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Show 48 MADELYN CANNON STEWART SILVER them, worked with them, sang with them. She entered the University of Utah in the fall of 1919. At that time she returned to a new home, a new school, new associates. Madelyn, her sisters and brother, looked forward to their summers at the ranch; all rode horses and hiked in the moun tains. Madelyn jumped on her horse bareback, and if she chose to be a lady, threw her knee over the horse's shoulder and rode sidesaddle like a circus performer. On various occasions in their youth, the girls and their cousins took horseback rides the fif teen miles or so up South Fork Road to Wolf Creek Pass. On other occasions they cherished riding with Papa Barnard the seven miles to Soapstone, where Barnard had sheep feeding in the summer. At times like these, they had lunch at the sheep wagon-sourdough bread, mutton chops, and maybe some Rocky Mountain oysters. They picked wild raspberries and chokecherries while enjoying the narrow trail on the side of the mountain, all the while sampling the fragrance of the pines and firs, passing by the tall, stately aspens, and the large white columbines centered with pale lavender mounted above the heavy undergrowth of the wilds. They often stopped for a picnic on this trail and the memory was sweet. On the river road above Woodland was Camp Kilkare (obvi ously intended to kill carel). At Kilkare was a small store, some one-room a cabins to accommodate fishermen and hunters, and rustic dance hall. Madelyn, Ruth, and Nora sometimes went there to dance, celebrate, and enjoy the rustic setting. The Pine Valley setting introduced the rhythms of nature into Madelyn's poetry and the flora and fauna provided the simi les.The stimulus of a mountain to climb with a view of dawns and sunsets inspired standards for life and love and achieve The freedom Madelyn felt flinging out her arms to the ment. breeze remained an image of personal exhilaration to the end of her life. The rhythm of the following five-line anapestic poem" is obvi ously that of a horse loping across the meadow, wind hissing with the "s" sounds, and a bit of Scottish dialect to assist the meter. |
