In the Big Rock Candy Mountains </br> There's a land that's fair and bright </br> Where the handouts grow on bushes </br> And you sleep out every night </br> Where the boxcars all are empty </br> And the sun shines every day </br> On the birds and the bees and the cigarette trees </br> The lemonade springs where the bluebird sings </br> In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.

The city is the size of a country, but has been operated like a candy store.

They came to the Delectable Mountains.

Chaco unquestionably had coyotes in town; coyote bones are common in the archeological sites of the inner city.

One party went to far away Zimbabwe and returned with pack-oxen loaded with ivory, rhinoceros hides, lion skins and hog tusks. They reported finding a people whose women dug the mountain sides for nuggets and brittle stones, which they brought home to boil and produce a beautiful metal from which to mould bangles and ornaments of rare beauty. That was the Matebele’s first experience of gold smelting.

All field agents have some cowboy in them – even the ones from New York.

Here is hard-core unemployment, widespread and chronic; here is a region of shacks and hovels for housing; here are cliffs and ravines without standing room for a cow or chickens. In this region of steep mountains, a person is exceptionally fortunate if he is able to hack out two or three ten-foot rows of land for potatoes or beans.

I'm a-goin' to stay where you sleep all day </br> Where they hung the Turk that invented work </br> In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.

On the Ning Nang Nong</br>When the cows go bong!

We are now in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us.

Fierce and beautiful hunters who, when they ease up on their vigilance find themselves converted into coats and collars.

Those that look for bones are dogs.

In the Gates of the Mountains there have been many blowups. Now there are many rattlesnakes and nothing more fragile than mountain goats, themselves tougher than the mountains they disdain, although at a distance they are white wings of butterflies floating up and down and sideways across the faces of fragments of arches and cliffs, touching but never becoming attached to them.

I notice your brother got boots. All policemen got boots. Good luck to him, any¬ way, and Lucy too. Write soon. Zachariah Pietersen