of Anezeh. Even left its paper, “The Silverton Appeal,” among that tribe.
I have told people of this little town’s beauties till they have yawned and finally left in disgust, yet it holds me with a something that I cannot describe. Strangely I find that I have forgotten all the many rainy days, the boyhood fights and the neighbor quarrels. They with the petty pains and pangs of life have been forgotten, and while I know that some of my expressions of love for this little town have been misunderstood by the newer and younger generation, yet I am certain that the pioneers, the men and women that belong to the old oak tree, have all seen in every word I have ever written or line I have ever drawn pertaining to Silverton and the farmers around it, nothing but love. All the attention I have drawn to it in the past and any I may in the future was, will be, to benefit Silverton. My only regret is that we couldn’t have remained always the same as we were before the big oak tree was chopped down, as that tree seemed to fit into our landscape better than open or paved streets do. The tree seemed to be a center of dignity around which we could build,
