We had many comers and
goers, and I think there were but few in the town of Dearborn who had
more friends than father and mother.
Several years after we planted the first thirteen apple trees, father set
out a little orchard of fifty trees, west of them. Some of these proved
to be very good fruit and supplied us with better apples, of our own
raising, (and in fact some earlier apples) than we had been used to
getting from along the Rouge. Then it could be said of us that we sat
under our own vine and apple tree and ate the fruit of our hands, without
any one to molest us or make us afraid. And, it could be said of father,
that he made the place, where the wilderness stood, to blossom as the
rose. Everything seemed to work together for our good and all nature
seemed more cheerful.
The evening breeze that kissed the rose and made the morning glory (that
grew by our window) unfold its robe, so that it would be ready in the
morning to display its beauty, and caused the sunflower, aided by the
evening dew, to change its face so that it would be ready to look toward
the sun, bore away on its wings, over the fields, the fragrance of the
rose and the joyful songs of civilization.
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