The Gaspards of Pine Croft: A Romance of the WindermereConnor, Ralph
General
The Gaspards of Pine Croft: A Romance of the Windermere
Connor, Ralph
British Columbia -- Fiction; Canadian fiction -- 20th century
“The establishing of the Pine Croft Ranch upon such an assured
foundation is at once a testimony to the far-sighted policy of our
enterprising and gifted fellow-citizen, Hugh Gaspard, Esq., and an
evidence that a new era has dawned for our Province. The capitalists of
the homeland have hitherto been blind to the unrivalled agricultural and
ranching possibilities of our wide-sweeping British Columbia valleys.
Mr. Gaspard is very shrewdly anticipating the advent of an almost
limitless market for the products of his ranch by the construction of
another great railroad through the mountains, with lateral colonisation
lines to the main line of the Canadian Pacific Railway. It is also no
small tribute to the engineering genius of Mr. Gaspard that he has
foreseen the vast resources of the Windermere Valley in water power for
mining operations which are sure to follow the railway development of
that part of the Province. Altogether, it is not too much to say that
the establishing of the Pine Croft Ranch inaugurates a new era in the
development of our Province.”
The Pine Croft Ranch was situated about halfway down the Windermere
Valley, between Golden and the Crow’s Nest Pass, in one of the mighty
loops of the Columbia River, and comprised within its bounds mountain
and valley, lake and stream, grass lands and park-like forests, a
wonderland of picturesque and varied beauty.
For the site of his ranch bungalow, Gaspard chose one of the park-like
forest benches of the Columbia, set out with tall red pines with
polished boles running up one hundred and fifty feet to spreading green
tufts. It was built of red pine logs, with low roof and wide verandahs,
and flanked on one side with gardens, riotous with flowers of all kinds
and colours, some gathered from their native wilds near by and others
transplanted from their native haunts in Scottish glens and moors. On
the other side of the bungalow ran a little river, tumbling noisily and
joyously from the upper branches of the Columbia River below. It offered
to the eye a satisfying picture of homely beauty, kindly, cosy,
welcoming. Beyond the riot of flowers a grass paddock of some five acres
reached to the corals and stables.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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