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| Remains of Luna Moth, Actias luna, Lake Tallavana area |
After covering myself with choice epithets from head to toe for being so clumsy and then cleaning up the million pieces of glass and mayo mess, I took that walk anyway. Sweat be damned!
The loop trail (road) is about 2.5 miles long and seemed punishing enough. I didn't expect to be rewarded. But there it was when I looked down at the road. The remains of a luna moth. And then I got to show it to the man who picks up the recyclables and hauls them off in his truck. And then the lady who was going the opposite direction from me stopped and stared at it. I'd passed her earlier on another part of the loop, and we greeted each other briefly. Now we were conversing, and she was smiling. Me too! I was, after all, carrying around a dead moth and showing it off like it was a marvelous thing. It was. "Dow's Flat" relief.
Dow's Flat
1856
Dow's Flat. That's its name.
And I reckon that you
Are a stranger? The same?
Well, I thought it was true,--
For thar isn't a man on the river as can't spot the place at
First view.
It was called after Dow,--
Which the same was an ass,--
And as to the how
Thet the thing kem to pass,--
Just tie up your hoss to that buckeye, and sit ye down here
in the grass:
You see this yer Dow
Hed the worst kind of luck;
He slipped up somehow
On each thing thet he struck.
Why, ef he'd a straddled that fence-rail the derned thing 'ed
Get up and buck.
He mined on the bar
Till he couldn't pay rates;
He was smashed by a car
When he tunnelled with Bates;
And right on the top of his trouble kem his wife and five
Kids from the States.
It was rough,--mighty rough;
But the boys they stood by,
And they brought him the stuff
For a house, on the sly;
And the old woman,--well, she did washing, and took on
When no one was nigh.
But this yer luck of Dow's
Was so powerful mean
That the spring near his house
Dried right up on the green;
And he sunk forty feet down for water, but nary a drop to
Be seen.
Then the bar petered out,
And the boys wouldn't stay;
And the chills got about,
And his wife fell away;
But Dow, in his well, kept a peggin' in his usual ridikilous
Way.
One day,--it was June,--
And a year ago, jest,--
This Dow kem at noon
To his work like the rest,
With a shovel and pick on his shoulder, and a derringer
Hid in his breast.
He goes to the well,
And he stands on the brink,
And stops for a spell
Jest to listen and think;
For the sun in his eyes, (jest like this, sir!) you see, kinder
Made the cuss blink.
His two ragged gals
In the gulch were at play,
And a gownd that was Sal's
Kinder flapped on a bay;
Not much for a man to be leavin', but his all,--as I've
Heer'd the folks say.
And--That's a peart hoss
Thet you've got,--ain't it now?
What might be her cost?
Eh? Oh!--Well, then, Dow--
Let's see,--well, that forty-foot grave wasn't his sir, that
Day anyhow.
For a blow of his pick
Sorter caved in the side,
And he looked and turned sick,
Then he trembled and cried.
For you see, the dern cuss had struck--"Water?"--
Beg your parding, young man, there you lied!
It was gold,--in the quartz,
And it ran all alike;
And I reckon five oughts
Was the worth of that strike;
And that house with the coopillow's his'n,--which the same
Isn't bad for a Pike.
Thet's why it's Dow's Flat;
And the thing of it is
That he kinder got that
Through sheer contrariness;
For 'twas water the derned cuss was seekin', and his luck
Made him certain to miss.
Thet's so. Thar's your way
To the left of yon tree;
But--a--look h'yur, say?
Won't you come up to tea?
No? Well, then, the next time you're passin'; and ask after
Dow,--and thet's me.
(A poem by Bret Harte)
Hed the worst kind of luck;
He slipped up somehow
On each thing thet he struck.
Why, ef he'd a straddled that fence-rail the derned thing 'ed
Get up and buck.
He mined on the bar
Till he couldn't pay rates;
He was smashed by a car
When he tunnelled with Bates;
And right on the top of his trouble kem his wife and five
Kids from the States.
It was rough,--mighty rough;
But the boys they stood by,
And they brought him the stuff
For a house, on the sly;
And the old woman,--well, she did washing, and took on
When no one was nigh.
But this yer luck of Dow's
Was so powerful mean
That the spring near his house
Dried right up on the green;
And he sunk forty feet down for water, but nary a drop to
Be seen.
Then the bar petered out,
And the boys wouldn't stay;
And the chills got about,
And his wife fell away;
But Dow, in his well, kept a peggin' in his usual ridikilous
Way.
One day,--it was June,--
And a year ago, jest,--
This Dow kem at noon
To his work like the rest,
With a shovel and pick on his shoulder, and a derringer
Hid in his breast.
He goes to the well,
And he stands on the brink,
And stops for a spell
Jest to listen and think;
For the sun in his eyes, (jest like this, sir!) you see, kinder
Made the cuss blink.
His two ragged gals
In the gulch were at play,
And a gownd that was Sal's
Kinder flapped on a bay;
Not much for a man to be leavin', but his all,--as I've
Heer'd the folks say.
And--That's a peart hoss
Thet you've got,--ain't it now?
What might be her cost?
Eh? Oh!--Well, then, Dow--
Let's see,--well, that forty-foot grave wasn't his sir, that
Day anyhow.
For a blow of his pick
Sorter caved in the side,
And he looked and turned sick,
Then he trembled and cried.
For you see, the dern cuss had struck--"Water?"--
Beg your parding, young man, there you lied!
It was gold,--in the quartz,
And it ran all alike;
And I reckon five oughts
Was the worth of that strike;
And that house with the coopillow's his'n,--which the same
Isn't bad for a Pike.
Thet's why it's Dow's Flat;
And the thing of it is
That he kinder got that
Through sheer contrariness;
For 'twas water the derned cuss was seekin', and his luck
Made him certain to miss.
Thet's so. Thar's your way
To the left of yon tree;
But--a--look h'yur, say?
Won't you come up to tea?
No? Well, then, the next time you're passin'; and ask after
Dow,--and thet's me.
(A poem by Bret Harte)
