A Journal of Serenity
by C. J. Butterworth

July 21, 1924

DORSET, VERMONT—The trail wound up into the beckoning green hills, urging on my muddied shoes. I had arrived in the quaint town of Dorset after sharing a truck ride from the larger town of Brattleboro, where the train from Boston and Springfield had let me out. A man on the sidewalk steered me in the right direction, further cementing my belief that you can go far in life by talking to strangers.

I was searching for Emerald Lake, a destination I had seen in a magazine photograph while idling for a few minutes in my Boston hotel lobby. It spoke its serenity to me in heavenly liquid tones, a feeling I'd always linked with the lush green of ball field grass, and seemed a suitable escape from the crashing ineptitude of the home nine that has been consuming me. In short, I had to float on this lake.

I had wired ahead to a local peddler of rented properties in the area, but his office was closed when I arrived as he had apparently forgotten our appointment. A young man at a gasoline station revealed where I could find a trail head that made its way to Emerald Lake, and it was not long before I had fashioned a walking stick out of a fallen branch and begun my quest.

There was plenty of shade on the walk, but hot sunshine beat down on me in long cleared stretches, and I loosened my starched collar before long. An amiable general store merchant in Dorset named Ezekiel Nutter had provided me with nuts and fruits, though when he tried to offer the day's base ball scores I gave him my contact at the Free-Enterprise and said he could provide the published details himself.

Wild berry bushes were here, adorning the trail, and I filled my pockets for appetite insurance as every turn of the trail provided fresh, pastoral views of leafy green trees. Within hours I came to Emerald Lake, a modest-sized body of water lodged under a high hill. How I wanted to unclothe myself and swim in the crystalline expanse for hours on end! A scoop of my hand into the frigid water ended that fantasy quickly, however, and I strode about the lake's perimeter in search of a less painful activity.

An abandoned cabin was there, tucked under some maple trees, and a rowboat tied to a stake beside it. Within minutes I had left my belongings inside the tiny wooden structure, untied the craft, and rowed myself out.

How can I describe this blissful quiet, this tweeting and twittering of birds all about me, this lapping of lake water in my ears? The struggles of Cobb and Heilman and Stoner and lesser men, the exhausting push to meet my news room deadline, all receded from my mind like bad childhood memories, and I was left with floating cotton clouds overhead, every one shaped like my lovely wife's face.

I may never return.

by Ezekiel Nutter,
Nutter's Mercantile & Sundries
Dorset, Vermont

TIGERS 6-10-1, at YANKEES 5-7-0
From what that Cal character was tellin' me, only these two teams could play a game this frustratin'. Detroiters get six runs right off the bat with seven straight hits off Pennock, then get their ass-ends shut out on three hits the rest of the way. Meantime the Yankee bird peck away at Rip Collins for nine innings and leave the tying run on base with the Bambino waiting on deck to end it. Figured Cal might be all excited about relatin' this one to you folks but he didn't seem to care one bean.

WHITE SOX 8-13-0, at SENATORS 4-9-2
Well if I ain't a plucked chicken! Good ol' Sloppy Thurston, who happens to be my ace pitcher on my imaginary base ball Bar-B-Q team, takes care of those damn annoying Nats here and the Sox are now 6-3 against them. Eddie Collins chips in with three singles early and they put those first-place flatlanders behind 7-0 ater three.

at RED SOX 8-12-0, INDIANS 3-10-1
When a 2-9 thrower (Roy) faces a 3-12 one (Ferguson), one of the stinkpots needs to boil over, and Ferguson wins the smelly war when Boston gets five runs in the 5th and three more in the 7th to get their sorry behinds out of last place again. Sure glad I root for the Pittsfield Hillies instead of them!

BROWNS 9-11-0, at ATHLETICS 1-8-0
That city feller Urban Shocker wins his 12th game of the year and ball-crusher Williams crushes out two off Baumgartner and knocks home six. If he ever comes by my store I'll be sure to give him a box of my homemade deer sausages.

AMERICAN LEAGUE through Monday, July 21
Washington Senators 6331.670
Chicago White Sox 5042.54312
Detroit Tigers 5144.53712.5
New York Yankees 4844.52214
St. Louis Browns 4351.45720
Philadelphia Athletics 4054.42623
Boston Red Sox 3953.42423
Cleveland Indians 4055.42123.5

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