the trails were very hard to
leave, but we came away one noon and once more drove back to Wawona.
There we were detained for a week by a break in the car. We started out
one morning when the rain was pouring to take the Mariposa road. We
found that with no chains and with the machine slipping and sliding on
the steep clay road, progress would be impossible. I tried to help the
matter by putting freshly cut branches of odorous balsam fir under the
wheels to help them grip. I walked behind the machine with a log,
throwing it under the wheels as they advanced foot by foot, T. fighting
at the steering wheel like the pilot of a drifting ship. But it was
impossible to make headway. We met some teamsters who had evidently been
taking something hot to counteract the discomfort of their wet
exteriors. One said solemnly of the sun when we expressed a wish that it
would appear, "Yes, the sun is our father, and our step-father." Then he
added, "I'd worship the sun if I were a heathen. I kinder do, now." He
went on irrelevantly, "I do think Roosevelt's one of the best men we've
got. I do think so. I do so." We were close to a deserted logging camp,
which looked doubly melancholy in the falling rain. There was the
deserted runway, there were the empty cottages, with broken windows and
doors swinging open. Back of the cottages were piles of tin cans. One
cottage still bore its old name, "Idle Burg." All about were blooming
columbines and the odorous balsam.

There was nothing for it but to go back to Wawona, which we did. When we
reached there, we found that we had a broken spring. We spent several
days waiting for a new spring to come up from Raymond. In the meantime
we discovered the loveliness of the Wawona meadows and explored the
walks about the hotel. We went down to the blacksmith shop to see the
big stage horses shod and the smith handle them as if they were his
children. "California is God's country," said he. "I came here forty
years ago, but I aint done much for myself until the last two or three
years." At last the motor car was ready, and we had once more a drive
through the forest, stopping for a delightful dinner and evening at
Miami Lodge. The next day we were dropping down from the high Sierras
by the Mariposa road. Turning to the right, before reaching Raymond, the
foothills of the Sierras made very rough, broken country for travel, and
our road was indifferent. We passed poor little ranches dropped in among
the roc