In the Catskills Selections from the Writings of John Burroughs   By: John Burroughs (1837-1921)

Selections from the Writings of John Burroughs

With Illustrations from Photographs by Clifton Johnson

Boston and New York Houghton Mifflin Company The Riverside Press Cambridge

1910

[Illustration: A DISTANT VIEW OF SLIDE MOUNTAIN The highest of the Catskills (Chapter VI)]

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

I. THE SNOW WALKERS

II. A WHITE DAY AND A RED FOX

III. PHASES OF FARM LIFE

IV. IN THE HEMLOCKS

V. BIRDS' NESTS

VI. THE HEART OF THE SOUTHERN CATSKILLS

VII. SPECKLED TROUT

VIII. A BED OF BOUGHS

ILLUSTRATIONS

A DISTANT VIEW OF SLIDE MOUNTAIN (Frontispiece)

THE FOX HUNTER AND HIS HOUND

AT THE HEADWATERS OF THE DELAWARE Overlooking Mr. Burroughs's boyhood home

FINDING A BIRD'S NEST

THE WITTENBERG FROM WOODLAND VALLEY

A TROUT STREAM

THE BEAVERKILL

SOME PEOPLE OF THE CATSKILLS

INTRODUCTION

The eight essays in this volume all deal with the home region of their author; for not only did Mr. Burroughs begin life in the Catskills, and dwell among them until early manhood, but, as he himself declares, he has never taken root anywhere else. Their delectable heights and valleys have engaged his deepest affections as far as locality is concerned, and however widely he journeys and whatever charms he discovers in nature elsewhere, still the loveliness of those pastoral boyhood uplands is unsurpassed.

The ancestral farm is in Roxbury among the western Catskills, where the mountains are comparatively gentle in type and always graceful in contour. Cultivated fields and sunny pastures cling to their mighty slopes far up toward the summits, there are patches of woodland including frequent groves of sugar maples, and there are apple orchards and winding roadways, and endless lines of rude stone fences, and scattered dwellings. In every hollow runs a clear trout brook, with its pools and swift shallows and silvery falls. Birds and other wild creatures abound; for the stony earth and the ledges that crop out along the hillsides, the thickets and forest patches, the sheltered glens and windy heights offer great variety in domicile to animal life. The creatures of the outdoor world are much in evidence, and at no time do their numbers impress one more than when in winter one sees the hand writing of their tracks on the snow.

The work on the farm and the workers are genuinely rustic, but not nearly so primitive as in the times that Mr. Burroughs most enjoys recalling. Oxen are of the past, the mowing machine goes over the fields where formerly he labored with his scythe, stacks at which the cattle pull in the winter time are a rarity, and the gray old barns have given place to modern red ones. It is a dairy country, and on every farm is found a large herd of cows; but the milk goes to the creameries. The women, however, still share in the milking, and there is much of unaffected simplicity in the ways of the household. On days when work is not pushing, the men are likely to go hunting or fishing, and they are always alert to observe chances to take advantage of those little gratuities which nature in the remoter rural regions is constantly offering, both in the matter of game and in that of herbs and roots, berries and nuts.

Mr. Burroughs's old home has continued in the family, and the house and its surroundings have in many ways continued essentially unaltered ever since he can remember. What is most important the wide reaching view down the vales and across to the ridges that rise height on height until they blend with the sky in the ethereal distance, is just what it always has been.