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About Vernonia eagle. (Vernonia, Or.) 1922-1974 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 22, 1937)
VERNONIA EAGLE, VERNONIA, OREGON Young Ladies of Central Asia. Prepared by National Geoeraphlc Society. Washington. D. C.—WNU Service. > EYOND Bukhara and Samar kand, Central Asia, lies Tashkent; and from Tash kent eastward stretches an ancient silk caravan road to Cathay. It winds across steppes, mountains, and the Chino-Russian boundary un til it runs past the glamorous Cen tral Asian metropolis of Kuldja (or Ningyuan) in Sinkiang. whose ba zaar is a riot of color and whose community is an amazing mixture of tongues. Here, in the winter, old-style Rus sians in gay troikas race to and from all-night parties; solemn pro cessions of Mongol lamas parade through the streets on horseback; and long-robed Chinese and Turki merchants shout and gesticulate in the crowded market places. In summer lumbering oxcarts re place racing troikas and, from the streets which have become dust ponds, clouds of fine sand swirl aloft to hover over the city like a pall. Then life in Kuldja becomes unbearable and the populace, by horse, wagon, and on foot, packs off for the mountains. And so it was that, after spending seven winter and spring months in the snows and dust of Kuldja, a traveler found himself in mid-June two days by horse south of the city, half lost in the mountains and searching for the famous Tekes val ley. His trail was winding up the bot tom of a deep ravine. The steep slopes were bare of trees, but cov ered with an unbelievably rank growth of grass and weeds. This vegetation formed walls of the nar row trail, cutting off his view of everything save a thin band of sky above and a short patch of trail before and behind. Suddenly a horseman emerged from the overgrowth onto the trail in front. He was a Kalmuck, a ncmad from one of the Central Asian tribes of Mongols; his dark skin, high cheekbones, and brim less, domed felt hat made that cer tain. Apparently he had been watch ing the traveler from some vantage point and was accosting him for a purpose. Kalmuck Points the Trail. They rode together up the trail for a short distance without speak ing. Among nomads silence is a prelude to greeting. It is a fine point in their social etiquette. "Where are you going?” As he turned back in his saddle to speak, his expression was decidedly un friendly. “To the Tekes valley,” was the reply. “What is your business in the Tekes?” “I visit Sayjan Beg, the chieftain of the Kirghiz.” The man drew rein and swung his horse around, his face a com plete transformation. Where before had been sullen distrust, there was now smiling friendliness. “This trail does not lead to the Tekes,” he explained. "If you fol low it you will be lost in the moun tains and have to spend the night in j the open.” Then be eave elaborate I directions for retracing steps and picking up the right trail. “And carry greetings from the Kalmucks to the chief of the high land Kirghiz,” he called as they parted. Following his directions, at the first fork beyond an old sheep cor ral, the stranger dismounted to ex amine the muddy trail. It was even as he had described; there were many tiny tracks made by a flock of goats which had recently passed up the slope to the right. From there the trail led over a series of hogbacks until suddenly it came out on the crest of the last ridge. Below lay the goal the traveler had been aiming at for three years—the Tekes, the valley of val leys, the nomad paradise of Cen tral Asia. Above the opposite valley wall, the foothills of the Celestial moun tains leveled off to a great plain which stretched away to meet the snow line. On that undulating plateau were those far-famed high lands which the traveler had come to see. Paradise for the Nomads. Even in distant Istanbul one hears tales of how the nomads migrate to these Tekes highlands, bringing with them their flocks and herds to spend the summer months in a ver itable earthly paradise for Moham medans, drinking the famous mare’s milk, feasting on mutton, sporting, loving, and marrying. Far across the valley in one of the recesses could be seen a scat tering of brown huts amid a black splotch of trees. It fitted the de scription given by Kuldja friends; it must be the winter quarters of the nomads, the home of Sayjan Beg, chieftain of the Kirghiz. The horse man seized the bridle rein and ' picked his way down the perilous zigzag trail. “So you are a real American!” exclaimed Sayjan Beg, the Kirghiz chieftain. He was seated cross-legged on a sedir (deep Turkish couch) reading the introduction the visitor had handed him. The visitor had to explain to him his coming to the Tekes. His Tatar cousins had been fellow students at Robert college, in Istanbul. While at the school they had captured his fancy with tales of their home city, Kuldja, and the Tekes valley. When the boys returned home, they had given him a warm invitation to visit them. Sayjan Beg was strangely cast for a nomad chieftain, small, thin boned, and delicate; yet, as one came to know him, his littleness was forgotten and one was conscious only of his wiry strength and vi tality. He had unbounded nervous energy and a regal manner, coupled with a quick, decisive way of utter ing commands. One suspected Rus sian blood somewhere in his strain, for his skin was much lighter than that of the Kirghiz about him. Chief's Head Always Covered. Perched on his head was the em broidered velvet Moslem cap. for he considers it a breach of etiquette to be seen with uncovered head, ei- i ther indoors or out. Buttoned tight , about his neck was a clean, white Russian shirt, while the rest of his costume was made up of a corduroy coat, Russian riding breeches, and knee boots of excellent black leather obviously imported from Soviet Rus sia. Tribal headquarters were soon crowded with Kirghiz. News passed swiftly around the village that a stranger who had lived in Istanbul was visiting the chief: so the more important tribesmen had come to pay their respects to both the chief tain and his guest. Sayjan Beg and the visitor were sitting on sedirs opposite each other, while the on lookers sat Turkish fashion on the floor or stood about, leaning against the walls. On this first evening and subse quently, sitting cross-legged around camp fires, the guest found the no mads had rather old-fashioned ideas about geography. To them the world is flat and no amount of explain ing can alter their conceptions. The earth is surrounded by "the great sea,” while the sun circles about the earth. They have heard of Russia, China, Iran (Persia), Turkey, Kashmir. Hindustan, Tibet, Afghanistan, and the mysterious far-away England. But America means nothing to most of them; in fact, the guest was in variably taken for a Russian un less he explicitly told them that he was a Ferengi—an Asian word of ancient origin derived from the word “Frank” and used to denote all western Europeans. Dwellers in the Valley. During a lull in his cross-exam ination by the circle of nomads, he questioned the chief about the dif ferent peoples living in the valley. “There are two main races here in the Tekes, nomadic Turks and Mongols,” he said. “We Turks are represented by the Kirghiz and Ka zaks, two great tribes whose cus toms, language, and religion (Mo hammedan Sunni) are almost iden tical; in fact, in the time of Genghis Khan we undoubtedly were one tribe. “However, we now have distinc tions: our dialects are slightly dif ferent; the Kirghiz women wear a unique headdress, and through the years we Kirghiz have been more successful in amassing wealth. We come from Issyk-kul (Warm Lake), across the border in Russian Kir- ghizistan, while the Kazaks have migrated from the dry steppes of Kazakistan, in southern Siberia. “The Kalmucks, or Mongols, in the other end of the valley have lived for centuries, with only a few interruptions,” he continued, "a law unto themselves, with their Tibetan religion, Mongolian language, and unspeakable customs. They have always dispensed their own civil and, to a large extent, criminal jus tice.” — First Aid Roger — B. By Whitman to the Ailing House GIVING AN OLD HOUSE A NEW support. The porch railings are also APPEARANCE finer. All of the jig-saw work, the elab V OT far from where I live, there orate moldings, and the fancy orna •I ’ is a house fifty or sixty years ments were stripped off, and where old. It is very well built, quite needed, were replaced with parts of large, and on a prominent location; much simpler design. Those old but few people gave it a second ornaments were only attachments. glance. The main part of the house They had no part in the structure and its extensions are well designed of the house, so that there was no and in proportion. That it was not loss of strength. As it stands to a show place was due to the jig day. the house is one of the best- saw work all over it, to its ugly and tooking in the neighborhood. The useless tower, and the ornaments old-time residents are still marvel on its large and ungainly porch. ing at the change, and at the slight In its day that house was the effort with which it was gained. last word in architecture, and was There are houses of that kind in very greatly admired. But with almost every old neighborhood. As the change in styles, it grew out of a general thing, they are strongly date, and became known locally as built, and if there is no demand the “old-fashioned house on the for them, it is only because of hill.” their old - fashioned appearance. Not long ago the house was With no great effort or expense, any bought by an architect who saw its of those houses can be brought in many virtues. Within a month he to line with modern design. The completely altered its appearance ornamental work is no more than by a few comparatively simple an attachment, and can be stripped changes. For one thing the tower off. Moldings, porch columns, steps, was taken off, and the roof given entrances and other parts of ex cellent design, can be had in stock simpler lines. The great porch also at a lumber yard. The result is came off, and was replaced by a a stout and well built house, mod new porch with a roof that, while ern in appearance, and usually suf amply strong, is much lighter in ap ficiently increased in. value by the pearance than the old one was. The operation to more than pay for the new porch columns are delicate and change. © By Roger B. Whitman in proportion to the roof that they WNU Service. edtitne 5for z Thor nfon W Bur£ ess j XfeÉ- ... ■ ■■■■ BILLY MINK IS DISCOVERED FTER the rats left the big barn Billy Mink found it less easy A to get plenty to eat. There were mice in the big barn, and for sev eral days Billy managed to catch enough of these to keep from going hungry. But mice can get into places too small for Billy to follow, and those that were left soon learned to keep out of his way. Then, Billy’s thoughts turned to the hens in the henhouse. He had not intended to kill any of those hens because he knew that as soon as he did, the farmer who owned them would hunt for him, and then he would have to move on. He was so comfortably located that he was not anxious to move on. But one must eat, and now that the rats had disappeared and the mice had Indians of the Jungle learned to keep out of his way, First as Rubber Makers Billy's thoughts turned to those Savages of South America had hens. It was the very night after the rubber shoes, bottles and balls be fore Columbus was born. An Indian in the jungle tapped a rubber tree and from the milk or latex made what he wanted directly. He simply let the latex coagulate or dry on a form, states a writer in the New York Times. European technicians developed more complex methods not because they were ignorant but because la tex does coagulate spontaneously at times. In fact, this tree-milk is much like blood. It clots. So for genera tions European and American man- ufacurers had to make their rubber goods from crude rubber or huge clots of latex. Such a clot can no more be brought back to its original state than dried blood. Hence the necessity of chewing or kneading crude rubber in powerful masticat ing mills and manipulating it in machines of a dozen different kinds before it is possible to produce a satisfactory rubber shoe or hot water bottle. In spite of this expensive and troublesome kneading and chewing of crude rubber, the finished ar ticles are not quite so good in some respects as those made by savages in the Amazon forests. Our rubber products are well made, but the Indians’ are tougher and stronger. j Q abby Ç ertie c.< ■ fire which the rats had started in the back shed of the farmhouse that Billy made up his mind to have a chicken dinner. He slipped under the henhouse and up through a hole in the corner which he already knew about. All the hens were roosting high fast asleep, with their heads under their wings. Had Reddy Fox been in Billy Mink’s place he would have been somewhat puzzled as to how he should catch one of those hens. But Billy wasn’t puzzled. Not a bit of it. You see, Billy can climb almost like a squirrel. Reddy Fox would have had to jump, and probably would have awakened and fright ened the whole flock. Billy Mink simply climbed up to one of the roosts, stole along it to the nearest hen, and with one quick snap of his stout little jaws he killed that hen without even waking her. Now, had Billy’s cousin, Shadow the Weasel, been in his place, he would have gone right on killing those hens from sheer love of kill ing. But Billy Mink killed that hen simply because he must have some thing to eat, and one hen was more than enough to furnish him a din ner. When he had finished his dinner he back to his snug bed under the big woodpile. Of course, when the farmer came out to feed the hens in the .morning he discovered what had happened. He didn’t know who had killed that hen, but he knew thatt it must have been some one very small to have got into the henhouse. He hunt ed about until he found the hole in the dark corner. He knew that that hole had been made by a rat, and at first he thought it must have been rats that killed that hen, and this increased his anger. That afternoon he happened to look out of the barn door toward the woodpile and he was just in time to see a slim, brown form whisk out of sight under the wood. “Ha, ha!” exclaimed the farmer. “Now I know who the thief is. There is a mink in that woodpile. He is the fellow who killed that hen last night. I think, Mr. Mink, we’ll make you pay for that hen with your brown coat” CT. W. BurgeK.— WNU Service.
