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Rhymes of a National Park Naturalist
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Have Carl and I been pals; Since first grade days when coming home From school we "teased the gals," And it was he who taught me how To swim in Maxwells' Lake, And it was he who helped me kill My first big rattlesnake. We raced the fields around our homes Pursuing butterflies. Together, crawling soft and slow Where every plant has eyes, We raided watermelon beds. When robbers was the game, The others formed the sheriff's squad, And we held up the train. Time passed. We changed. But still we held Our friendship, firm and true; And everything that Carl e'er did, I tried to do it too. I taught him how to drive a car. In high school's weary dig, I helped him with his chemistry, He helped me get my trig. When War's grim finger beckoned all To fight for home and God, We bade our folks a sad good bye, And both got in one squad. Two weeks we drilled; "Squads halt! At rest!" Carl came down with the flu. They took him to the hospital. Three days — I was there too. Pain-tortured days and sleepless nights! I lost my nerve. I quit. But Carl, he raised his aching head And smiled, "Hang on a bit." He sat up first. I did not mend. They let him leave his bed. And nights I 'woke from restless sleep, His cool hand on my head. We both got well, Returned to school, And me, I joined a frat. I spoke a word or two for Carl. They took him in, for that. We room together, he and I. (He always lets me sweep.) He pays my laundry bills for me, Which makes me feel real cheap. But now, alas, no longer pals Are Carl and I. At night My head alone in study bowed Is seen beneath the light. And days; he notices me not. His thoughts are in a whirl. Another fills my long held place. You see — Carl's got a girl.
I was the youngest, the last. One by one the others were married. Years brought me no man as they passed. So now, when I visit my nieces And nephews, more precious than myhr, Each sister retells what she knows of the elves, And I learn about babies from her. Ruth is the oldest and wisest. Two cherubs have come to her home. She studies a book by Doc Tilden Whose system she takes for her own. "Don't feed babes too much" (so says Tilden) "Tell them tales 'til their minds are a blur; Keep them playing all day, but suggest what they play;" So I learned about babies from her. Katherine feels that it's harmful To watch o'er her child night and day. "Experience teaches a youngster. Let him plan for himself what to play." She perfumes the oil of the olive. If he calls, she refuses to stir. Since a child always grows, she buys oversize clothes, And I learned about babies from her. Gertrude believes that in music Lies food for the mind of a child. She sings, and she plays the piano. Her youngsters are gentle and mild. "Feed them milk, it builds healthy bodies, Rosy cheeks, and full muscles, yes sir; Fresh air all day long makes babes healthy and strong." Thus I learned about babies from her. Ann-Evelyn's the wife of a farmer. Her duties are many and hard. She turns her small son out to frolic With chickens and calves in the yard. He shall learn by watching his mother Who is gardener, cook, and chauffeur. She thinks "raised on the farm" is for good, not for harm. So I learned about babies from her. So now I have told you my story. I have learned the four methods by heart. I have carefully studied each system And have taken from each its best part. And so, if I e'er raise a family With a trace of success, as it were, Each sister will tell that she knows very well That I learned about babies from her.
As a second life, make me a tree. At first a sapling lifting high My eager branchlets toward the sky Striving to reach the clouds at play, Breasting the gale with a dip and sway, Adding my voice to the forest's song When the nightly star-armies march along; Waving a cheerful see-you-again To the migrant birds in the autumn, then Op'ning my heart to a wandering bear Searching the woods for his winter lair, Forcing my roots 'mongst the sand and the stones So the squirrels may find me heavy with cones. Please guard me, God, from a searing death Blasted and blackened by Wildfire's breath. Keep me intact from the splintering wrack Of Lightning's shaft or wind-check crack; And build me a body tough and trim, Sturdy, and straight, and clean of limb. And let me thrive in a mountain glade Casting for all a restful shade Adding my leaves to the earth's rich feast Always a friend to bird and beast. And then when my life has run its span Don't let me die but give me to man. Let him have my limbs to cook his food And saw up my trunk for building wood. Make me, oh God, a tree of the wild Then build of my body a home for a child.
I'll be there. With a rose bud in my lapel, I'll be there. 'Though I have a quiz tomorrow, Time from study I must borrow, And I'll flunk — flunk to my sorrow, I'll be there. Monday evening we assemble, I'll be there. False excuse? I'll not dissemble, I'll be there. 'Though I sit there and perspire, From a storm of words expire, My attendance they require, I'll be there. Come to school right after dinner? I'll be there. If I cut I'll be a sinner, I'll be there. All the year without vacation Makes me yearn with expectation To this eve for recreation, I'll be there. Dr. Whiteford speaks, they tell me, I'll be there. No — I'll cut! With threats they quell me, I'll be there, 'Though I hear him lecture daily, And my grades predict he'll fail me, Yet, with joy I'm sure he'll hail me, I'll be there Written following the announcement that "chapel" will be held each Monday evening, and that ALL summer school students will be required to attend.
And knew the guys, I asked of them "Does Bill step out in social whirl?" "Oh no," they said, "Bill's got a girl, Has brother Bill." A year passed by 'Most every eve Bill shaved himself, brushed off his sleeve, And, tho' the wind howled through the trees, At seven sharp, Bill hit the breeze, Did brother Bill. Scarce two months since that fateful night At supper time, when into sight Cigars in hand, our William came, And "Edith is the lady's name," Said brother Bill. And now he's gone and jumped the fence From bad to worse. Forever hence He'll have a woman by his side. And how are things o'er the great divide, Oh, brother Bill?
And I hope that very soon That perfect crowd will convene again, She, and I, and the moon. "Who will your chaperone be tonight?" Is her mother's evening quiz. "Oh Luna will — she's a wonderful gal." You'll agree with me, she is. For Luna watches with steady eye, And she wears a permanent smile, And if there are clouds (as you often wish), She will hide every once and a while. But the very best thing about Luna is, 'Though she's been on guard for years, She never tells what she sees at night, And she never repeats what she hears. So, I wish for the summer time again, With a lake, and the call of a loon, And the meeting there of that jolly crowd, She, and I, and the moon.
Evening's shadows slowly stretch; Mountains, black against the sunset Clear cut, rugged, skylines etch. Day has faded into evening, Evening darkens into night; Stars peep out, a silvery crescent Smiles upon us from its height. Just as day gives way to darkness, Darkness must give way to day. Never stopping, slowly, surely, Time is marching on its way. We on earth must blindly follow, Striving for each paltry gain, Taking what each sunrise brings us, Days of gladness, days of pain. Childhood ventures are forgotten, Boyhood woes are soon mislaid, Time erases playmate's faces, Youth's bright dreams all slowly fade. Distance dulls our greatest sorrows, Years roll by and blur our joys, Babyhood sinks to oblivion Were we ever girls and boys? So, in looking through these pictures, If they seem but dull to be, Keep in mind as you peruse them, Each one means a lot to me. One brings back a happy hour Spent in some secluded glade. Others start me laughing over A forgotten escapade. Many people love the present, Making every moment last; Other live but for the future, But I like to keep the past.
And I later escorted her home. So she asked me to drop in and see her some time When I happened 'round that way to roam. So I called on her once, and I called on her twice, And I called on her three times in all. But I'm willing to bet, and I'll wager my life, That the third was the last time I'll call. For the first time I went, we both sat on the lounge, And I petted her cat, and felt silly, For she talked all the time of her soldier in France, And she showed me some letters signed "Billy." She showed me his portrait and told me of how 'Midst swift death in the red battle's roar He had dragged in his captain from Nobody's Land And been given the French Cross of War. The next time I called, she told of her stay On her grandfather's farm in the East, And her big farmer boy from a neighboring house Who came over each evening at least. He was just six feet four with his shoes off his feet And a body all muscles and bone. He was gentle, and kind, and he never was cross. He would soon have a farm of his own. The third time I went on a cold, snowy day, And she talked of her home in the hills In the years of her youth 'fore she moved into town When she lived near the ore-crushing mills. She had learned how to ski. A boy showed her how, And she smiled as she thought of his face. She called him her "pal." They were never apart. Together they'd frolic and race. And I thought to myself when I left her that eve That I'd better not call any more. For I'm not very brave. I'm no man of the hills. And I'm far short of six feet and four. So, often since then when I've called on some girl, I have wondered just why it should be That a girl often talks of some man that they know Who's so very much better than me.
And the bumping and clashing of cars Being shunted about goes on all day long, And the headlights at night dim the stars; Where the little switch engine puffs up, down, and back, Or a big "mogul" snorts at its load, And the passenger engines all shiny and bright Flash by, the pride of the road; There stands a small building, and over its door Swings a sign that says "EAT". Railroad men From Tommy, a wiper, to wrecking-boss Bliss, Drop in for a bite now and then. Conductors, and brakemen, and section hands too, Yardmen and freight engineers, And a couple of men from the limited run, Jim Kincaid and his fireman, Sears. For the limited makes but a ten minute stop, But Jimmy, like all railroad men, Knows that Martha McTavish hands out the best grub To be had on the whole run, and then There's Martha herself. Her husband was killed In a smashup two years or more back, And ever since then her hand had been sought By many good men from the track. But always she'd shown that she cared not a bit For a man of them all. On her pies, And coffee, and doughnuts, and choice cuts of meat She put all her care. The surprise Was shared in by all when one fine summer day She put on a wonderful feast, Cold roast shoulder of beef and a warmed-over heart; Such a meal! When the train from the East Pulled in, Jim Kincaid came across for a bite. No one knows, perhaps he had been bolder, But she gave Jim Kincaid all her warmed-over heart And she handed the rest the cold shoulder.
At the end of the fourth row of cots, Right near where that blonde nurse is standing, That door, the wood full of knots? I have lain here in bed for a fortnight With my eyes often turned toward that door. I have watched all its op'nings and closings — See there! It has opened once more. Look! A nurse and two privates. They have turned up the row to the right. Good Lord! They are stopping by Cristy, That boy was sure raving last night. See — they raise the cot gently, The nurse goes ahead of the men. The cot scrapes the sides of the doorway. Ah — that old door has closed once again. I have seen fourteen men just like Cristy, Carried in through that door over there. I have seen fourteen cots, just like Cristy's Carried out, all empty and bare. And nights while I've lain here in torture, Wide-eyed and sleepless with pain, I've heard autos come to the side door, Stop, (hushed voices) then go on again. And then, when the eastern horizon Growing grey, showed the night to be past, I have seen, across there, through the window, The flag raised, and left drooped at half mast. One night I thought I was dying, I knew I was off in my head; I thought a knife was thrust through me, And was pinning me down to the bed. They came, the nurse and two privates, And started to lift up my cot. I threw off the blankets. They held me. Although weak, I twisted and fought. For I'd seen fourteen men, just like Cristy, Carried in through that door over there. I had seen fourteen cots, just like Cristy's Carried out, all empty and bare. The nurse said to rest and be quiet, They left me alone here at last. Thank God! I was better next morning. The flag did not hang at half mast.
When the weather and grub are fine. When the lieuts. are good at drilling, And part of the time is mine. But when the flu has got me, And I'm nothing but skin and bone, Oh, it's nice to be in the army, But — it's nicer to be at home. Oh, it's nice to live in the barracks When the lights are on at night, When the guys don't have to study And laugh, play cards, or fight; But when I've got pneumonia, And toss, and turn, and moan, Oh, it's nice to live in the barracks, But — it's nicer to live at home. Oh, it's nice to eat at the mess hall When there's lots of grub, and good. When they give me cake and pastry, And the food we get is food. But when they feed me chicken With feathers ground up with bone, Oh, it's nice to eat at the mess hall, But — it's nicer to eat at home. Oh, it's nice to sleep midst the soldiers When the room is nice and warm, When I've got a lot of blankets, And there's not a sign of storm; But when some guy starts snoring, And the snow blows in on my dome, Oh, it's nice to sleep midst the soldiers, But — it's nicer to sleep at home.
For the muskrat and the skunk, In the meadow, the ditch, and the slough. I will hunt no more For the rabbit, duck, and snipe. I'm a broken wreck left by the flu. |
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Rhymes of a National Park Naturalist dodge/sec7.htm — 19-May-2007 | ||