rested
condition to desert. The snow lay several feet deep in the woods, but
as the gravelly distance before me was bare, I took off my snowshoes.
I went walking, and at times blowing, along the bleak ridge, scarcely
able to see through the snow-filled air. But during a lull the air
cleared of snow-dust and I paused to look about me. The wind still
roared in the distance, and against the blue eastern sky it had a
column of snow whirling that was dazzling white in the afternoon sun.
On my left a mountain rose with easy slope to crag-crowned heights,
and for miles swept away before me with seared side barren and dull.
A few cloudlets of snowdrifts and a scattering of mere tufts of snow
stood out distinctly on this big, bare slope.

I wondered what could be holding these few spots of snow on this
wind-swept slope. I finally went up to examine one of them. Thrust out
and lifted just above the snow of the tuft before me was the jeweled
hand of a kinnikinick; and every snow-deposit on the slope was held
in place by the green arms of this plant. Here was this beautiful
vinelike shrub gladly growing on a slope that had been forsaken by all
other plants.

To state the situation fairly, all had been burned off by fire and
Kinnikinick was the first to come back, and so completely had fires
consumed the plant-food that many plants would be unable to live here
until better conditions prevailed and the struggle for existence was
made less severe. Kinnikinick was making the needed changes; in time
it would prepare the way, and other plants, and the pines too, would
come back to carpet and plume the slope and prevent wind and water
from tearing and scarring the earth.

The seeds of Kinnikinick are scattered by birds, chipmunks, wind, and
water. I do not know by what agency the seeds had come to this slope,
but here were the plants, and on this dry, fire-ruined, sun-scorched,
wind-beaten slope they must have endured many hardships. Many must
have perished before these living ones had made a secure start
in life.

Once Kinnikinick has made a start, it is constantly assisted to
succeed by its own growing success. Its arms catch and hold snow, and
this gives a supply of much-needed water. This water is snugly stored
beneath the plant, where but little can be reached or taken by the sun
or the thirsty winds. The winds, too, which were so unfriendly while
it was trying to make a start, now become helpful to the brave,
persistent plant.