China by Harry Alverson Franck — Read

One morning nearly two weeks after we had left the end of the railroad we entered the province of Kansu. This forms the far northwest of China proper, much like Washington and Oregon combined into one state, except that instead of being bordered on the west by the ocean it runs up into the lofty mountain ranges of Tibet. The great road, which is really not much more than a very wide trail, to Lanchow, capital of the province, was lined with double rows of huge old willow trees from the very boundary of the province. A viceroy who once ruled Kansu for the Manchu emperors planted those trees, and if a man was caught cutting one of them down his head was cut off. Yet quite a few of them were missing! In certain places the loess soil had blown or washed away until a tree had fallen. But it was plain that some of the willows had been cut down. The Chinese are so eager for wood that they will risk a great deal to get it.

That day, after a great wind-storm, we saw women and children and a few men sweeping up fallen twigs and leaves. Except for that avenue of huge willows along the ancient route to its capital, Kansu is just as bare and treeless as the rest of northern China, and any kind of fuel is very precious.