The point I desire to call attention to was that it was always the same region.

No essential feature of it ever differed in the different dreams.

Thus it was always an eight-hour drive behind mountain horses from the alfalfa meadows (where I kept many Jersey cows) to the straggly village beside the big dry creek, where I caught the little narrow-gauge train.

Every land-mark in that eight-hour drive in the mountain buckboard, every tree, every mountain, every ford and bridge, every ridge and eroded hillside was ever the same.
In this coherent, rational farm-region of my strait-jacket dreams the minor details, according to season and to the labour of men, did change.
Thus on the upland pastures behind my alfalfa meadows I developed a new farm with the aid of Angora goats.

Here I marked the changes with every dream-visit, and the changes were in accordance with the time that elapsed between visits.
Oh, those brush-covered slopes! How I can see them now just as when the goats were first introduced.