Mudcat Campfire

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Peter T.
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 02:50 PM

nice song, karen -- on an album somewhere?
yours, Peter T.

Subject: Lyr Add: A THOUSAND SONGS (Bill Steele)
From: karen k
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 02:44 PM

Love this campfire. Have sat around many over the years and this song best sums up for me what they've meant to me. Thanks, Alice for starting this one.

karen k

A THOUSAND SONGS^^^
by Bill Steele

I woke up smelling bacon with a pinecone in my side
I stuck my head out in the morning sun
There was one guy fixing breakfast and twenty singing songs
So I knew that breakfast never would get done
I crawled out of my sleeping bag and picked up my guitar
To start the day with coffee and a song
We'd built a singing city underneath the spreading trees
To join it all you do is sing along

CHO: We started in the morning with a hymn to the sun
We sang through lunch and dinner and we've hardly just begun
We'll try to sing a thousand songs before this day is done
And tomorrow there'll be a thousand more.

I met a girl down by the fire from a green Missouri farm
She sang a song she said her mother made
She sang about her father and the love he had to give
And I offered her a song of mine in trade
She said she didn't have the time; she had to catch a train
And I feel a little sorry now and then
But when you hear a thousand songs I guess it has to be
There's some that you'll never hear again.

A kid came up and said hello and said he knew my name
And he thought my songs were really where it's at
And then he sang a song of his - he said it wasn't much
But I wish that I could write one song like that.
They used to say that making songs was only for the few
But we took these old guitars and proved them wrong.
For music is a language most anyone can learn
And if you sing then you can write a song.

We sang around a lantern when we should have been in bed
And everybody took a turn or two
Whenever one crawled off to sleep, another took his place
And everybody brought in something new.
I used to think I knew most every song there was to know
I could sing out any one you cared to call
But now I'd need three lifetimes just to learn what's going round
And if everybody's got a song, then no one's got em all. ^^^

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Joe Offer
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 02:42 PM

Oh, Bratwurst! That sounds like a great idea. Mind if I have a beer with mine, or is this a G-rated campfire? How 'bout another cheer?

Zigga!
Zagga!
Zigga!
Zagga!
Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!

OK, you guys, I want to hear you do it LOUDER! OK, now FASTER!!!
-Crazy Joe-

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Bill in Alabama
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 12:43 PM

Fine story, Peter.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: LEJ
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 12:22 PM

A little more than mildly scary, Peter. Hand me a bratwurst and that aspen twig there.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Jeri
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 11:30 AM

Yikes! I have goosebumps, Peter! I'm moving a little closer to the fire.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Peter T.
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 11:25 AM

Now that my feet are warm, and the stars above seem to come from the sparks of our fire, I'll tell you a true campfire ghost story -- like all true ghost stories, it is only mildy scary.
Many years ago, when I was a boy, and was a Boy Scout, I went to camp out in the Ozarks in Missouri. There was a large summer camp for scouts, and it was saturated with old Indian, well pseudo-Indian practices, from the Osceola Indians. I am sure this is all banned now as hopelessly incorrect. We learned sign language, and indian dances, and the senior scouts were invited to become part of the spiritual tradition of the Indian peoples. It was organised so that the day before the great final pageant, when we would do Indian dancing in full regalia, paint and feathers, the senior scouts would take a vow of silence, except for the sign language. Individually (and weather permitting), they would go off into the woods alone, naked except for a loincloth, and would find a spot, get a bunch of rocks and make a large circle, and build a campfire (we had two matches) in the middle. We would then spend the night alone, awake if possible, meditating or whatever.
Late in the afternoon, I set out on this voyage. It was a pretty hot day. We were covered in paint slashes, and were watched out of the camp by everyone else. There were about 12 of us. We were supposed to camp within about a mile radius of the headquarters. After I had gone about a mile, I suddenly saw off in the distance a beautiful spot, about 3 miles further on, which was a hill with a bluff overlooking the river. I moved on, reaching the site just before dark. I gathered a ring of stones, placed them around me, got lots of wood for a fire, and then walked three times around the circle, chanting a chant that we had learned, to the gods to protect me in my circle (I forget the chant now). Then I settled down to look at the beautiful view.
Meanwhile, uunknown to me, the scout camp had been informed that all scouts were to be rounded up, because there were reports that a large rabid wolf or wild dog had been seen in the area. The scout leaders had combed the area, and by about 11 o'clock had found everyone but me.
I remember sitting by the crackling fire, slowly going off to sleep, waking, sleeping. Missouri everywhere in all directions, sky everywhere too.
Then I was asleep. I woke about 3 a.m., and found that the fire was almost out, and clouds had come in, so it was almost pitch black. It wasn't cold, but I started shivering for no reason. I decided to put some more wood on the fire, and then I realized that I had undercalculated the amount of wood I would need, and the rest of the pile was outside the circle. I walked to the edge of the circle, and was just stepping over it, when I was hit by this blow againt my chest. It was like a big invisble hand coming out of nowhere, and it pushed me back into the circle. I was physically shocked, and disoriented, so I went back and sat down. I didn't know what to think. Awhile later, I fell asleep again.
In the morning, I went back to camp, and everyone was in a state, they had been out looking all night, the celebrations were all screwed up. I was called up to the Senior Scoutmaster's office, and he told me what had been going on. I was 14, and was sort of embarrassed (I was still in my paint, though I had some pants on). He was a nice old guy -- Air Force sergeant in real life -- and he said, "Did you see anything?" and I very slowly and shyly told him about what had happened. He picked up the phone while I was sitting there, and phoned the state troopers.
I was getting on the bus to go home about 7 hours later when the Senior Scoutmaster called me down. He said to me, "I shouldn't be telling you this, no one should know about this, and you have to promise you won't tell anyone." I gave him my Scout's Honor. He said: "They found that animal at the foot of your hill this afternoon. Its throat had been ripped apart by something or someone. You are a lucky boy." I got back on the bus, and I was. I was a lucky boy who has always felt since that there just possibly may be something in native spirituality. I wonder why?
Now, where are those marshmallows.
yours, Peter T.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: MMario
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 10:13 AM

To paraphrase a song by Brian Leo...

The Sun is creeping up o'er the horizon All our triumphs, tears and treasures Are gently tucked away. Soon we will be startin' on our seperate ways an' partin' Who know when next we'll chance to pass this way?

So sing me one last song before we go And raise your voices high while we still watch the fires' glow It may not be our fortune, to meet again some day So sing one last song with me today!

MMario

Subject: Lyr Add: THE FAIRY NURSE (Edward Walsh)
From: Big Mick
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 09:46 AM

Oh, hi Alice, how are you? Mind if The Fair One and I have a seat? What? Oh, I have some catching up to do, eh? Well a couple things come to mind. Seeing this setting, and with this wee woman, reminds me of a poem by Yeats, the refrain goes:

Come away! O, human child!
To the woods and waters wild,
With a fairy hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand

Kind of makes me feel like your mountain and woods are a refuge from the madness. Huh? Another? Damn, you know I have been sipping the dark stuff in the tavern. How about "THE FAIRY NURSE" by Edward Walsh?

Sweet babe! a golden cradle holds thee,
And soft the snow-white fleece enfolds thee;
In an airy bower I'll watch thy sleeping,
Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping
Shuheen sho, lulo lo!

When mothers languish broken-hearted,
When young wives are from husbands parted,
Ah! little think the keeners lonely,
They weep some time-worn fairy only.
Shuheen sho, lulo lo!

Within our magic halls of brightness,
Trips many a foot of snowy whiteness;
Stolen maidens, queens of fairy,
And kings and chiefs a sluagh-shee airy,
Shuheen sho, lulo lo!

Rest thee, babe! I love thee dearly,
And as thy mortal mother nearly;
Ours is the swiftest steed and proudest,
That moves where the tramp of the host is loudest.
Shuheen sho, lulo lo!

Rest thee, babe! for soon thy slumbers
Shall flee at the magic Ceól-sidhe's numbers;
In airy bower I'll watch sleeping,
Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping.
Shuheen sho, lulo lo!

There ya go...huh, a song? Rick, hand me that Guild 12...Hey, did you swipe Rib's 12? How do I know it's not mine? Cause I locked mine in the closet at the Tavern...hahahahaha...Old Rib is going to be upset. Here ya go...I will sing "Dublin in the Rare Aul Times" for ya. Sounds great around the fire...but then its into the creek to clean up, cause I am going to have to get to work.

Raised on songs and stoooories, Heroes of renown,
The passing tales and glories, that once were Dublin town...."

---

Fairy Nurse thread

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Joe Offer
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 04:32 AM

Those were really good, campers! In honor of all your good work (and to keep the mosquitoes away), let's have a Harvard cheer. OK, everybody, get your dirty handkerchiefs out of your pockets - the dirtier, the better - and get ready to wave them. Ready?

H-A-R, with a Veeeeeee
V-A-R, with a Deeeeeee
Harvard, Harvard,
Weeeeeeeee!!!! (wave those handkerchiefs!)

OK, kids, sorry to get you stirred up like that. Now, settle down or we'll send you all home to Mommy, and we counselors will have a party the rest of the season.
-"Crazy Joe" Offer-

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Roger the zimmer
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 04:16 AM

..wow, that fresh air smells awful. Good job Metaxas never gives me a hangover, but my mouth's like a wrestler's jockstrap. Pass the marshmallows. Ooh my back. Every tried sleeping on a juke box? What a night!
Well I won't play the kazoo tonight, after where those banjo players put it but I don't mind leading you all in 100 verses of One Man went to Mow.
Who pushed me? Look, my straitjacket's all singed.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: bseed(charleskratz)
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 02:44 AM

Great tale, Leej. Now here's one of my mother's that I promised to send Den (who lives in the town where my mother was born).

This is my mother's voice:

"I'm sure they [the Orrs] depended, as Irish families living on the shore do to this day on fish--herring, mackerel, an occasional salmon--they caught from their little sailboats.

"Let me share with you my Dad's story of the miraculous preservation of one of his distant ancestors:

"It was a beautiful early morning. The sun was already sending a glow over the countryside, and soon it would rise out of the Irish sea. It gave every promise of being a 'grand day for the fishin'." The little fishing fleet put out to sea in high glee: getting away form the hard labors on shore, the men considered a day of fishing a great treat. Perhaps some of the more thoughtful looked across the water to the Scottish homeland and remembered the stories of the brave ancestors who had come across to establish the new Protestand faith in the Ulster provinces of Catholic Ireland, granted them by Williamn of Orange after his victory at the Boyne. [I'd like at this point to make it clear that my own sympathies lie with the republican cause. --seed]

"But mainly the men shouted jokes and tales of mystery from boat to boat, both laughing and crying: Irish tears flow easily. They say Ulster men are dour, unlike the jolly, fun-loving Southern Irish. But that's not true, at least while they're young.

"But the day, begun so exhuberantly, was to take a strange turn. One of the boys in the boat with my great, great, great, great (I don't rightly know how many greats) grandfather said suddenly, "Did ye hear that?"

"'I heard nothing. Ye're dreamin', Sammy,' said John Robert, my ancestor.

"But in a short, wee while Sammy said again, 'Did ye no' hear that fish?' This time two of the men claimed that a fish had come to the side of the boat, raised its head out of the water and said, 'Gang awa' hame.' (Don't think that it's strange that a fish in the sea between Ireland and Scotland would speak with a broad brogue).

"My great and so on grandfather, being of a logical turn of mind, responded, 'Aah, Sammy, you two have been at the bottle again. Leave a wee bit for the rest of us.'

"But when the fish returned a third time with its awful message, 'Gang awa' hame,' they all agreed that it might be a miracle from the Lord, warning them of danger; they called to the other boats and told them the strange tale, saying, 'We'd better all head for home, don't ye think?'

"The laughter from the other boats split the air. 'What are your wives going to think,' Tommy Atkinson called, "when you come home with less than half a catch and tell them it's all because of a talking fish?' and a voice from one of the other boats called, 'Your first time out since the wedding, your bride'll think ye're daft, John Robert.'

"They tried a bit more fishing but the heart had gone out of it, and finally all the crew agreed to start for the shore. They called to the others, 'Ye'd better come along,' but were greeted by gales of laughter. The day was fair and the sun shining on them seemed to emphasize their gullible behavior when one of them said, 'Look over to the west--isn't that a bit of a cloud?' And so it was (if any of you ever get to spend a bit of time in Annalong or Ballymartin, you'll understand the storm on the Irish sea).

"At first the wind took a brisker turn, and soon the sky turned from blue to gray, then black; the rain, starting as a sprinkle, came faster until it was coming down in sheets and it was more than they could do to manage the sails. It looked like the warning had come too late, or they had heeded it too slowly, but, although tossed agboutr wildly, the skill of the sailor-born to the sea, the luck of the Irish, or maybe the will of the Lord, guided them through the narrow passage to the Kilkeel harbor. It was indeed a miracle.

"And what of the other boats? They are all at the bottom of that sea, and all the mournful weeping on that shore, for they were all residents of the same little village, was terrible. And, my father swore, if it hadn't been for that blessed fish, with its order to 'Gang awa' hame,' none of us Orrs would ever have been heard of."

--seed

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: katlaughing
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 02:37 AM

Great, LeeJ! How am I 'sposed ta sleep NOW???You ever put these in a book?

Subject: Campfire: The Story of Bram Hanson
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 01:44 AM

With your head tucked under your arm? Funny you should say that. Throw a branch on the fire and I'll tell you about Bram Hanson.

Now Bram lived in an old cabin up against a cliff face not too far from where we are sitting right now.Not very many folks ever encountered him except some miners and hunters who frequented the area. And some bad men. These deep woods were the haunts of an outlaw band in those days, the Culpepper Gang. They would do most anything dishonest that would bring them a little money; claim jumping, robbing passersby, burglary.

The Culpeppers were in town one afternoon when they saw a strange sight. Bram Hanson had ridden his old mule into town and straight over to the assayer's office. Hanson left about 15 minutes later with a big grin on his face, and Clay Culpepper mosied into the assayer's office. The assayer was busy in the back, but a paper lay on the counter. Clay couldn't read much, but he did make out Hanson's name, the words "gold nuggets", and the amount of $485.Despite the fact that it was early March, and the lowering sky threatened snow, the Gang decided to ride out to Bram's place that very night.

When they reached the old cabin, Clay had his younger brother Vernon dismount and sneak up to the side window to try and get a look inside. Clay and his cousin Elbert Bryson then rode up to the front porch, where the door opened and Hanson emerged holding an ancient muzzle-loading rifle."And what the hell are you boys doin' on my property?" said Bram Hanson. Clay laughed. "Oh, I think you know, old man. We came for the gold." Hanson aimed the weapon at Clay's face. "Ain't no gold. Now git before I open you up." He cocked the hammer, and an instant later Vernon fired both barrels at once, separating the old man's head from his shoulders and sending it rolling up to Elbert's horse."What the hell you do that for, Vern?" Yelled Clay, booting the head over into some creek-rock. They put the body in the privy, and commenced a search of the cabin, which produced a small bag of gold nuggets. The Gang started back down the trail when the snow began. In fifteen minutes it was a blind blizzard. They soon decided to head back to the cabin, spend the night, and hope for clearing in the morning.

After making a dinner of the old man's bacon and beans, they bedded down, the wind whistling against the thin timbers of the shack. Clay was awakened in the dead of night by Vernon's voice calling to him. "Clay? You hear that?" He heard the wind, and the trembling of the window glass, and then...yes, a sort of frantic thumping noise.Clay raised up in bed, listening."It's the damn privy door, Vernon. You and Elbert left it open and it's banging in the wind." Clay felt Vernon's hand twisting his shirt."No, Clay. That door's brace-locked from the outside. I got a splinter from the 2x4 when I dropped it in the brace." Vernon's voice dropped to a whisper."He's a-tryin to get out...He's a-beatin on the inside of the privy Clay." Clay jumped clear out of bed when the privy door finally broke loose with a bang. He found the Colt Navy Revolver under his pillow. From outside the cabin came a crash as the rocking chair on the porch was knocked over. Something fluttered and banged against the window.

Vernon already had his boots on and was half-way into his coat when the horses began squealing like they smelled a cougar."I'm goin now, Clay" said Vernon, throwing open the door. Elbert was awake and lit the stub of a tallow candle. Clay saw Vern mount his Pinto and ride into the storm, before he slammed the door. Immediately there came a pounding on the door."Vernon?" called Elbert,opening the door. Clay was not sure what he saw, because the candle snuffed when the wind swept in.But as he rushed out into the storm, he heard Elbert gasping for breath in the clutches of something.

Clay must have ridden 8 miles in the blizzard, not ever sure that he was anywhere near the trail. The snow stuck in his eyelashes until his eyes were nearly glued shut, and he let the horse have his head.He finally dismounted in a box canyon, hoping his fingers would still strike a match to the pile of dead pine-boughs he had made. He nursed the fire into a small blaze. Maybe Vern will see my fire, he thought. Above him he saw stars through the ebbing snowflakes. His fingers began to sting as they came back to life. He was thinking he might sleep, when he thought he glimpsed something, some dark shape just outside the ring of fire-light."Vernon?" he called out. Yes, something was approaching, shuffling through the snow."You get what you wanted?" said a voice. Clay edged back until a Pine tree stopped him."You ain't got everything yet," said the voice. A figure stepped into the light. It was Bram Hanson's lanky frame,covered in ice and snow, and with his severed head tucked under his arm."Put me down by the fire," said the head, and the stumbling body did as it was told."Now you get him!" The body staggered toward Clay, clawing the air. Culpepper's scream shattered the frigid air as he ran off into the night, into the deep, deep, swallowing drifts.

A posse found the bodies of the Gang, all three. Funny thing, though. They never found old Hanson.But some say he's been seen since. Some say he still wanders in these woods, lurking, just outside the ring of firelight.

LEJ

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Alice
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 12:32 AM

food and ghosts.. now that's a challenge for a song topic (with her head tucked underneath her arm)

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Craig
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 12:27 AM

Well it looks like I'll just have to get over to McLeod and pick up a fishing rod and reel. Mmmm, Mmmm, Mmmm. Catfish for dinner. Sing for my dinner. It's not like I haven't done that before. Let me think. Ah yes. It seems to me that Snoopy's song Suppertime would be just right.

It's suppertime; yes, it's suppertime. When suppertime comes can supper be far away. Doo do do doot, do do, do doot.

The saliva is flowing now.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Alice
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 12:27 AM

wooohh ..anyone have any good ghost stories/songs?

Subject: ADD: Cattle Kate
From: katlaughing
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 12:18 AM

CATTLE KATE

Out here on the prairie lone
A cowboy rides the darkened range
The cattle lo, a coyote howls
Moonlight falls upon a visage strange.

Hung for rustlin', maiden fair
Her ghostly realm, nearby her grave
For innocence was hers that day
She kept the field they wanted of hay.

Moneyed men, took law in their hands
Took her her new moccasins on that day
Handed on to their own generations
Laughing about a'having their way.

High plains' shame, the story goes
Just a woman on the prairie lone
Cattle Kate, her land, and stock
Thought she had the right to own.

Out here on the prairie lone
A cowboy rides the darkened range
The cattle lo, a coyote howls
Moonlight falls upon a visage strange.

Based on a book which was written and published about five years ago which tells the real story behind the hanging of Cattle Kate, the non-Hollywood version! My daughter knew a boy in school whose family had her mocassins, his granddad was one of the "moneyed men"; she had just traded for them that day.

kat

---

Cattle Kate: Mystery of a Lynching

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Alice
Date: 23 Jul 99 - 12:01 AM

Three fishers went sailing out into the west
Out into the west as the sun went down
Each thought on the woman that loved him the best
And the children stood watching them out of the town
For the men must work and the women must weep
For there's little to earn and many to keep
And the harbour bar be moaning
^^^

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 22 Jul 99 - 11:58 PM

Good poem, Garg. That's a great side of you to see.

LEJ

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: MAG (inactive)
Date: 22 Jul 99 - 11:36 PM

If anybody's got a little cognac, feel free to throw it in the cider. -- MA

I gotta catch some zzzs; be back tomorrow.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Alice
Date: 22 Jul 99 - 11:34 PM

Oh, yes, trout, catfish, and PERCH. You catch 'em, you clean 'em. The perch are filleted and rolled in cornmeal. Here are the pliers to hold that spiny back fin with the stickers.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Alice
Date: 22 Jul 99 - 11:31 PM

Well, Craig, the Roadkill Cafe is just to our East at McLeod, Montana. They have burgers and fries (uh, chips) on the menu, if you are craving one. I think the main meal here tonight is fresh trout (uh, catfish). S'mores are for anytime - appetizer, side dish, or dessert. What are you singin' for us?

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: .gargoyle
Date: 22 Jul 99 - 11:28 PM

The John's wort has finished its bloom
It dries in the loft above timbered rooms.
The perch in the lake, the sun-dew of the bog
Refresh in the haze of the early autumn fog.

The birch beer is bubbling beside a wood burning stove.
Soon the sap will be running and we will go to the grove.
Now, you by the fire, the tales you tell....
Nuzzeling you necture, I fall to your spell.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Craig
Date: 22 Jul 99 - 11:25 PM

Hey! Where am I? This doesn't look like the tavern. Where'd those trees come from? Hey, this isn't funny. Where'd you guys all go. There I was sitting at the bar having a drink smoozing with the other patrons and singing songs when all of a suddin here I am. What is this place? Those look like trees. What's that smell? What are you cooking up there. Mind if I have a taste. What's in this stew? I'm not at the Roadkill Cafe am I?

Alice. It's good to see you. You look even lovelier in person. Care to show me around your little campsite?

Subject: Lyr Add: WHAT YOU DO WITH WHAT YOU'VE GOT
From: bbc
Date: 22 Jul 99 - 11:23 PM

Hi, Alice! Good to see you! I just finished my shift at the tavern. It's been a long day, but I really enjoyed being with the folks. I ought to go to bed, but I can't resist joining you for a little while. I'm so glad you came out! I don't usually sing, but maybe someone could play along while I sing a Si Kahn tune I heard from BMT, "WHAT YOU DO WITH WHAT YOU'VE GOT." Please join in on the chorus:

WHAT YOU DO WITH WHAT YOU'VE GOT
(Si Kahn)

It's not just what you're born with;
It's what you choose to bear.
Not how large your share is,
But how much you can share.
And it's not the fights you dream of,
But those you really fought;
It's not just what you're given;
It's what you do with what you've got. ^^^

Gee, this campfire's nice! Thanks, Joe!

bbc

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Alice
Date: 22 Jul 99 - 11:23 PM

that was great, MA.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: Alice
Date: 22 Jul 99 - 11:21 PM

ooooooohhh... "the dingo ayt ma baybee"

Subject: Lyr Add: GRIESELY BRIDE (sung by Cindy Mangsen)
From: MAG (inactive)
Date: 22 Jul 99 - 11:15 PM

Hot cider w/ cinnamon sticks, for a campfire.

Allow me to lead off with an appropriately spooky song: an Aussie poem set to music with a very traditional feel:

GRIESELY BRIDE^^^

Lie down my newly married bride
lie easy as you can
you're young and ill accustomed yet
to sleeping with a man

the snow was deep, the moon was full
as it shone on the cabin floor
his young wife rose without a word
and ran barefoot through the door

He up and followed after her
and an angry man was he
but his young wife wasn't eer in sight
and only the moon shone clearly

He followed her tracks through the new deep snow
calling out loud her name
but only the dingoes in the hills
yowled back at him again

then the hair stood up along his neck
and his angry mind was gone
for where the two footed track gave out
a four footed track went on

First he started walking back
then he began to run
and his quarry turned all in her tracks
and hunted him in turn

An empty bed still waits for him
while he lies in a crimson tide
Beware, beware, ye trapper men
beware of the griesely bride.

I learned this off a Cindy Mangsen LP; I've heard Sally Rogers do it live, too.

MA
^^^

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: harpgirl
Date: 22 Jul 99 - 11:05 PM

...alice, I see you are out in the woods as well...would you like to hiike the north side and look for wild gensing? or how about an acapella version of "Come To The Mountain"? the jasmine and tea olives are redolent in the humid night air...the fireflies are dancing...and the river breeze carries owl calls...harpgirl

Subject: RE: Mudcat Campfire
From: John Hindsill
Date: 22 Jul 99 - 11:00 PM

Alice, if my fingers are limber I will sing at your campfire...it's the ONLY place I will sing!---John

Subject: Mudcat Campfire
From: Alice
Date: 22 Jul 99 - 10:47 PM

Well, I'm back sooner than I thought. I need a break from trying to memorize those lyrics (after all, one can't stay singing in the shower all day).

So, up here in the cool mountain air, the scent of pine trees around us, no bugs to bug us, and the sun just setting at about 9pm Mountain Time, I think I see some guys building up the campfire for the night. Is that Joe or Max with the ax, experts at splitting kindling?

Well, who has the marshmallows, hershey bars, and graham crackers? Who has the guitar? Who has the first song of the night? I'm sure we have something from the tavern to pass around as well. With the repertoire of this crowd, we should be able to sing all night.