VI
In my last letter, Nell, I tried to picture to you some of the beauties surrounding our new Oregon home; but I do assure you that it was only the preface to this wonderful Nature-book of the hills. I would like to tell you more of them; but as man can not live by scenery alone, and as you particularly want details of our early experiences here, not only the lights but the shadows, I shall have to go back again to those memorable days of January when we first came here. Green fir seen upon the hills is admirable; but green fir in the kitchen range is abominable, especially after being soaked by rain for three months. When first put into the stove, bolstered up with plenty of pine kindlings, it would blaze rather hopefully, until the moss had burned off and the kindlings had vanished, when with sighing and sobbing it would shed a few rainy tears, turn black, and all would be over. The most of our packing-boxes were demolished in efforts to set the fir wood on fire, but all in vain; it simply would not burn, and we had to go back to cooking by the fireplace. There we did fairly well, with a liberal supply of bark; the latter burning well here, but of no use in the range.
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