"Among Colorado's mountains there are an unusual number of strong characters who are trying again.  They are strong because broken plans, lost fortunes, or shattered health elsewhere have not ended their efforts or changed their ideals.  Many are trying to restore health, some are trying again to prosper, others are just making a start in life, but there are a few who, far from the madding crowd, are living happily the simple life.  Sincerity, hope, and repose enrich the lives of those who live among the crags and pines of mountain fastness."

"It is in dam-building that the beaver shows his greatest skill and his best headwork; for I confess to the belief that a beaver reasons.  I have so often seen him change his plans so wisely and meet emergencies so promptly and well that I can think of him only as a reasoner."

"The influence of a beaver-dam is astounding.  As soon as completed, it becomes a highway for the folk of the wild.  It is used day and night.  Mice and porcupines, bears and rabbits, lions and wolves, make a bridge of it.  From it, in the evening, the graceful deer cast their reflections in the quiet pond.  Over it dash pursuer and pursued; and on it take place battles and courtships.  It is often torn by hoof and claw of animals locked in death-struggles, and often, very often, it is stained with blood.  Many a drama, picturesque, fierce, and wild, is staged upon a beaver-dam."

"The camp-fire was a glory-burst in the darkness, and the small many-spired evergreen temple before me shone an illuminated cathedral in the night.  All that evening I believed in fairies, and by watching the changing camp-fire kept my fancies frolicking in realms of mystery where all the world was young.  I lay down without a gun, and while the fire changed and faded to black and gray the coyotes began to howl.  But their voices did not seem as lonely or menacing as when I had had a rifle by my side.  As I lay listening to them, I thought I detected merriment in their tones, and in a little while their shouts rang as merrily as though they were boys at play.  Never before had I realized that coyotes too had enjoyments, and I listened to their shouts with pleasure.  At last the illumination faded from the cathedral grove and its templed top stood in charcoal against the clear heavens as I fell asleep beneath the peaceful stars."

"This is a beautiful world, and all who go out under the open sky will feel the gentle, kindly influence of Nature and hear her good tidings.  The forests of the earth are the flags of Nature.  They appeal to all and awaken inspiring universal feelings.  Enter the forest and the boundaries of nations are forgotten."

"The solitaire stirs one to be up and doing, gives one the spirit of youth.  In the solitaire's song one feels all the freshness and the promise of spring.  The song seems to be born of ages of freedom beneath peace-ful skies, of the rhythm of the universe, of a mingling of the melody of winds and waters and of all rhythmic sounds that murmur and echo out of doors and of every song that Nature sings in the wild gardens of the world."

"Some of my friends have predicted that I shall some time meet with an accident and perish in the solitudes alone.  If their prediction should come true, I shall hope it will be in the summer-time, while the flowers are at their best, and that during my last conscious moments I shall hear the melody of the solitaire singing as I die with the dying day."

"Go where you will over the Rockies and the birds will be with you."

"The ptarmigan, with their home above tree-line, amid eternal snows, are wonderfully self-reliant and self-contained.  The ouzel, too, is self-poised, indifferent to all the world but his brook, and showing an appreciation for water greater, I think, than of any other landsman.  These birds, the ptarmigan and the ouzel, along with the willow thrush, who sings out his melody amid the shadows of the pines, who puts his woods into song,—these birds of the mountains are with me when memory takes me back a solitary visitor to the lonely places of the Rockies."

"To me the aspen is almost a classic tree, and I have met it in so many places that I regard it almost as an old friend. . . The bare-legged little aspen with its restless and childlike ways is a tree that it is good to know.  When alone, these little trees seem lonely and sometimes to tremble as though just a little afraid in this big strange world.  But generally the aspen is not alone.  Usually you find a number of little aspens playing together, with their leaves shaking, jostling, and jumping,—moving all the time.  If you go near a group and stop to watch them, they may, for an instant, pause to glance at you, then turn to romp more merrily than before."

"I never see a little tree bursting from the earth, peeping confidently up among the withered leaves, without wondering how long it will live or what trials or triumphs it will have.  I always hope that it will find life worth living, and that it will live long to better and to beautify the earth.  I hope it will love the blue sky and the white clouds passing by.  I trust it will welcome all seasons and ever join merrily in the music, the motion, and the movement of the elemental dance with the winds.  I hope it will live with rapture in the flower-opening days of spring and also enjoy the quiet summer rain.  I hope it will be a home for the birds and hear their low, sweet mating-songs. I trust that when comes the golden peace of autumn days, it will be ready with fruited boughs for the life to come.  I never fail to hope that if this tree is cut down, it may be used for a flagpole to keep our glorious banner in the blue above, or that it may be built into a cottage where love will abide; or if it must be burnt, that it will blaze on the hearthstone in a home where children play in the firelight on the floor."

"A climb up the Rockies will develop a love for nature, strengthen one's appreciation of the beautiful world outdoors, and put one in tune with the Infinite.  It will inspire one with the feeling that the Rockies have a rare mountain wealth of their own.  They are not to be compared with the Selkirks or the Alps or any other un-like range of mountains.  The Rockies are not a type, but an individuality, singularly rich in mountain scenes which stir one's blood and which strengthen and sweeten life."

"It has much for the scientist and nature-lover: the mountain-climber will find peaks to conquer and cañons to explore; the geologist will find many valuable stone manuscripts; the forester who interviews the trees will have from their tongues a story worth while; and here, too, are some of Nature's best pictures for those who revel only in the lovely and the wild.  It is a strikingly picturesque by-world, where there are many illuminated and splendid fragments of Nature's story."

"The blaze of the camp-fire, moonlight, the music and movement of the winds, light and shade, and the eloquence of silence all impressed me more deeply here than anywhere else I have ever been.  Every day there was a delightful play of light and shade, and this was especially effective on the summits; the ever-changing light upon the serrated mountain-crests kept constantly altering their tone and outline.  Black and white they stood in midday glare, but a new grandeur was born when these tattered crags appeared above storm-clouds.  Fleeting glimpses of the crests through a surging storm arouse strange feelings, and one is at bay, as though having just awakened amid the vast and vague on another planet.  But when the long, white evening light streams from the west between the minarets, and the black buttressed crags wear the alpine glow, one's feelings are too deep for words."

"Weird and strange are the feelings that flow as the winds sweep and sound through the trees.  The Storm King has a bugle at his lips, and a deep, elemental hymn is sung while the blast surges wild through the pines. Mother Nature is quietly singing, singing soft and low while the breezes pause and play in the pines. From the past one has been ever coming, with the future destined ever to go when, with centuries of worshipful silence, one waits for the winds in the pines.  Ever the good old world grows better both with songs and with silence in the pines."

"That all-pervading presence called silence has its happy home within the forest.  Silence sounds rhythmic to all, and attunes all minds to the strange message, the rhapsody of the universe.  Silence is almost as kind to mortals as its sweet sister sleep."

"I know what it is to be alone on high peaks with the moon, and I have felt the spell that holds the lonely wanderer when, on a still night, he feels the wistful, tender touch of the summer air, while the leaves whisper and listen in the moonlight, and the moon-toned etchings of the pines fall upon the magic forest floor."

"The white moon rose grandly from behind the minareted mountain, hesitated for a moment among the tree-spires, then tranquilly floated up into space.  A dead and broken tree on the edge of the grass-plot looked like a weird prowler just out of the woods, and seemed half-inclined to come out into the light and speak to me. All was still. The moonlit mist clung fantastically to the mossy festoons of the fir trees. . . As I stood in the enchanting scene, amid the beautiful mellow light, I seemed to have been wafted back into the legend-weaving age.  The silence was softly invaded by zephyrs whispering in the treetops, and a few moonlit clouds that showed shadow centre-boards came lazily drifting along the bases of the minarets . . . Heavier cloud-flotillas followed, and these floated on the forest sea, touching the treetops with the gentleness of a lover's hand.  I lay down by my camp-fire to let my fancy frolic, and fairest dreams came on."

"I wish every one could have a night by a camp-fire,—by Mother Nature's old hearthstone.  When one sits in the forest within the camp-fire's magic tent of light, amid the silent, sculptured trees, there go thrilling through one's blood all the trials and triumphs of our race.  The blazing wood, the ragged and changing flame, the storms and calms, the mingling smoke and blaze, the shadow-figures that dance against the trees, the scenes and figures in the fire,—with these, though all are new and strange, yet you feel at home once more in the woods.  A camp-fire in the forest is the most enchanting place on life's highway by which to have a lodging for the night."
 
 

Copyright 2001 by the Enos Mills Cabin
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