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Updated: June 6, 2025
One day I was settin' beside of mother; Major was out in the garden, fixin' up things, and settin' out a lot of blows she'd got in the woods, and singin' away, and says I to mother, "What be I going to do, mother, without you and Major? I 'most died of clear lonesomeness before you come!" Mother laid down her knittin', and looked straight at me.
The lonesomeness of plain and foot-hill, the utter lack of the human element that gives to this country its character of penetrating desolation, had been changed while Mary Carmichael forgathered with Leander by the clothes-line.
It's been bought with work, man work and lonesomeness and blood and souls. And now you want to sweep it all away with one stroke. You want to step in here and reap the benefit; you want to send us out of here, beggars."
Those among last night’s roisterers who had had to make an early start for their camps were well into the foot-hills by this time, and would remember with exhilaration the cracked tinkle of the dance-hall piano as inspiring music when the lonesomeness of the desert menaced and the young blood again clamored for its own.
She felt a slight sensation of lonesomeness, to be left there in solitude at the entrance of a dark and somber wood, especially when she reflected that it was to be several days before she should see her mother again.
"Ben," said the girl in a low voice, "do you-uns b'lieve ef thar war passin' continual on a sure enough county road that thar cur'ous white light would kem on the old witch's face in the night-time? Ain't that a sort'n spell fur the dark an' the lonesomeness ter tarrify a few quaking dwellers round about? Surely many folks comin' an' goin' wouldn't see sech.
And thus a while passed, and the evening began to come down upon the lonesomeness of the weed-continent.
But begin early to discourage her, John; begin at her early, lad." "They call it the lonesomeness here," said Joan, her voice weary as with the weight of the day. "People shoot themselves when they get it bad green sheepherders and farmers that come in here to try to plow up the range."
His wife asked him: "'Are you drunk or crazy or a fool? "'I don't know what you'd call it, but I know I ain't got a darn bit to spare, he answered, with a whoop of joy." "You're all goin' to roll out o' bed and hit the floor with a bump," said Samson. Brimstead declared in his usual tone of confidence: "The worst part o' bein' a fool is lonesomeness. I was the only one in Flea Valley.
The blue jays followed these intruders in the forest, screeching their displeasure. Like rain pattered the dropping seeds from the spruces. A woody, earthy, leafy fragrance, damp with the current of life, mingled with a cool, dry, sweet smell of withered grass and rotting pines. Solitude and lonesomeness, peace and rest, wild life and nature, reigned there.
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