We even enjoyed the snowstorms, the thronging crystals, like daisies,
coming down separate and distinct, were very different from the tufted
flakes we enjoyed so much in Scotland, when we ran into the midst of
the slow-falling feathery throng shouting with enthusiasm: "Jennie's
plucking her doos! Jennie's plucking her doos (doves)!"
Nature has many ways of thinning and pruning and trimming her
forests,--lightning-strokes, heavy snow, and storm-winds to shatter
and blow down whole trees here and there or break off branches as
required. The results of these methods I have observed in different
forests, but only once have I seen pruning by rain. The rain froze on
the trees as it fell and grew so thick and heavy that many of them
lost a third or more of their branches. The view of the woods after
the storm had passed and the sun shone forth was something never to be
forgotten. Every twig and branch and rugged trunk was encased in pure
crystal ice, and each oak and hickory and willow became a fairy
crystal palace. Such dazzling brilliance, such effects of white light
and irised light glowing and flashing I had never seen before, nor
have I since.
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