A Tribute to Excellence...

The long-anticipated trip of the last senior class of Orleans High School to Washington and various other points north and south has come and gone.

The consensus of opinion of the returning “weary, way-worn wanderers” seemed to be that, on the whole, it was a worthwhile venture. The chief complaints are that there were so many places visited, so many things to see in so short a time, and so many other students from all over the country at the same spots that, with few exceptions, they did not have a chance to stay long enough in one place to see what they wanted to see. As one senior observed, “It was rush, rush, all the time. I’m exhausted.”

As usually happens, the sight of the Lincoln Memorial, made a deep impression on them all, as did fairly—new Marine Memoria1 which depicts the historic flag-raising on Iwo Jima. One incident occurred which was not scheduled but which was probably as truly educational as anything else on trip. That was the meeting with a group of students from Alabama and South Carolina, on the overnight boat trip on Chesapeake Bay I believe, which resulted in a bull—session until morning's wee hours on the subject of racial integration.

From it our local participants learned much at first—hand about the southern side of the question while the boys and girls from Dixie are reported to have been very eager to and tolerant of the New England view-point The result must surely have been a better understanding by both sides, which is all to the good.

An amusing sidelight of this get together is that both groups seemed fascinated and amused by the dialect and pronunciation of English by the other group, going into gales of laughter at certain expressions. The whole trip was well summed up by one boy who, in today’s slang, said, “It was a real gone jaunt.”

While these students were viewing Washington Madame B. and I, having left the strawberry blonde with her aunt and uncle in Portland, headed for a view of Mount Washington and the surrounding hills and valleys of New Hampshire.

Strangely, it was my first visit to that very lovely region and a thoroughly delightful and restful safari it was. We stayed at a very attractive and comfortable inn within sight of the Presidential range. Thence we sallied forth daily for trips through the mountains.

Spring comes slowly and late on Cape Cod, but even more slowly and later in the White Mountains. Mount Washington was still blanketed in deep snow and we saw several skiers headed for the slopes of Tuckerman’s Ravine. Even in the woods in the valleys there were great patches of snow still covering the ground.

The streams and rivers were high with melted snow, their rushing roar being a delightful sound, quite different from the sounds of the ocean to which our ears were accustomed.

On our last day there we decided to walk through the woods rather than drive anywhere. Within a short distance of our inn we found a very pleasant spot at the foot of a mountain beside a stream which was rushing and foaming around countless huge glacial boulders. Along both banks were stands of huge pines, spruces and graceful white birches. Civilization and the world seemed a long way off.

There we stayed for a couple of hours, really relaxing. Just for the fun of it, we took off our shoes and stockings and went wading. Yes, it was cold, but refreshing, and soon somewhat numbing. But it was fun.