L; it is, indeed, swaying
picturesque
little openings of the willow fringe along the main shore;
or, boldly planted at the base of some rocky
ledge. At the towns, they are variously situated: in the water, up the
beach a way, or high upon the bottom, whither some great
flood has carried them
in years gone by. Occasionally,
when high and dry upon the land, they have a bit of vegetable garden
about them, rented for a time from the farmer; but, even with the
floaters, chickens are commonly kept, generally in a coop on the roof,
connected with the shore
by a special gang-plank for the fowls; and the other day, we saw a
thrifty houseboater who had several colonies of bees. There was a rise
of only two feet, last night; evidently the flood is nearly at its
greatest. We are now twenty feet above the level of ten days ago, and
are frequently swirling along over what were then sharp, stony slopes,
and brushing the topmost boughs of the lower lines of
willows and scrub sycamores. Thus we have a better view of the country;
and, approaching
closely to the banks, can from our seats at any time
pluck blue lupine by the armful. It thrives mightily on these gravelled
shores, and so do the bignonia vine, the poison ivy, and the Virginia
creeper. The hills are steeper, now, especially in Indiana; many of
them, although stony, worked-out, and almost worthless, are still, in
patches, cultivated to the very top; but for the most part they are
clothed in restful green. Overhead, in the summer haze, turkey-buzzards
wheel
gracefully, occasionally chased by audacious hawks; and in the woods, we
hear the warble of song-birds. Shadowy, idle scenes, these rustic
reaches of the lower Ohio, through which man may dream in Nature's lap,
all regardless of the workaday world. It was early evening when we
passed Madison, Ind. (553 miles), a fairly-prosperous factory
town of about twelve thousand souls. Scores of the inhabitants were out
in boats, collecting driftwood; and upon the wharf was a great crowd of
people, waiting for an excursion boat which was to return them to
Louisville, whence they had come for a day's
outing. It was a lifeless, melancholy party, as excursion
folk are apt to b
little openings of the willow fringe along the main shore;
or, boldly planted at the base of some rocky
ledge. At the towns, they are variously situated: in the water, up the
beach a way, or high upon the bottom, whither some great
flood has carried them
in years gone by. Occasionally,
when high and dry upon the land, they have a bit of vegetable garden
about them, rented for a time from the farmer; but, even with the
floaters, chickens are commonly kept, generally in a coop on the roof,
connected with the shore
by a special gang-plank for the fowls; and the other day, we saw a
thrifty houseboater who had several colonies of bees. There was a rise
of only two feet, last night; evidently the flood is nearly at its
greatest. We are now twenty feet above the level of ten days ago, and
are frequently swirling along over what were then sharp, stony slopes,
and brushing the topmost boughs of the lower lines of
willows and scrub sycamores. Thus we have a better view of the country;
and, approaching
closely to the banks, can from our seats at any time
pluck blue lupine by the armful. It thrives mightily on these gravelled
shores, and so do the bignonia vine, the poison ivy, and the Virginia
creeper. The hills are steeper, now, especially in Indiana; many of
them, although stony, worked-out, and almost worthless, are still, in
patches, cultivated to the very top; but for the most part they are
clothed in restful green. Overhead, in the summer haze, turkey-buzzards
wheel
gracefully, occasionally chased by audacious hawks; and in the woods, we
hear the warble of song-birds. Shadowy, idle scenes, these rustic
reaches of the lower Ohio, through which man may dream in Nature's lap,
all regardless of the workaday world. It was early evening when we
passed Madison, Ind. (553 miles), a fairly-prosperous factory
town of about twelve thousand souls. Scores of the inhabitants were out
in boats, collecting driftwood; and upon the wharf was a great crowd of
people, waiting for an excursion boat which was to return them to
Louisville, whence they had come for a day's
outing. It was a lifeless, melancholy party, as excursion
folk are apt to b