Property:Has text
From Off the Road Database
This is a property of type Text.
A
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<p>When out of the machine and walking around bunches of sage brush care was exercised in keeping out of striking range of these venomous reptiles. Mr. Winton has some tail end rattles as trophies, but I was not so anxious to get close enough to kill the snakes and cut off their tails.
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<p>Monday, May 27, started 6 A.M. from Hobart Mills, and that afternoon, toward evening, reached Wadsworth, Nev., the western gate to one of the worst patches of desert sand in that section. That day was another of rain. The early morning hours were bright, but when Reno, Nev., was left behind the skies changed from blue to white, then to a dark color and the clouds that had so quickly formed opened and spilled their contents about and upon us.
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<p>Mr. Winton said to me: "Do you know what we are up against here? I told the Plain Dealer I would put this enterprise through If it were possible. Right here we are met by the impossible. Under present conditions no automobile can go through this quicksand." I suggested loading the machine and sending it by freight to Winnemucca. "No, sir," he flashed back emphatically. "If we can't do it on our own power this expedition ends right here, and I go back with a knowledge of conditions and an experience such as no automobilist in this or any other country has gained."
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B
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<p>Albert! <br />
Hey, Albert!<br />
Don't you play in dat road. <br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 2em;">You see dem trucks </span><br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 2em;">A-goin' by. </span><br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 2em;">One run ovah you </span><br />
<span class="mw-poem-indented" style="display: inline-block; margin-inline-start: 2em;">An' you die. </span><br />
Albert, don't you play in dat road.
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<p>The opening window, closing door, <br />
Open, close, but not <br />
To finish or restore; <br />
These wishes get <br />
No further than <br />
The edges of the town, <br />
And leaning asking from the car <br />
Cannot tell us where we are; <br />
While the divided face<br />
Has no grace, <br />
No discretion,<br />
No occupation <br />
But registering <br />
Acreage, mileage, <br />
The easy knowledge <br />
Of the virtuous thing.
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<div class="poem">
<p>Between attention and attention<br />
The first and last decision <br />
Is mortal distraction <br />
Of earth and air,<br />
Further and nearer, <br />
The vague wants <br />
Of days and nights, <br />
And personal error; <br />
And the fatigued face. <br />
Taking the strain <br />
Of the horizontal force <br />
And the vertical thrust, <br />
Makes random answer<br />
To the crucial test; <br />
The uncertain flesh <br />
Scraping back chair <br />
For the wrong train, <br />
Falling in slush, <br />
Before a friend’s friends <br />
Or shaking hands <br />
With a snub-nosed winner.
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<div class="poem">
<p>" Why, there hasn't been time for the bushes to grow.<br />
That's always the way with the blueberries, though :<br />
There may not have been the ghost of a sign<br />
Of them anywhere under the shade of the pine,<br />
But get the pine out of the way, you may burn<br />
The pasture all over until not a fern<br />
Or grass-blade is left, not to mention a stick,<br />
And presto, they're up all around you as thick<br />
And hard to explain as a conjuror's trick."
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<p>" I don't know what part of the pasture you mean."
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<p>" He seems to be thrifty ; and hasn't he need,<br />
With the mouths of all those young Lorens to feed ?<br />
He has brought them all up on wild berries, they say,<br />
Like birds. They store a great many away.<br />
They eat them the year round, and those they don't eat<br />
They sell in the store and buy shoes for their feet."
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<div class="poem">
<p>" I wonder you didn't see Loren about."
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<p>" We shan't have the place to ourselves to enjoy—<br />
Not likely, when all the young Lorens deploy.<br />
They'll be there to-morrow, or even to-night.<br />
They won't be too friendly—they may be polite—<br />
To people they look on as having no right<br />
To pick where they're picking. But we won't complain.<br />
You ought to have seen how it looked in the rain,<br />
The fruit mixed with water in layers of leaves,<br />
Like two kinds of jewels, a vision for thieves."
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<p>" Does Mortenson know what he has, do you think ? "
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<p>" I've told you how once not long after we came,<br />
I almost provoked poor Loren to mirth<br />
By going to him of all people on earth<br />
To ask if he knew any fruit to be had<br />
For the picking. The rascal, he said he'd be glad<br />
To tell if he knew. But the year had been bad.<br />
There had been some berries—but those were all gone.<br />
He didn't say where they had been. He went on :<br />
' I'm sure—I'm sure '—as polite as could be.<br />
He spoke to his wife in the door, ' Let me see,<br />
Mame, we don't know any good berrying place ? '<br />
It was all he could do to keep a straight face.
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<p>" He may and not care and so leave the chewink<br />
To gather them for him—you know what he is.<br />
He won't make the fact that they're rightfully his<br />
An excuse for keeping us other folk out."
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<p>" The best of it was that I did. Do you know,<br />
I was just getting through what the field had to show<br />
And over the wall and into the road,<br />
When who should come by, with a democrat-load<br />
Of all the young chattering Lorens alive,<br />
But Loren, the fatherly, out for a drive."
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<div class="poem">
<p>" He seems to be thrifty ; and hasn't he need,<br />
With the mouths of all those young Lorens to feed ?<br />
He has brought them all up on wild berries, they say,<br />
Like birds. They store a great many away.<br />
They eat them the year round, and those they don't eat<br />
They sell in the store and buy shoes for their feet."
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<p>" He just kept nodding his head up and down.<br />
You know how politely he always goes by.<br />
But he thought a big thought—I could tell by his eye—<br />
Which being expressed, might be this in effect :<br />
' I have left those there berries, I shrewdly suspect,<br />
To ripen too long. I am greatly to blame.' "<br />
" He's a thriftier person than some I could name."
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<p>“ I wish I knew half what the flock of them know<br />
Of where all the berries and other things grow,<br />
Cranberries in bogs and raspberries on top<br />
Of the boulder-strewn mountain, and when they will crop.<br />
I met them one day and each had a flower<br />
Stuck into his berries as fresh as a shower ;<br />
Some strange kind—they told me it hadn't a name. "
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<p>" Who cares what they say ? It's a nice way to live,<br />
Just taking what Nature is willing to give,<br />
Not forcing her hand with harrow and plow. “<br />
“I wish you had seen his perpetual bow—<br />
And the air of the youngsters ! Not one of them turned,<br />
And they looked so solemn-absurdly concerned.”
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