I grew up with the north wind's cookie but never heard it in song, only in the gentle cadence of my daddy's voice. Daddy sat with me on the back porch stairs and when that huge orange moon, with the crispy brown edges, began to rise above the horizon of our farm, he would point at it and tell me its story. I'm in my fifties, and now when I point out a north wind's cookie, I get weird looks and a lot of WTF are you talking about. It's really sad that today's youth don't have a clue about the joy in a young child's heart from my era of awe and daddy taught beliefs.