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[[underlined]] Cranberry Bog [[/underlined]]

[[underlined]] Sept. 18. [[/underlined]] Wading through the cranberry bog is hard work for the marsh grass is thick & both it and the cranberries are bedding in deep sphagnum, but it is now one of the autumn pleasures.  It is a broad 'meadow' - acres at each end are mowed & as you walk over the sphagnum you see pitiful looking pitcher plants shorn of their beauty by the mowing machines.  The cranberry bog lies between the Outlet woods & the farm & ^ [[insertion]] its dryer [[/insertion]] woodland.  It is a meadow ^ [[insertion]] in [[insertion]] whose high wild grass are patches of royal fern - now golden brown & islets of sweet gale ^ [[insertion]] bushes [[/insertion]] where you try to flush short-billed marsh wrens.  Scattered ilex bushes whose berries glow scarlet in the sun & sapling maples getting ready to turn also dot the expanse.  The headed grass now has brown nut heads & yellow stems.  Down inside the grass are the beautiful heathery cranberry stems with their hanging [[strikethrough]] glown [[/strikethrough]] jewels.  From a delicate pink flush the cranberries are now deepening to real cranberry color.  Some have been frosted (2 nights about 20°) & are soft to the touch.  The berries are sour but you eat them as you do halfripe apples under a tree, with the feeling of the wholesomeness of natures proffered foods - it is an acid that is tonic to the system.

Transcription Notes:
not sure how to show the mark underneath "Some" in the text about the frost.[[I chose to ignore it as it is clear what her intent was- simple correction of a misstroke of the pen]]