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Updated: May 18, 2025
A pair of white-birches lift their leafy crowns far above us, and after them we name the place Le Camp aux Bouleaux. "Why not call trees people? since, if you come to live among them year after year, you will learn to know many of them personally, and an attachment will grow up between you and them individually."
Our rustic bouquet graced the table under the white-birches, while we sat by the fire and watched our four men at the work of the camp Joseph and Raoul chopping wood in the distance; Francois slicing juicy rashers from the flitch of bacon; and Ferdinand, the chef, heating the frying-pan in preparation for supper.
There was one curiously shaped, lightning-riven pine, standing high above its fellows, that appeared like an old friend. "Why, what's this? Can there be two trees, exactly alike, within a half-day's rowing? I've certainly sketched that old landmark from every side, and Hello! yonder's my group of white-birches or I'm blind. How queer!"
Its amber water, black in the deep channel above the fall, dividing into several small streams, slips with a plunge of, it may be, six feet over the granite rocks, into a broad, deep pool, round which tall pines stand, and over which two or three delicate-leaved white-birches lean, from which basin the waters plunge in the final foamy rush of thirty or forty feet over the irregularly broken ledge which makes the bold shore of the lake.
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