We soon forgot about the conflict for the valley in all its
beauty lay before us, and every day was a holiday. So it was not
important just then which way the river flowed or in what
direction those glorious mountains led. It was the bloom-time of
the year in the uplands; the landscapes of the valley were
sparkling in the sunlight, the songs of numerous larks rose like
incense from every meadow, the vireo filled in every pause with
her rapid voluble song, the clear ringing call of the quail
resounded through every valley, and the hillsides were so
covered with different hued grasses, ferns and flowers that they
seemed like vast paintings.
Here the fine automobile road wound among scenes of incomparable
loveliness. There were vast sheets of ox-eyed daisies; the rich
flaming orange of the butterfly weed, the purple of various
mints, the gleaming gold of numerous compositae making the place
rich in floral beauty, while an ever-fragrant breeze stirred the
grain into golden billows and the meadows into slight undulating
waves like an emerald sea.
Slow indeed was our progress through these glorious places and
each stop we made on the high ridges overlooking the valleys
unfolded a view more beautiful than the last we beheld.
Cultivation had been here many years, yet this only served to
enhance the loveliness of the scene; and we wandered enchanted
from place to place in long wavering curves, knowing that each
new turn held a vision of delight.
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