Article August 22, 1983 ISSUE

Lessons of a mountain spring

EARL E. HARRIS

Back in 1905 my father moved his family to a home in the mountains of western Colorado. Teen-age curiosity led me to explore our new environment. To a growing boy, the wilderness was a world of unending discoveries. The city held no such natural wonders as the nearby cascading waterfalls, the rushing torrents of a mountain stream that passed through our small ranch, or the sand cliff that loomed skyward to the west.

Upstream was a beaver dam built by furry engineers with unsurpassed native skills, but the thing that made the greatest impression on me was the water that came tumbling down the hillside. I came upon it while exploring the beaver dam. It flowed in such abundance that I was eager to find its source. After a long climb I reached a beautiful mountain spring. Beside it was a sheltered resting place beneath a shapely pine tree. The spring's water fell about four feet from a crevice in the rock face into a naturally formed basin. The volume was tremendous, gallons every minute. The water leaped down the mountainside to join waters in the creek.

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