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CIRCULAR BOG (John Foreman) A bunch of true young bushmen set out to Paudash Lake. Their orders were to clear a spot, a lumber camp to make. They searched the place from end to end to build their camp of logs, And they finally settled in a place and they called it Circular Bog. They cut a trail into the camp. There were some awful holes. And the horses got sore shoulders from hittin' the wagon poles. They cut it here and bridged it there, a dozen places or more, Until the trail from end to end was just one big detour. One day, it rained and then it rained. That night, it rained some more. And the water, it just piled right up, twelve inches on the floor. Old Walter Powers got up that night. The camp was very dark. Thought he was back in Bible days, floatin' round in Noah's Ark. The Hunter boys nearly every night would get together and play Such tunes as "Turkey in the Straw" and "Darling Nellie Gray." Tom Motta and Jack Williams would shake their heels and toes Until the chore boy he'd come in and say, "It's time to go!" We'd climb up to our cozy bunks and try to get some sleep, While all around the bunkhouse, the lice and bedbugs creep. Then, in the early morning, we'd hear the awful shout. It disturbed our dreams and peaceful thoughts when old Tommy yells, "Roll out!" Then we'd climb into our clothes when we're just half-awake. We'd go on into breakfast and eat corn syrup and pancakes. We'd sit around and smoke awhile, and wish the day was o'er, Then with our boots just halfways on, Jack Karsh yells, "All aboard!" Now the boss is old Jack Karsh, and sometimes he gets sore. He'll make you go and get the logs you should have got before. "Now, Mikey, in your last skidway, you left two hardwood trees. You'd better draw them out today, and the road gang follow me." The sleighing now is started. We're busy haulin' logs. There'll only be tag alders left at poor old Circular Bog. We have to work both day and night in rain and hail and snow, And when we all come in at night, we wish we were all below. Now the horses were not fast enough, so we bought two Chevrolets. And then a couple of diamond teeth to go haulin' on the sleighs. At fifty miles an hour, they're haulin' down the road, And in a few more minutes, they're back for another load. Our garageman's Arnold Brinklow. He's busy day and night. Bending springs, fix rear ends, and screwin' things up tight. He just gets one truck set to go without it being towed, Looks round, and sees another one come limping up the road. One morning, just at daybreak, we heard an awful roar, And saw a poor old tractor outside the cookhouse door. It lay there quite contented, just on its left-hand side. Us boys all thought the dear old thing had laid right down and died. The boss came in the cookhouse, his eyes all blood and fire, Saying, "Get out, you lazy buggers! there's a tractor in the mire!" So, we hitched it to the rear end to haul it from the muck, And pulled the whole compartment out from underneath the truck. One day, while near a hollow log, I run and jumped inside 'er. For what was comin' through the bush, but the crazy thing, that spider! She hauls the ash from Paudash, and brings it to the camp. She also brings in hay and oats, and toils around the lamp. Our camp is always nice and clean, although there's lots of mud. The old bunkhouse gets washed out every time there is a flood. The trucks and tractor haunt my dreams. My nerves are getting jaggy. I often wish I'd stayed at home, and never left dear Maggie. Paudash Lake is a man-made lake north of Peterborough in central Ontario. @logging @work @Canada filename[ CIRCRBOG XX |
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