Every
subsequent owner of Greenfields bought it with Amos in full
view. The last of these was Diedrick. Along in August of that
year came a week of low water. Judson's ditch failed and he went
out with his rifle to learn why. There on the headgate sat
Diedrick's frau with a long-handled
shovel across her lap and all
the water turned into Diedrick's ditch; there she sat
knitting through the long sun, and the children brought out her
dinner. It was all up with Amos; he was too much of a gentleman to
fight a lady--that was the way he expressed it. She was a very
large lady, and a longhandled
shovel is no mean
weapon. The next
year Judson and Diedrick put in a modern water gauge and took the
summer ebb in equal inches. Some of the water-right difficulties
are more squalid than this, some more
tragic; but unless you have
known them you cannot very well know what the water thinks as it
slips past the gardens and in the long slow sweeps of the canal.
You get that sense of brooding from the confined and sober floods,
not all at once but by degrees, as one might become aware of a
middle-aged and serious neighbor who has had that in his life to
make him so. It is the
repose of the completely accepted instinct.
With the water runs a certain following of thirsty herbs and
shrubs. The willows go as far as the
stream goes, and a bit
farther on the slightest
provocation. They will strike root in the
leak of a flume, or the dribble of an overfull bank, coaxing the
water beyond its appointed bounds. Given a new waterway in a
barren land, and in three years the willows have fringed all its
miles of banks; three years more and they will touch tops across
it. It is perhaps due to the early usurpation of the willows that
so little else finds growing-room along the large canals. The
birch
beginning far back in the canon tangles is more
conservative; it is shy of man haunts and needs to have the
permanence of its drink
assured. It stops far short of the summer
limit of waters, and I have never known it to take up a position on
the banks beyond the
ploughed lands. There is something almost
like premeditation in the avoidance of
cultivated" target="_blank" title="a.在耕作的;有教养的">
cultivated tracts by certain
plants of water borders. The clematis, mingling its foliage
secretly with its host, comes down with the
stream tangles to the
village fences, skips over to corners of little used
pasture lands
and the plantations that spring up about waste water pools; but
never ventures a
footing in the trail of spade or
plough; will not
be persuaded to grow in any garden plot. On the other hand, the
horehound, the common European
species imported with the colonies,
hankers after hedgerows and snug little borders. It is more widely
distributed than many native
species, and may be always found along
the ditches in the village corners, where it is not appreciated.
The irrigating ditch is an
impartial distributer. It gathers all
the alien weeds that come west in garden and grass seeds and
affords them harbor in its banks. There one finds the European
mallow (Malva rotundifolia) spreading out to the streets
with the summer
overflow, and every spring a
dandelion or two,
brought in with the blue grass seed, uncurls in the swardy soil.
Farther than either of these have come the lilies that the Chinese
coolies
cultivate in
adjacent mud holes for their foodful
bulbs. The seegoo establishes itself very
readily in swampy
borders, and the white
blossom spikes among the arrow-pointed
leaves are quite as
acceptable to the eye as any native
species.
In the
neighborhood of towns founded by the Spanish
Californians, whether this plant is native to the
locality or not,
one can always find
aromatic clumps of yerba buena, the "good herb"
(Micromeria douglassii). The
virtue of it as a febrifuge was taught
to the
mission fathers by the neophytes, and wise old dames of my
quaintance" target="_blank" title="n.相识;熟人,相识的人">
acquaintance have worked
astonishing cures with it and the succulent
yerba mansa. This last is native to wet
meadows and distinguished
enough to have a family all to itself.
Where the irrigating ditches are
shallow and a little
neglected, they choke quickly with watercress that multiplies about
the lowest Sierra springs. It is
characteristic of the frequenters
of water borders near man haunts, that they are
chiefly of the
sorts that are useful to man, as if they made their services an
excuse for the
intrusion. The joint-grass of soggy
pastures
produces
edible, nut-flavored tubers, called by the Indians