Merry Christmas!

[Lanny in AB]

A great big Merry Christmas to all of you, and a Happy New Year too!

All the best,

Lanny

 

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[Jim Hemmingway]

A very Merry Christmas to you Lanny and wishing everyone a joyful holiday season.

Say Lanny... any chance you could post a couple of your Christmas poems to this thread? Possibly many of our newcomers have not seen them, and are not aware they exist. Joanne and I especially enjoyed the very lengthy rollicking poem you put up a year or two ago. A wonderful read on a snowy Christmas Eve.

Jim.

 

[delnorter]

Thanks Lanny. We sure appreciate you throughout the year. Kind of like a present all year long.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you too from down here in redwood country of northern California.

Mike

 

[Oakview2]

Right back up to our gold and silver friends from the north.

 

[Hefty1]

And a Very Merry Christmas to you to Lanny with a Golden New Year To ya also.

 

[AzViper]

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year, may 2014 be a wonderful gold collecting year...

 

[Lanny in AB]

A very Merry Christmas to you Lanny and wishing everyone a joyful holiday season.

Say Lanny... any chance you could post a couple of your Christmas poems to this thread? Possibly many of our newcomers have not seen them, and are not aware they exist. Joanne and I especially enjoyed the very lengthy rollicking poem you put up a year or two ago. A wonderful read on a snowy Christmas Eve.

Jim.

Jim,

I'll post it here for you, and I'll post it on my bigger thread as well.

Merry Christmas to both of you, and all the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Thanks Lanny. We sure appreciate you throughout the year. Kind of like a present all year long.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you too from down here in redwood country of northern California.

Mike

Thanks so much for your kind reply!

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Right back up to our gold and silver friends from the north.

Thanks, and all the best to you,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

And a Very Merry Christmas to you to Lanny with a Golden New Year To ya also.

Great to hear from you again. How are things?

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year, may 2014 be a wonderful gold collecting year...

All the best to you too, and I hope you'll be able to get out and find some sassy gold soon,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

For Jim and Joanne: (Warning--Prospecting Poetry)

The Tale of Sourdough Sue

It’s time for the tale of Sourdough Sue,
A right salty gal was Sue, through and through.
She’d followed the strikes all over the west,
And chasin’ the gold was what Sue she liked best.

As summer was fadin’ there came word to her
A rush was a hapnin’, for certain, for sure
Yes, gold had been found, big nuggets, coarse flakes
“I’m goin’”, said Sue, “Whatever it takes.”



It seems in Montanny they had them a strike
And word of a rush, all gold diggers like.
So Sue grabbed her gear and loaded her mules
With beans, bacon, flour and stout minin’ tools

At last she was ready to head way up north
Sue knew t’would be tough, but still she set forth.
For week after week it was lonely and cold
But Sue couldn’t shake the lure of that gold.

The weather degraded the farther she went
The storms she encountered were not heaven sent
The goin’ was slow, the wind howled through the trees
The snow was so deep Sue wished she’d brung skis.



Them passes were chokin’ with oodles of snow
The air in those mountains was forty below
Now Sue weren’t no Pilgrim, but this here was tough
The sun had skedaddled, things just seemed too rough.



Sue needed a spot to ride out that storm
A shelter and fire to get herself warm
Well, off in the spindrift she spied her a light
To Sue there was never a more welcome sight.

A cabin it was, for certain, for sure
The warmth that it offered was likely a cure
For her toes and fingers, those needle-like pains
(Escape from that storm didn’t take many brains.)

The cabin was home to one Hook-Nosed Bob Brown
His spirits were up for they never were down
As looks weren’t his strong suit, he’d loaded his mind
With right clever sayin’s from book quotes he’d find.


When Sue came a stumblin’ from out of that storm
Dear Hook-Nosed old Bobby just turned on the charm
He sat Suzie down, right close to the heat
Then went to his stable—those mules got a treat,

Bob stripped off their harness, their cold heavy packs
He rubbed them both down with dry gunnysacks
He broke out some oats, chucked them sweet meadow hay
Bob forked down fresh bedding where both mules could lay.

Then back to the cabin he flew off to check
How Sue was a doin’, but she’d hit the deck
A buffalo hide, she’d found near the bed
And close to the fire, she lay like the dead

Well Bob had read somewheres to let such things lie
(T’was somethin’ on dogs, if you woke them you’d die?)
So Bob settled in for the rest of that night
While the storm shook the cabin with all of its might.

The mornin’ it came with a hushed quiet chill
The wind had died out, but the cold was there still.
Bob built up the fire, then snuck off outside
To check on those mules who thanked him bright-eyed.

Then back to his cabin he sped to his guest
For Sue was a stirrin’, so Bob did his best
He threw on some bacon, them beans got a stir
Whatever Bob did, he did it for her.

For up on the wall, on a peg near the fire,
A stocking was hung, and for what you enquire?
T’was Christmas of course, and Bob had desired
Something special from Santa, just like he’d enquired.

So, here was Bob’s woman, fresh in from the storm
And on Christmas eve, he’d made his place warm.
He’d trusted in Santa to grant him his wish
That Sourdough Sue was a right purty dish.

Well Sue and Bob bonded. His nose wasn’t right,
But Bob was so witty, it fled from Sue’s sight;
She saw there instead of what others had seen
The solid-gold-Bob that had always there been.


So, this is the tale of Sourdough Sue
Who went in a rush to find gold, it’s true.
But Sue didn’t know of Saint Nick’s crafty plan
To shoot her off northward to find there a man.

And just so you’re certain, so there is no doubt
(I’m sure in your mind you’ve figured it out)
In Bob’s Christmas stocking, hung there on his wall
Was a note from old Santa explaining it all.


All the best,

Lanny

 

[Jim Hemmingway]

Doggone it Lanny, that was a wonderful read... haven't seen this one before!!!! Joanne says to tell you that she loves a happy ending.

Jim & Jo

 

[Lanny in AB]

Doggone it Lanny, that was a wonderful read... haven't seen this one before!!!! Joanne says to tell you that she loves a happy ending.

Jim & Jo

Thanks Jim, and Jo--glad you enjoyed it. You're right by the way. That poem has never been posted before.

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Lanny in AB]

Here's another one as per your request Jim.

Old Santy Claus Came out One Night.

The miner bent sat in his shack
T’was Chrismas eve, the sky pitch black.
A blizzard roared outside his place,
A lonesome night for him t' face.

Still, up he gits to hang his sock,
A nail he drives with played-out rock,
And hangs that stockin’ up with care
In hopes that Santy will be there.

Why--ain’t no cookies--nor no milk,
The finer things just ain’t his ilk.
No puddin’ pie, nor Christmas cake
The finer things ain’t his t' make.

His money’s gone; the claim don’t pay,
The vein he chased has pinched away.
Upon this ground he’s toiled his best
His four-score twenty’s now his test.

The things that always easy were
Just ain’t that way, not now, for sure.
Yet up he gits and hangs his sock,
He sez his prayers and winds the clock.

The storm, she smacks that shack about
But it’s built snug—the cold stays out.
So, off he goes t' sleepy land
But comin' soon, a visit’s planned.

It seems a grizzly’s wide-awake,
He’s huntin hard for grub t' take.
Then up he sneaks upon that shack,
This ain’t no Santy with his pack!

He checks the door and finds ‘er stout
It seems the miner’s locked him out.
That ain’t no Christmas way t' awe
Twelve-hundred pounds of fur and claw!

So, Mr. Bear he checks the place
And sets himself a torrid pace.
He’s had no lunch since early fall,
He finds a weak spot in the wall--

It’s at this point where shack meets hill
(The miner’s hid his mine with skill)--
That griz he pulls some stones away
And steps inside t' eat and play.

He’s in a room, but not the shack
(This spot's fer grub and stores t' pack)
His nose tells him there’s food in here
His stomach senses fun is near.

He finds a ham just hangin’ there
And chomps ‘er down without a care
He even finds a jug t' try
He rips the cork, and drinks ‘er dry.

He’s feelin’ rather light of head
He picks a spot, then off t' bed.
The world she turns from night t' day
The storm has purged itself away.

On Christmas morn the miner wakes
He checks his sock, his head he shakes.
He gives a sigh, he’s feelin’ poor,
And to his mine, un-bars the door

The storage room ain’t lookin’ fine,
A bruin’s there, he’s all supine. . .
If Santy Claus left him this brute,
Ol’ Santy thinks he’s mighty cute

Fer’ layin’ out this nasty gift,
That’s blockin’ up his minin’ drift!
Well, what t' do? Now that’s the trick
The miner’s thinkin’ mighty quick.

T' tippy-toe around that bear,
Well that would take the greatest care,
And if he slipped, or sneezed, or stomped
The miner’d get himself right chomped.

Then all at once he has a plan.
He spies himself a blastin’ can.
He twists some fuse and strikes a light,
He’ll do this job, and do ‘er right.

A lengthy roll toward the bear,
Then thunder happens everywhere!
Now Mr. Bear is wide-awake--
An exit hole he sure does make.

The bear he's gone, but that there blast
Set things in motion mighty fast.
The ground and hill began to quake,
The beams and posts began to shake.

That portal needed new, strong wood
(His Christmas morn weren’t lookin’ good).
“Aw Durn”, he cussed, “She’s gonna’ give.
There ain’t much chance I'm gonna' live.

But he was wrong, and when t'was done
A Christmas gift that miner'd won.
For near the portal, to the right
He saw himself a golden sight.

A vein of quartz all laced with gold
His wondering eyes did there behold.
And to his mind he knew this was
His real gift from Santy Claus!

All the best,

Lanny

P.S. Here's some background info on what inspired me to write this poem--there's a Charles Russell (legendary Western artist and author) connection, as I believe the story I'll refer to in my following notes is from one of his early collections:

This poem is a compilation of several different experiences--the one where the bear broke into the trailer (through the window) of some mining buddies of mine and drank all of their canned beer--got hammered--and then tore through the door when he came to and wanted out.

Another is an experience from a very old western tale I read where two prospectors are lost in a blizzard on Christmas Eve, and their pack horses stop in the trail, as they know there's a cabin just off the trail that their human companions can't see. So, the prospectors hole up in the cabin for the night, hang their stockings (a token Christmas celebration as they won't be making it to where the celebrations going on) and head off to sleep.

Well, in the back of the cabin (the tumbled-down part) there's a griz a hibernating. The big fire they've built in the rock fireplace awakens him (and the smell of the bacon they'd fried), and pretty soon there's a big bear right in the main room licking up their leavings by the fire. Well, hot lead starts flying thick and fast, the bear becomes Christmas dinner, and after a feast, the boys decide to check out the fallen down part of the cabin where the griz was hibernating.

It turns out that there's a bunk under the caved part of the roof on one side, with the skeleton of an old-timer in it--all dressed out in buckskins, a flint-lock rifle laying beside him--a true old-timer--one of the first. So, that gets them thinking, and they scour the ruined part of the cabin, find a hiding place, and there's a nice, fat poke of gold cached in it! (They gave the weight in the tale--it was most impressive, but I can't recall it right now.) So those two old boys got their visit from Santy Claus.

 

[Lanny in AB]

A Visit From Old Nick

Out West there toils a man named Nick
That fills folks’ wishes purdy slick,
Yet only when they’ve done their best
Will Nick step in te do the rest . . .

So get yourself a comfy spot
For you’ll hear things, as like as not
Which may seem false or might seem true
But how you see it’s up to you.

* * * * *

A boy there is whose name is Pete,
His sister Sue is mighty sweet,
And yet their lives are far from fine
Their Ma and Pa are clothed in pine.

Pneu-mo-ni-a—it holds the blame,
So things will never be the same.
‘Cause, life is rough for orphaned youth
And that’s the cold hard, durn-ed truth.

But these two kids has Uncle Joe.
His ways are kind. His speech is slow.
His hands are big. He’s got huge feet.
His sense of humor’s never beat.

But loyal, Uncle Joe is most,
He’d take his licks and be a ghost
Before he’d ever break his vow
To see them kids raised-up somehow.

But—times is bad and mighty tough,
Depression woes have made things rough,
‘Cause things is hard in ‘33
And that’s a fact now, yes-sir-ee.

The jobs is gone, the banks ‘r broke
And findin’ cash, it ain’t no joke.
But Joe he plots himself a plan
To garner riches if he can . . .

He packs his gear to head out West
Where Argonauts once did their best
To wrest the wealth from nature’s hand;
To dig some gold, is what he’s planned.

So one spring day, he bids adieu
To little Pete and tiny Sue.
He packs his gear and strides away
Into the West, to find some pay—

To give those kids a decent shot
At food and clothes, and like as not
At books and school and learnin’ fun.
His quest for gold is number one.

He sets his pace to reach the land
Where noble nuggets have been panned.
Through untold miles he keeps his pace,
To reach the hills, that guard the place.

At last he spies the quested spot—
Those magic hills where Oro’s got.
But as he strolls those treasured creeks,
Joe finds he’s late by many weeks.

The news she’s bad, for times is tough
And many folks has got it rough.
The Sourdoughs feel bad for him,
They know Joe’s chance, she’s mighty slim.

His farmin’ skills won’t help him know
How far to dig, or where to go.
But Joe decides he’ll stay to mine,
To work for others will be fine.

He’ll work until he’s learned the tricks.
For once he’s learned, it always sticks.
So one fall day, he quits the creeks
To hike some slopes—for gold he seeks.

A bedrock rim crops from the hill
It lures him in and fires his will.
A cut is there from days gone by—
A tunnel black has caught his eye.

A drift he views from long ago
He ducks his head and shouts hello,
An echo greets him in a blink—
The air, she’s got a potent stink!

A cougar’s made her den in there
For bones is scattered everywhere
And cougars they’s a tough old lot
And fightin’ them gets mighty hot.

Undaunted though, Joe probes about
And finds the big cat’s ventured out.
Off to the left he spies a seam
And starts his miner’s diggin’ dream.

A month of dirt--he runs it through.
It’s mighty poor, that’s awful true.
Yet on he digs to test some more.
Them kids needs him, of that he’s sure.

The days is short, the weather’s cold
The sluices gripped in Jack Frost’s hold.
The Sourdoughs, they start to fret—
They pull their freight and out they get.

Well Joe, he’s now the only one
That’s diggin’ dirt fer Winter fun.
Yet what he’s gettin’ ain’t worth spit
Dejected now, he packs to quit.

His heart is heavy, that’s fer sure,
For tortured ways there ain’t no cure.
Them kids wuz sorely countin’ on
His help, but now that hope is gone.

Sweet Sue and Pete—no Christmas—none.
No clothes, no books or school’in fun . . .
But then at once, Joe hears a sound
Which makes him snap his head around.

Just up the creek there stands a sight!
A Sourdough with beard of white—
With cow-belled mules all fully packed.
And through the snow old Joe he's tracked.

He’s heard of Joe from those gone south,
(Rich gossip spread by word of mouth).
Of miner’s woes the news spreads quick,
He shakes Joe’s hand—his name is Nick.

Old Nick he tells a tale or two
Of how things wuz in ’62,
Of how he struck it rich those days,
Then left for Frisco’s finer ways.

But now Nick’s bored from sittin’ there
In all that balmy ocean air,
His life’s gone soft with wine and song—
Not bein’ here, it sees all wrong.

Imagine Nick’s complete surprise,
When up the hill he looks and spies
That Joe’s been diggin’ in his drift!
His bushy brows give quite the lift.

Nick scrambles up to check his mine
And then his eyes begin to shine.
He says to Joe, “Now here’s a sight.
You took a left instead of right.

The clay that’s blue, she marks the way
That maps the seam where lies the pay.
And here’s a truth that must be told,
It leads the way to sassy gold.”

Old Nick and Joe worked day and night
And chased blue clay off to the right.
At last they found a seam of pay
Where fines, and flakes, and nuggets lay.

Well Joe, he hollered, hooped and cried
And Nick he grinned a mile wide!
When Joe he turned to thank Old Nick,
Old Nick had pulled a clever trick—

He’d up and vanished without trace!
No tracks or mules any place.
No trails through the virgin snow.
No camp of Nick’s just down below.


* * * * * *

The Argonauts, when tales are told,
Recount of Nick from days of old,
Who lost his life in ’62,
While minin’ seams with clays of blue.

Out West there toils a man named Nick
That fills folks’ wishes purdy slick,
Yet only when they’ve done their best
Will Nick step in te do the rest . . .

All the best,

Lanny

 

[Jim Hemmingway]

Thanks for these two additional poems Lanny, I think everyone reading these will appreciate that you are a superbly gifted and thoughtful writer. These two poems were especially timely here, as we just had our larger family Christmas dinner tonight. After cleaning-up the dishes and so forth, I tuned into the forum while the wife was sitting in her glider reading... next to me at the desk. It was a lot of fun reading these rollicking pieces to her as she laughed and chuckled along... while just outside the window lurks winter's cold and blowing snow.

Also, thankyou for the background information and for the lovely photos that so well depict the reality of a prospector's existence in the far places. We are very fortunate to have you here Lance, and thanks ever for doing this.

Jim & Jo.

 

[Lanny in AB]

Thanks Jim for your generous compliments. I sincerely appreciate them.

I'm glad you enjoyed the poems.

All the best,

Lanny