Wilderness, A Journal of Quiet Adventure in Alaska

December n

l day the softest clouds have drifted lazily over the heaven shrouding the land here and there in veils of falling snow, while elsewhere or through the snow i

with a naked snow-bath. I photographed him standing thus in the deep snow at the water's edge with the mountains far off behind him. Then he dried himself at the roaring fire we'd made ready and felt like a new boy-if that can be imagined. We both sketched out-of-doors for a little while in the morning like young lady amateurs. I tried it a

ecember t

y five more days before Christmas it is probable we'll have littl

nto the sledge hammer. It was too dark to paint long, really hardly an hour of daylight. These day

cember twe

ing that a continuance of the mild weather would melt the ice in the lake and send his bags of fish to the bottom, went out to the center of the lake where they hung suspended through a hole in the

l I did call. The poor boy on not seeing us had suddenly concluded we were drowned. A strip of water separated him from th

hed nuisance. We should have socks enough to tide us over our stay here. Last night after Rockwell had been put to bed I sat down and did two of the best drawings I have made. At half past twelve I finished them, and then to calm my elation

oks as if the steamship companies had combined to deprive Alaska of its Christmas mail and freight in a policy of making the deadlock with the government over the mail contracts

A

cember twe

ht a night in spring. At eight-thirty I walked over in sneakers and underwear for a moment's call on

les in this somber log interior. I've given up the idea of dressing Olson as Santa Claus in goat's wool whiskers. Santa Claus without presents would move us to tears. There are a few lit

ong. My bedtime then was after two or three o'clock-but I arose later. To-day I finished a little picture for Olson and so did Rockwell. These were forgotten in my list of presents as I've just written it. I have shown in my picture the king of the island himself striding out to fe

stma

decorated the roof timbers with dense hemlock boughs, stowed quantities of wood behind the stove-for there mus

ficent before us! I suppose the greatest festivals of our lives are those at which we dance ourselves. You need nothing from outside,-not even illusion. Certainly child

Toward evening light snow began to fall. It soon turned to rain and the rain now has settled down to a gentle, even, all-night-and-day pace. Let it snow or rain and grow dark at midday! The better shall be our good Christmas cheer within. Thi

Day on F

et is brought into the house and set upon its feet. It is nine feet and a half high and just touches

PE

oils, the beans stew, the bread browns in the oven just right, and the new pudding sauce foams up as rich and delicious as if instead of the first it were

Quickly I stow the presents about the tree, han

is wonderful. The interior of the cabin is illuminated as never before, as perhaps no cabin interior ever was among

t; and the old man says, "I'd give everything-yes ever

t, and a pocketknife. By this time he's quite overcome. It's the first Christmas he has ever had! And Rockwell, when he is handed two old copies of the "Geographic Magazine" cries in amazement

is glasses and reads the formal menu that lies at

in it a gold nugget pin. He is shaven, and clipped about the ears. How grand he looks! The food is good and plentiful, the night is long, only the Christmas candles are short-lived and we

reat story! Just now I am past that magnificent slaughter of the wooers, else these delayed pages would still be unwritten. A few more Odysseys to read here in this wild place and one could forget the modern world and return in manners and speech and thoug

ecember twe

e upon the mountains across from us. It is colder, for ice has forme

feeding, his engine gets a little burnishing-it's no insignificant voyage to Seward in the winter. If only it holds out

and then came in and while the tree still burned told each other stories. Rockwell's story was about the adventures of some children in the woods, full of thrilling climaxes. It came by the yard. I told him of an Indian boy who, longing for Christmas, went out into the dark woods at night and closed his eyes. And how behind his closed eyes he found a world rich in everything the other lacked. There was his Christmas tree and to i

cember twe

d his presents consisting chiefly of feathers. The table is spread with the feast in shells and the whole is brilliantly

ecember t

that the world believes to be an iceberg! But in Seward and on the mountains no doubt it is snowing enough. To-day I made so good

and to-night holding a kind of song service with Rockwell. Rockwell, who at nine years has every reason to celebrate to-day, however he may feel at twenty-nine,

s, a little boy, an old man, listening as I sing loudly and solemnly to them without accompaniment. Olson brought us a pan of goat's milk to-day, as he

NORT

markable sight. To-night is as warm as any night in spring or autumn. It thaws continually and even the ice that once covered the

at I may make it as earnestly and as truly as possible, the stars and the black sky sh