Doctor [John Strentzel]
920 Valencia St. San Francisco, Feb’ 11 1879.Dear Doctor. Your letter & pippins are here. You must have been quite sick, though you write so lightly of blues & testaments & Scotch brose. I am glad you are well again, & hope that the coming spring sunshine will remove all trace of your lung difficulty. My blues were nothing worth mentioning, only a dull unfruitful endurance of nothing in particular-a sort of religious desperation about metropolitan homes, that suggest heavens by way of opposites. I too am better, & the bees hum however indistinctly. Bee-lands, 00830bee-ranches, honey fields, honey- -flowers, thyme, [illegible], sweet Marjory, White Sage, Black sage, bog-huckleberry an’ a’, an heaped in loose shifting piles about my table, like one of your wood piles on the roadside. As yet I have accomplished very nearly nothing – reviewed a little book, & written a first sketch of our bee pastures. In the homological line however [illegible] have done wonders. The Newtons are vanishing like snow when its thaw, & the work goes bravely on, in & out of season, down to the bottom of the box. [in margin: 672] How astoundingly empty & dry box-like is ones brain in a house built on one of those precious “Lots” one hears so much about. —With cordial regard to all – John Muir.
1879 Feb 11
Original letter dimensions: 20.5 x 25.5 cm.
Reel 03, Image 0988
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