Near Marion, N.C.
Sat., Jan. 16, 1926
Winter is more colorful here and not as bleak as in the north. Besides the firs, many trees, shrubs and vines stay green all winter--holly, magnolia, rhododendron, laurel, azalea, and smilaz. Green blades of winter wheat pop up through the snow. Long slabs of burnt orange bark shingle the trunks of pines that produce exceptionally large cones. The birds are lovely: robins, bluebirds, brilliant cardinals and vereos with that nostalgic song that one hears on mountaintops in the north, and many others unknown to me.
Last night, sitting around the fire, we were startled by the most unearthly scream--perhaps a horse in mortal agony, or a hog being butchered. It had to be some animal in its death throes. In the morning, the anguished sound hit a remembered chord from Bill’s army days--the braying of a mule. How could he ever have forgotten it!
The cold is so severe that water freezes on the dishes before I can wipe them, Bill’s dampened hair stiffens upright before he can comb it, and we bite off from the unspreadable stick as much butter as we want with each mouthful of bread.
Bill spent nearly the whole day writing a long letter to Frank, thirty-odd pages. When he finished, instead of moving on, while the sun sparkled on snow and water, we walked up an old wood road and across a stream, overhung with rhododendron, on a rickety bridge.
Speaking of sparkling, on several mornings the inside of the tent has been covered with tiny crystals, from our breath, I imagine. Living in a tent is far more interesting than between four walls. For instance: car lights make fantastic silhouettes of objects between; in moonlight grasses and boughs form decorative patterns on the fabric of the tent; looking from the outside, when our electric light is lit inside, the green, translucent tent is eerie, like a fairy habitation that might fly away at any moment.
The two extra shelter halves are just the ticket for wind breaks. Later I plan to make Bill a new “uber-alles” out of them, but at present they are too useful. After our walk I tied them to trees around the fire, making a cove for myself, and had a grand old bath while Bill wrote.