Some Summer Days in Iowa | Page 6

twining among the hazel, long stems of wild yam display
pretty leaves in graceful strings, each leaf set at the angle which secures
the greatest amount of light. On the wire fence the bittersweet hangs
and reaches from thence to the top of the low hawthorne, seeking the
strength of the sun for the ripening of its pods, which slowly change
from green to yellow as the month advances. Thickly-prickled stems of
green-brier, the wild smilax, rise to the height of the choke-cherry

shrubs and the branches lift themselves by means of two tendrils on
each leaf-stalk to the most favorable positions for the sunlight. Under
these broad leaves the catbird is concealed. Elegant epicurean, he is
sampling the ripening choke-cherries. He complains querulously at
being disturbed, flirts his tail and flies. Stout branches of sumac, with
bark colored and textured much like brown egg-shell, sustain a canopy
of wild grape, the clusters of green fruit only partly hidden by the broad
leaves. Curiously beautiful are the sumac's leaves, showing long
leaf-stalks of pink purple and pretty leaflets strung regularly on either
side. The sumac's fruit, unlike the grape's, seeks no concealment;
proudly lifting its glowing torches above the leafy canopy, it lights the
old road for the passing of the pageant of summer. From greenish gold
to scarlet, swiftly changing to carmine, terra cotta, crimson and garnet,
so glows and deepens the color in the torches. When comes the final
garnet glow not even the cold snows of winter can quench it.
[Illustration: "THE SUMAC'S TORCHES LIGHT UP THE OLD
ROAD" (p. 35)]
Around the fence-post, where the versi-colored fungus grows, the
moon-seed winds its stems, like strands of twine. Its broad leaves are
set like tilted mirrors to catch and reflect the light. Trailing among the
grass the pea-vine lifts itself so that its blossoms next month shall
attract the bees. The wild hop is reaching over the bushes for the
branches of the low-growing elm from which to hang its fruit clusters.
Circling up the trunk and the spreading branches of the elm, the
Virginia creeper likewise strives for better and greater light. Flower and
vine, shrub and tree, each with its own peculiar inherited tendencies
resulting from millions of years of development, strives ever for
perfection. Shall man, with the civilization of untold centuries at his
back to push him on, do less? Endowed with mind and heart, with
spiritual aspirations and a free will, shall he dare cease to grow?
Equipped so magnificently for the light, dare he deliberately seek the
darkness and allow his mental and spiritual fruits to wither? These are
questions to ponder as the afternoon shadows lengthen.
If you walk through the wooded pasture, close by the side of the

roadside fence, the hollow stumps hold rain-water, like huge tankards
for a feast. Sometimes a shaft of sunlight shoots into the water, making
it glow with color. Fungi in fantastic shapes are plentiful. Growing
from the side of a stump, the stem of the fawn-colored pluteus bends
upwards to the light. Golden clavarias cover fallen trunks with coral
masses and creamy ones are so delicately fragile that you almost fear to
touch them lest you mar their beauty. Brown brackets send out new
surfaces of creamy white on which the children may stencil their names.
That vivid yellow on a far stump is the sulphur-colored polyporus.
Green and red Russulas delight the eye. The lactaria sheds hot, white
milk when you cut it, and the inky coprinus sheds black rain of its own
accord. Puff-balls scatter their spores when you smite them and the
funnel-shaped clitocybe holds water as a wine-glass holds Sauterne.
Springing from a log lying by the fence a dozen plants of the glistening
coprinus have reared themselves since morning, fresh from the rain and
flavored as sweet as a nut. Narrow furrows and sharp ridges adorn their
drooping caps; these in turn are decorated with tiny shining scales.
Nibbling at the nut-like flesh, I am touched with the nicety, the
universality of nature's appeal to the finer senses and sentiments. Here
is form and color and sparkle to please the eye, flesh tender to the touch,
aroma that tests the subtlest sense of smell, taste that recalls stories of
Epicurean feasts, millions of life-germs among the purple-black gills,
ready to float in the streams of the atmosphere to distant realms and
other cycles of life. No dead log and toadstools are here, but dainty
shapes with billions of possibilities for new life, new beauties, new
thoughts.
* * * * *
[Illustration: YOUNG BLUE-JAY TRYING TO CLIMB BACK TO
ITS NEST
"THE WOOD THRUSH HAS A LATE NEST IN A YOUNG ELM" (p.
41)
"THE CHIPMUNK HOLDS IN HIS PAWS A BIT OF BREAD" (p.
20)]

Goldfinches ride on the