The picture is from Newark, Ohio. I missed them last night but might be able to see the lights tonight.
Posted on 11/07/2004 4:23:29 PM PST by daler
Amazing Aurora Borealis display tonight, if you're able to view it.
Just a heads-up.
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Actic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lac LeBarge
I cremeated Sam McGee.
Thank you Sam!
Just came in from feeding horses, and it's a plain ole dark sky here tonight.
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ‘round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ‘taint being dead--it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”
A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked;” . . . then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Used to watch them when I was in Montana, spectacular!
Bummer, I'd like to see the real thing someday.
;)PaMom
But we have more vote fraud than you and we have John Street as our illustrious mayor. Ha ha ha. Go ahead and gloat,
"With the aurora borealis flaming coldly overhead, or the stars leaping in the frost dance, and the land numb and cold under its pall of snow, this song of the huskies might have been the defiance of life, only it was pitched in minor key, with long-drawn wailings and half-sobs, and was more the pleading of life, the articulate travail of existence." - The Call of the Wild, Jack London.
Thanks for the heads up. Saw a nice band Central MO. Pictures didn't turn out. I've gotten pictures before. Not sure why I can't get them this time.
You're a good sport, Temple Owl. I just know how much Fast Eddie loves those Philly teams :)
Hey, so did I! Beautiful place up there on the lake with the sandy beaches and all. I miss it sometimes.
Right now in MN we just see a greenish glow near the horizon to the east and west, and a reddish glow to the south. I hope we didn't miss it!
I guess I'll have to read "Call of the Wild." Should I?
Here's RL Stevenson's epitaph, over his grave in Samoa, apparently:
**"Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie,
Glad did I live and gladly die
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me.
Here he lies where he longed to be.
Home is the sailor, home from the sea.
And the hunter home from the hill.**
The 19th century is underrated, IMO, in terms of appreciation, culture, literature and art. A fascinating period of time.
My Aunt has lived near Omena at the northern end of the Leelanau peninsula for many years. I remember one August back in the mid 80's when the sky was almost plasma-like for a couple of hours. Breathtaking!
Start with "To Build A Fire."
It's a high-impact short story, readable in half an hour.
My next suggestion would be "Call of the Wild", followed by "White Fang", and then, "The Sea Wolf."
If you read the above, no further encouragement will be necessary...I'm confident you'll gobble up his entire works.
To you flamers...yes, I'm aware he was a committed socialist...but a socialist a hundred years ago was probably equivalent to a present-day Bob Dole, so I think it's irrelavent.
Draw your own conclusions.
make that "individualist."
And, by the by, the Aurora is again covering the entire night sky here in northern MN...
Gracias.
The picture is from Newark, Ohio. I missed them last night but might be able to see the lights tonight.
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