’TWIXT the seas and the deserts, ’Twixt the wastes and the waves, Between the sands of buried lands And the ocean’s coral caves, It lies not East nor West, But like a scroll unfurled, Where the hand of God hath hung it, Down the middle of the world.
It lies where God hath spread it, In the gladness of his eyes, Like a flame of jeweled tapestry Beneath His shining skies, With the green of woven meadows, And the hills in golden chains, The light of leaping rivers, And the flash of poppied plains.
Days rise that gleam in glory, Days die with sunset’s breeze, While from Cathay that was of old Sail countless argosies; Morns break again in splendor O’er the giant, new-born West, But of all the lands God fashioned, ’Tis this land is the best.
Sun and dews that kiss it, Balmy winds that blow, The stars in clustered diadems Upon its peaks of snow; The mighty mountains o’er it, Below, the white seas swirled— Just California stretching down The middle of the world.
Out where the handclasp’s a little stronger, Out where the smile dwells a little longer, That’s where the West begins; Out where the sun is a little brighter, Where the snows that fall are a trifle whiter, Where the bonds of home are a wee bit tighter, That’s where the West begins.
Out where the skies are a trifle bluer, Out where the friendship’s a little truer, That’s where the West begins; Out where a fresher breeze is blowing, Where there’s laughter in every streamlet flowing, Where there’s more of reaping and less of sowing, That’s where the West begins.
Out where the world is in the making, Where fewer hearts in despair are aching, That’s where the West begins. Where there’s more of singing and less of sighing, Where there’s more of giving and less of buying, And a man makes a friend without half trying— That’s where the West begins.
(Read by Judge Rex B. Goodcell at the dedication of Camp Cajon July 4, 1919, and by William M. Bristol at the dedication of Live Oak Park by the Chamber of Commerce of northern San Diego County, July 17, 1920.)
The Flag by Charles L. Frazer
Hats off, ye men! Now lift the flag on high: Break out its folds and let them proudly fly As from its staff on this our natal day There floats the banner none may take away.
Its streaming lines, its starry field of blue Are caught by winds that long have known them true: And rising, falling, with exquisite grace, They kiss each other in a fond embrace.
Flag of our own, we give thee to the breeze: Thrice hail on land, thrice hail on bounding seas: On armored deck, o’er valley, peak and crag. Wave on, and on, our own beloved flag!
Thrice-hallowed flag, one moment thou shalt be Half-masted for those Sons of Liberty Who, over seas or on the swelling flood Have re-baptized thee with a nation’s blood.
Our hero dead! No matter how they fell. In camp, at sea> on crimson fields of hell; They gave their all our pledged faith to keep, Tis ours to pay them homage as they sleep.
Peace to their ashes; let us write each name In fadeless glory on the roll of fame: And unborn freemen shall their valor tell Soldier, and sailor, fare, O fare thee well! * * * *
Flag of the free, beloved on land and main. May treason never thy escutcheon stain; Defeat—the battle lost—were better far Than that dishonor dim one single star.
Aye, better that thy stars forever set; And God, and men» and angles thee forget. Than that thy name should ever used be To bind one shackle on humanity.
But thou, O flag, shalt not thine honor yield! Not by one thread, or star upon thy shield I Through calm and storm undaunted shalt thou ride. And all thy deathless principles abide.
O, Thou Who boldest in Thy guilding hand ‘ The veiled future of this mighty land. Keep Thou our flag, and may it ever be Triumphant in the cause of liberty!
Then fly, proud flag, from thine exalted place; Shine on. ye stars, by God’s eternal grace! With faith undimmed we dedicate anew Ourselves to thee—the Red, the White, the Blue.
Juanita “Gravel Gertie” Inman lived in a shack off of the old Route 66in the Cajon Pass at the southern edge of the Mojave Desert north of San Bernardino, California. “Gertie’s” shack wasn’t really a shack, it was a chicken coop, albeit a very nice chicken coop. There were plenty of windows to let in light and coverings and tarpaulins to cozy the place up in the wind and storms, and there was a stovepipe sticking out of the roof indicating there was warmth available for the birds to keep them laying their eggs during the worst of times.
Plush quarters for the hens indeed. This shack, for looks and legal purposes, was a chicken coop–a hen house for pampered poultry.
During WWII building materials were in short supply and only available for subsistence projects such as watering troughs for hogs, horses, and milk cows. Structures for chickens, turkeys, and other such creatures were permitted.
So Gertie built her home under the auspices of building a hen house. It was very nice inside with several rooms and a fireplace. The county would check on projects like these, but from a reasonable distance, it looked like chickens lived there. They didn’t though. The chickens were kept outside in a wire coop. I believe Ms. Inman lived out the rest of her life there.