It’s Snowing

     Though we do not expect it to snow in June it does each year when the cotton from the poplar trees comes down in a dainty way like the snow in winter.  You can see white fluff everywhere.  Some people have a time with itchy nose when the cotton is flying. 





     The place where the plum trees were taken out and some vegetables where planted there is what you see here covered with the fresh cotton snow all over the garden.






     This is interesting how and where it fell on the porch in a pile and we have not disturbed it.





     The squirrels like to eat the fresh green pods of the poplar trees as you can see here. I imagine he must store some away for winter as well. 





       Poplar Cotton And leaves


 This picture was taken a few blocks from our place where there is a pile of logs my husband was cutting for firewood.  He also found a squirrel nest in one of the trees that was packed with all kinds of interesting squirrel trinkets.








    Poplar pods and cotton, a feast.




Poplar Seed!

 "Some weeks ago, when I was in Hanover, Germany, some of the brethren took me out to a cemetery to see a wonderful grave. It was composed of nine stones. Four of them were laid on the ground for a foundation, in the form of a square, each side of which was six feet. Four others were laid on top of these, but they were shorter and drawn nearer together, narrowing the space which was made by the foundation stones. On top of the eight stones was a large block that covered the space, weighing perhaps a ton and a half. On the foundation stone was inscribed this statement: "This grave is purchased for eternity. It shall never be opened." 

Yet the grave is open, so that you can look into it. It has been opened by nature. In some way a little poplar seed was deposited in the ground, before the stones were put together. That seed sprouted and grew up, and the little tender twig crawled along the bottom of the large block of stone to a little crevice where light and air penetrated. It then pressed its little point through a crevice out into the light. It must have been very small at the time. It could not have been larger than a knitting-needle, I judge. But it came out into the open air, and grew up the side of the big block of stone. The tree has grown until it is about eighteen inches in diameter. It has rent that tomb asunder. Four of the stones composing it were fastened together with strong iron bands. These have all been broken, and every stone in the grave has been moved from its original place, and the block weighing a ton and a half has been lifted up on its edge, so that you can look down into the grave. Notwithstanding the defiant inscription, the grave was opened. 

What was there in the power of that little twig to do that work?--The power of God, the life of God. But how did that life get into that little twig? How was power transmuted from God to the tree?--By his word. [Voices: Amen!] God spoke the tree into existence, and he spoke his life into the seed, and into the tree. The word enshrined the life of God into that object, and there we may see that mighty life manifesting itself.  

The life of that seed was the word that transmuted power to the seed, [Voices: Amen!] The same word has power to roll away every stone that Satan has built about us [Congregation: Amen!], and it has power to break every band that the devil has bound us with."

April 16, 1901 N/A, GCB 273


   Wednesday, Oct. 1, 1873. I spent nearly all day in writing. Willie went out upon the water in the afternoon. My husband and Willie and Sister Hall went after a load of hay to keep the horses. Their feed is nearly done. 

     Thursday, Oct. 2, 1873. I took my writings out under a tree and wrote, until noon. After dinner we went in a boat across the lake and scrambled over rocks and mountains, trees, and brush one mile or more. We saw large poplar trees that the beavers had taken off as nicely as though they had been cut with a knife. The instincts and habits of these animals are truly wonderful. We took the boat again. As it was hard rowing, Willie ran along on the sandy beach and with a long rope drew the boat after him, which was a much easier as well as a more rapid way of getting along, for the boat was clumsy and the oars were very poor. We spent some time upon the water. . . . There is now only one man at the lake besides ourselves."

  3MR 168  


August 1, 1873 

Life in the Rocky Mountains.


     Our journey from Denver, Colorado, to the mountains was pleasant. While in Iowa, we had suffered languor from the extreme heat. In Denver, we also found it uncomfortably warm. But as we passed through the narrow valleys, up the course of the winding streams, we were refreshed by a cool breeze, and felt invigorated.       

     As we wound our way zigzag among wooded hills, and rocks, and mountains, we could frequently see no opening before us; but, as we moved on, a depression appeared, a mere pass, on either side walled in by huge rocks, piled one above another, rising almost perpendicularly, towering toward heaven, while mountain tops rose above mountains. There, barrenness is partially relieved by stunted shrubs, and vines which cling to every niche and crevice.    

     We had peculiar sensations of awe mingled with delight at the grand and varied scenery. As we advance, the lower mountains are covered with evergreens and poplars, and are ornamented with rich flowers of varied beauty. From there, we could look down deep ravines, through which a swift rivulet was dashing madly over the rocks, in keeping with the wild, romantic scenery. The solemn notes of the mourning dove sounded with startling distinctness, breaking the silence which reigned around us. I was frequently reminded of the wilderness of temptation where our Redeemer overcame the powerful foe in man's behalf.    

     The grandeur of the scenery viewed from different points as we moved forward, was itself worth all that journey. The solitude of the road was occasionally relieved by a house nestled close to the foot of some mountain, while around it, patches of the little valley were cultivated, giving the whole an air of civilization. Cattle were feeding high upon the steep mountains, and it was a question with us how they could retain their footing.   

     We are now settled in our quiet and pleasant mountain home. Mr. Walling has furnished us with a comfortable house, situated at the foot of a little valley, surrounded by hills and mountains. Just before the door is a swift-running stream of the purest and coldest soft water, coming from the mountains. We have a full view of the Snowy Range, upon the top and sides of which the snow ever remains.   

     The first day of July, the snow lay upon our piazza one inch in depth. The range was entirely covered with snow. The sun soon shone forth, dispelling the clouds, and next morning patches of green began to appear between the fields of snow.   

     We have more bright, sunshiny days here than in any other place I have visited. And yet the weather is cool and agreeable. We have not had one entire day of cloudy weather since coming to Colorado. Clouds hide the sun for a few hours, and then he rides forth, shining again in all his glory.    

     The mountains and valleys are thickly adorned with the fairest flowers of every tint and hue, giving the appearance of a flourishing flower garden. Upon the mountains and in the valleys, sweet-scented herbs and shrubs are interspersed among the flowers. The atmosphere is pure. I enjoy taking deep, full inspirations of the pure air. This is the most delightful country in which to enjoy sleep, for there is not that oppressive heat to provoke wakefulness.    

     The face of nature possesses a charm for me. The naked, towering rocks, the mountains covered with noble evergreen trees, and beautiful with rich variegated flowers, make a lovely picture. The summer breezes move the lofty pines, swaying their branches, and bowing their tops as if in adoration of their Creator. These scenes display in a most impressive manner the love, power and glory of God in his created works.     

     We are in this, our mountain home, reminded of the promise made to the children of Israel, that they should inherit a land of hills. I love the hills and mountains and forests of flourishing evergreens. I love the brooks, the swift-running streams of softest water which come bubbling over the rocks, through ravines, by the side of the mountains, as if singing the joyful praise of God.     

     It is impossible for us to get lonely or homesick among the grand old hills and mountains. Our thoughts are company for us. We love to contemplate the works of God as seen in nature. Our Heavenly Father has spread out before us nature's beautiful scenery to charm the senses, leading us to associate the perfection seen in his created works with his love, goodness and glory.     

     We have, here in the mountains, a view of the most rich and glorious sunset it was ever our privilege to look upon. The beautiful picture of the sunset, painted upon the shifting, changing canvas of the heavens by the great master Artist, awakens in our hearts love and deepest reverence for God. The surpassing loveliness of the blended colors of gold, silver, purple, and crimson, painted upon the heavens, seem to speak to us of the amazing glories within. As we stand almost entranced before this picture of nature's unsurpassed loveliness, contemplating the glories of Heaven of which we have a faint reflection, we repeat softly to ourselves, "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him."   

HR, August 1, 1873