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Epilogue \u2026. To Shahwandahgooze<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The Holiday is over, and we have all gone home, <\/p>\n Shahwandahgooze!\u00a0 We will remember you<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Meditation by the otter pool, under the whispering echo of Mont Dome, <\/p>\n Quiet, so peaceful under the moon.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n How the lightning with fantastic display\u00a0 with brilliant sharpness brightened the night, <\/p>\n Hot morning sun absorbing the morning mist. <\/p>\n Grow, and died, and grew once more.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n How small a spark to feed upon a forest, for forty-five years a stranger to smoke, to fire to flames.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n A holocost of stupendous, fantastic, awesome forest fire.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Shovels, hose, pump, men, sweat and prayers.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Shahwandahgooze, under the glare of flames. We hold it, we hold it not. <\/p>\n So many years of growth, of peace, of beauty, consumed by the flames. <\/p>\n But man submits not, or else he be not man.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Planes, hose, pumps, food, boats, men. The embers died. A native to your pathways <\/p>\n One fire controlled, but another yonder grows, and the night blazed under the pine fed revellery.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Enough! Nature had satisfied its defiance to man, thunder rolled again, the lightening flashed <\/p>\n Shahwandahgooze, sleep for another forty-five years, a hundred years, we will remember you.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Otis and Oriole and Sitting Bull. Reflecting pools and white tailed fawns. <\/p>\n Shahwandahgooze !\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 By the wife of Eric Jones<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Epilogue \u2026. To Shahwandahgooze The Holiday is over, and we have all gone home, With lagging feet and toiling truck, over the ancient hills. Shahwandahgooze!\u00a0 We will remember you Meditation by the otter pool, under … Continue reading
\nWith lagging feet and toiling truck, over the ancient hills.<\/p>\n
\nAnd lazy days on the white beach by the wondrous wreckage of past wilderness luxury.<\/p>\n
\nAnd the hills hurled back the thunder. And silence once more.<\/p>\n
\nAnd yonder smoldering in the dry dead undergrowth, a spark lit by a lightening shattered tree,<\/p>\n
\nWe toiled, we sweat, we swore, we slaved, to save your glorious trees.
\nWe ached, we worked, we fought, to save your might forest.<\/p>\n
\nA spark, a smoldering spark, swirled by the southern wind, mocking our weary efforts.<\/p>\n
\nKnew well the knavery of the spreading fire.<\/p>\n
\nThrough a sweeping deluge of rain.<\/p>\n
\nFire and smoke and weary men, the fight we fought and how we held her.
\nThe trout we caught and the mountain we climber.
\nThe Indian Ranger and Patty Jean.
\nThe friends we made and the laughs we had.<\/p>\n