CHRISTMAS RAMBLES.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LVI, Issue 17348, 20 December 1919, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHRISTMAS RAMBLES.

NOTES BY THE WAY.

BY RAMBLER.

Along many rural byways the hawthorn is in bloom; and in the paddocks the nbbage trees are displaying their large •lustered flowers. Can one imagine any .loral emblems more suggestive of England and of New Zealand? Here they are, both blossoming at the same time and in close proximity, both adding brightness and fragrance, beauty and interest, to the springtide.

In the Old Country the hawthorn is often called May, the month that corresponds with our November; and of its human associations Richard Jefferies says: "The hawthorn is a par* of natural English life—country life. It stands side by side with the Englishman, as the palm tree is pictured side by side with the Arab. You cannot pick up an old play or book of the time when old English life was in the prime without finding some reference to the hawthorn.''

In the same way, the cabbage tree ! stands side by side with the Maori. The I native called it TfJ while the proper name ] for it is the palm lily, a definition which most truly describes the tree now that it is bearing flowers. A cabbage tree grove is a- picturesque sight—each bare trunk surmounted with, tufts of sword-like leaves, from whose midst the masses of blossom burst outwards and upwards like of creamy-whiteness. Its purity and freshness soon fades; but what of that? Miss B.' E. Baughan says in her "Song of the Ti" :— For the Tui hath eaten, the Robin hath rested, Little Makers of life in my bosom have nested: To hot and heavy midsummer sheep Cool have I given, and sheltered sleep: I have add*>d a smile to the paddock face: I have filled with a picture a lonely placeCall of the Wild. ' ■> I heard a city man say the other day, "Whenever I sit on a grassy bank in the springtime, I feel as if I want to go to sea or get cat into the wilds." It's a feeling .that sometimes comes to all who spend •nest of their days within or near a town. In New Zealand, however, one need not travel far to answer this call of the wild. Even though, you live in a city, or in cultivated rural surroundings, you can probably hear the ocean's surge or see the untamed hills.

Standing on the shore, looking beyond the breakers to the line where sky and ocean meet, you can well realise the primal influences of nature. There is nothing sophisticated about the sea. Creatures of the wild are the blue herons that bask upon the rocks.and dive in the foamy tide ; and the seagulls that wheel and flashes of alternate whiter and —calling with their mournful cries. Or, turning inland, you pass by the ! farms and gardens, where roses scent the 1 air, and the lilac bushes hang their tassels above the hedges. Pass thenf by, and soon the roadside banks become covered with wild shrubbery and trees. Here is the margin of the wilderness; the green masses of the elder trees are splashed with snowy flowers, and the blooming rangiora is spread across acres of hill and hollow, which are dappled with the gold of broom and gorse. Among the tall grasses the foxgloves flourish; the humble bees are busily exploring the purple bells that climb the tapering stems. ... The valley becomes narrower and more rugged; at last the road becomes a track, which traverses a patch of fallen timber; and then you look up to the grim, bushcovered shoulders of the ranges. The silent, shadowed track—the ingratiating inquisitiveness of the fantails—the clematis stars spangling the forest foliage—the delicious tinkle of hidden' running water .in such surroundings one feels the very - breath of the wilds. Recreation in the Bush. What a keen sense of mental ease and physical refreshment one feels upon a re* turn to the bush ! Gloomy and damp it may be, yet the vigour and freshness of green aspiring life soon begin to make themselves felt; they gradually permeate the fibres of one's personality. The noise of leaves and waters, the smell of moist earth and rotting vegetation, these are potent tonics that quickly sweep the town dust from the spirit of commercial cobwebs from the brain. *. "When I would recreate myself, 0 .- jays Thoreau, "I seek the darkest wood/ "the thickest and most interminable, and',- -to the citizen, most dismal swamp. There is the. strength, the marrow of Nature." The wild-wood covers the virgin mould '■ and the same soil is good for men and for trees."

But we are faint-hearted foresters, most of us. (I do not speak for the true bush* men, the surveyor and track-mater, the pioneer farmer and the timber-worker.) When we go to the hush, it is merely for an interlude in civilised affairs; we are transient visitors, and carry a return ticket to a comfortable "home. Yet I would praise the bush as a holiday resort, and as a medicine-shop .too, if you will. In the bush you can drink from any stream of water which crosses your path"; a fact of more than physical significance, for it givesi confidence in the essential health, cleanliness, and wholesomeness of nature. It puts you in tune with the j spaciousness of the open. Feast your eyes on the fairyland of giant trees, of hanging lichens' and tangled creepers, of lacey ferns and velvet mosses. Listen to the joyous peals of the tui, the trilling of the warblers; study the leaves that quiver and glow in the sunbeams, and the modest flowers that are almost lost to sight in the I green twilight. How lavish the vegetation, how compelling the beauty, how mysterious the urge of life! There are a hundred intermingled sounds; and yet the bush seems strangely silent, solemn, almost awesome- As you listen to the water you seem to hear human voices near you ; no, it is but the chattering of the creek ; and then you turn to see if someone is approaching, but it is only the lisp of leaves. Oh! the wonder of it alland, oh! the hearty appetite which open-air creates ! ith a fire blazing and the billy boiling; with a comfortable "possie" against a mossy boulder where the stained sunlight filters through the boughs ; and surely you could wish for no greater physical satisfaction. . . . Whether you remain for a day or a month, the bush will leave its mark upon you; it will add a little to your stores of health and vitality, and print a pleasant picture-page in your book of memory.