Some trees are
mere storm-beaten stumps about as broad as long, decorated with a few
leafy sprays, reminding one of the crumbling towers of old castles
scantily draped with ivy. Its homes on bare, barren dome and ridge-top
seem to have been chosen for safety against fire, for, on isolated
mounds of sand and gravel free from grass and bushes on which fire could
feed, it is often found growing tall and unscathed to a height of forty
to sixty feet, with scarce a trace of the rocky angularity and broken
limbs so characteristic a feature throughout the greater part of its
range. It never makes anything like a forest; seldom even a grove.
Usually it stands out separate and independent, clinging by slight
joints to the rocks, living chiefly on snow and thin air and maintaining
sound health on this diet for 2000 years or more. Every feature or every
gesture it makes expresses steadfast, dogged endurance. The bark is of
a bright cinnamon color and is handsomely braided and reticulated on
thrifty trees, flaking off in thin, shining ribbons that are sometimes
used by the Indians for tent matting. Its fine color and picturesqueness
are appreciated by artists, but to me the juniper seems a singularly
strange and taciturn tree. I have spent many a day and night in its
company and always have found it silent and rigid.
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