Harry McDonald Walters, Wesblock, the autobiography of an automaton (1914)
“ Our mill was surrounded with vast dumps of sawdust rising into huge hills and dunes. Our house was built on one of these dunes and commanded a view of a little creek, a stretch of railroad track through woods, and apparently endless piles of lumber, hundreds of thousands of saw logs and a long vista of sawdust. I can smell the odour of the lumber as I write, and even to this day, when Muriel and I come across lumber piles we put our noses in the air like dogs searching a scent, inhale big sniffs of the sweet, clean smell, turn and look at each other and smile foolishly. ”
