Junction Valley
Twenty-Five Years Ago and Now
By Lou Ella J. Bronson

When the Junction valley was filed on by homesteaders about twenty to twenty-five years ago, there were fifty or more homesteads taken up on the side of the valley. The population was around one hundred eighty. For several years very intensive farming was done and nearly all available ground was cleared for raising hay and grain. The valley was almost entirely covered with well cultivated fields. Visitors were greatly impressed with the bounteous crops. Some things which were raised successfully were wheat, barley, oats, rye, flax, corn, alfalfa and sweet clover. Besides these general farm crops some excellent truck gardens were produced, these provided their owners with all sorts of vegetables. Some small fruits such as currants, gooseberries, dewberries and raspberries were grown. Mrs. Harwood canned thirty quarts of dew berries from her few bushes one year.
All this man-made beauty looked better than the original beauties of nature to most people, but alas for its permanence! Whereas nature’s grandeur had remained the same or improved probably for centuries in this wonderland, when man came he destroyed much of the natural beauty, substituting the things that he desired to make money. Then as the land, being farmed constantly and sometimes unwisely, ceased to produce as much as some would have liked, they, instead of blaming themselves, condemned the country and left.
Many of the things which nature had placed here in such rich abundance had been destroyed. Weeds, brought mostly by man, along with some of the more hardy natural plants took the place of the beautiful fields of hay and grain. Now only a few families remain and a comparatively small amount of the land is under cultivation; most of the remainder produces abundant crops of sage brush, Russian thistle, June grass, lots of native plants, and jackrabbits. It would if given the chance bring f forth a variety of the growths which helped to make this a haven of peace and beauty. Man if he would have it restored must help to replace some of the plants, but he would, if he did so, be amply repaid for every bit of effort put forth in this direction.