LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH
“Yes; or, cut in short lengths and tied with baby ribbon, they would make stunning favors for a green luncheon.”
“And nothing could be better if we were going to banquet the Modern Woodmen.”
In the fun of conjuring up ludicrous uses for our new wood, we quite forgot that it was not the most desirable for fuel. There is nothing like a good laugh to float one over difficult places.
Well, we never got our big tree until summer. Then the men were told by a wise Nestor of the hills that by boring holes in these large trees and firing them from the inside, they could soon burn them down. They eagerly pounced upon that idea, and since then we have had excellent wood.
Our souls were tried not only by fire, but by flour. Not that the flour was poor, for we ate good bread made of the same kind in the little town where we stopped when we first arrived. But the women there assured us that we would have much trouble with it until we learned how to handle it; and they were right. This flour was made from what is here called “soft wheat.” Put it on the kneading-board, and it would spread over it like batter on a griddle and stick there like glue. Try to remedy this by adding flour to make a stiffer dough, and it would crack open while baking and come out of the oven as hard as a baseball. As to cutting it, you could as easily slice a slab
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