The Enterprise, White Salmon, WA., July 9, 1937, page 7
Photo courtesy of Mrs. Lois Dechand

PATO and VALLEY                                            

We have a mountain,
Adams is her name,
She keeps herself enfolded,
In a snowy coat of fame,
She stands 12,000 feet in the asure sky,
With a sulphur mine on top
And grandeur high;

The roaring Klickitat comes forth
From the east side,
And rushes on and on
To the mighty Columbia to hide.

You would think her lovely dress                                                
Of gold and the dawn of day -
Couldn't compete with the sunshine
At the noon day.

But we think the sunset
Is her crowning beauty:
When we set and milk the bossy,
Tending to our duty: --

As it changes and lingers
Making the snow more red than white --
Then the shadows come
And we prepare for the night,

Some time the moon
Dresses her in the rarest color -
That far exceeds the shadows
Of all other.

We have a creek,
Bird is her name: --
With a falls - 18 miles from home,
That starts her fame,

There is a meadow there,
Carpeted with flowers -
That God plants and tends,
In his leisure hours.

Bird lake is the nearest home
And the blue of that waters
Was never before known:
Where Scout camps are located
And sports galore -
Bathing, fishing, hiking,

And boating is enjoyed by the hour;
The Scouts come two hundred strong-
From every camp around,
And lay upon the bed of grass;
And not the old bare ground.

The Grangers hold the annual picnics,
Under the shade of the tall pine,
Where stoves, tables and chairs are built by the
CCC and Scout boys, that's fine,
The Sunday school conventions meet there
And their songs echo
Through the forests sweet and fair.

We have a valley-
Camas Prairie is her name;
With the weaving fields of clover
And beautiful growing grain;

And dairy cattle roaming -
On everybody's ranch,
The tall pines waving in the sky,
As is a trance;

Tractors roaring, separators humming,
Sawmills buzzing,
Believe it or not -
That's why we're happy,

And a few men of relief;
Sheltered by the grand old sentinel,
This mountain dear to all;
She is our weather prophet -
And our playground for great and small.

The cattle association -
With four thousand head;
First they are here, then they are there,
But wind up on the reservoir.

The sheep they come -
With their baby lambs so white,
Into the hills they go
And play and brouse and grow and fight.

You might think this bit of boast,
And this day we would rue,
But come and see -
And you'll find it's all true.

Mrs. Mary Jebe

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