It May Be An Outcast Among Mountains, For The Other
Ranges Leave It Severely Alone.
It is a short range and rises
very abruptly from the valley being parallel to the other
ranges.
Its rough bouldered sides form a striking contrast to
the other ranges of the valley. It is a strange, solitary range,
drifted away from its brother companions in the beginning of
time and was stranded there - a regular outcast of a mountain.
Perhaps it is no outcast but was set apart by Nature in the
early dawn of time. "It not only towers above the beautiful
valley but draws itself haughtily away from the other hills as
if it had a better origin than they."
Indeed, if you cross the range in an automobile, you think the
contrast with its sharp precipices quite dramatic. How the shock
absorbers of your spine are brought into play and how infinite
are the windings on this mountain road; yet it is worth climbing
for the scenes are thrilling. At a very steep incline, still far
from the top, we met a colored man holding a parley with some
others who were climbing the mountain in a Ford. He must have
been prejudiced toward this type of auto for he was heard to
repeat again and again: "No, sah, I'se nebber gwine to go to de
top ob old Massanutten in a 'Fod.' No, sah, yo ain't nebber
gwine to ketch me goin' up dat frien'ly invitation to de open
grave, in dat Fod. Man, Oh man! you-all don' know what chances
you-all is takin. Look away out over the valley to de homes you
am leaben for you sure'll nebber see dem any mo." With all the
solicitous advise given by their fearful companion the occupants
of the car were not to be stopped by this calamity-howler and
the little Ford soon stood triumphant upon the very crown of old
Massanutten. A lady also seen, walking down a very steep
descent, concluded that she too would rather push up daisies in
Shenandoah valley than ferns on old Massanutten.
No matter how steep the road or how numerous its windings no
fear seized upon us unless it was the fear of missing some of
Nature's most wonderful scenes. How often we admired the lovely
Dicksonia ferns with their lanceolate green fronds pointing in
all directions; how many times we heard the melody of the wood-
thrush as evening drew on and the shadowy ravines seemed hushed
and serene as his "angelus" sounded in these vast mountain
solitudes. Each note was a pearl to string on the sacred rosary
of memory and how often "we shall count them over, every one
apart" and be drawn nearer the Master of all Music! Oh these
vast, immeasurable days, filled to overflowing with sunlight and
fragrance and song! Out here in these beautiful hills there can
be no unbelief, for in a thousand mingled voices, caroling
birds, singing waterfalls, chirruping insects and whispering
breezes is told the story of Divine Love, and dull indeed is the
ear that cannot hear it.
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