PESHTIGO

There is a town called Peshtigo
A lumberjacking town of old
And here's a tale that's seldom heard
How the great Peshtigo fire occurred
In Autumn Eighteen Seventy One
The woods dried out from the summer sun
The lumberjacks all cursed in vain:
"Oh, Lord Almighty, will it never rain?
Oh, Oh Peshtigo... Oh, Oh how it burned

They tore the pine from nature's heart
Ignored the warning that a fire might start
Carelessly their brush fires burned
Waiting for the winds to turn
October Eighth dawned still as death
The north wind whispered not a breath
A yellow sky and a blood red sun
Seemed to warn what was to come
Oh, Oh Peshtigo... Oh, Oh how it burned

As darkness fell the treetops burned
Mighty winds upon them turned
A firestorm's roar was heard
When the great Peshtigo fire occured
People ran for life and limb
But most were never seen again
Even rivers couldn't save
The ones doomed to a fiery grave
Oh, Oh Peshtigo... Oh, Oh how it burned

They jumped in waterwells to survive
But wound up being boiled alive
There wasn't any air to breathe
Wheree'er that devil fire seethed
A million acres and much more
Was burned down to the forest floor
Twelve Hundred people lost their lives
And a burning memory still survives
Oh, Oh Peshtigo... Oh, Oh how it burned

They say the logger's carelessness
Lit nature's fiery autumn dress
And burned the great northwoods that day
And sent twelve hundred to their graves
Finally, when the smoke had cleared
The skies looked down and shed their tears
Whispering o'er the black scar burned:
"Oh, Lord Almighty, will they never learn?"
Oh, Oh Peshtigo... Oh, Oh how it burned

Music/Lyrics © Ken Lonnquist 1985
From the CD "Weave", available at www.kenland.com