A collection of essays, outdoor adventure stories, ruminations, wordplay, parental angst, and blatant omphaloskepsis, generated in all seasons and for many reasons at 64.8 degrees north latitude

Thursday, December 21, 2017

Emery Isthmus

Over the rivers and through the woods,
To Yentna and Skwenta and Rohn,
Jay really likes to pedal his bike
Through the deep and drifted snow.

Dodging the overflow, skipping the flu,
Helping his friends along,
With no icy bath on the trail to McGrath
His prospects were looking strong.

To Ophir and Cripple, Galena, Nulato,
Then waving the mushers home,
With unfrozen feet to Unalakleet
And Koyuk and Elim and Nome!

We have a little project. 
We made it out of clay.
And when it’s dry and ready,
With our project we will play.

Project, project, project,
We made it out of clay,
And duct tape, yarn, and hot glue
Also borax – that’s okay?

Project, project, project,
It’s congealing in this jar.
We didn’t know we left it
In the back seat of the car.

Project, project, project,
It’s for the Science Fair.
And look, we won these ribbons!
They appreciate us there.

 Jingle bells, jingle bells,
Jingle of the hail
Landing on our pack-rafts
As our paddles start to flail.
Jingle bells, jingle bells,
Jingle on our boat
Who thought that spring in Fairbanks
Was a great time for a float?

Dashing through the slush
From the melting springtime sleet,
Fighting with the brush
That tangles with our feet.
Up the hills we climb,
The pack-rafts in our packs,
We’re having a good time – sublime!
Thank goodness for the snacks.

Jingle bells, jingle bells,
Jingle through the bogs.
Oh what fun it is to hear
The bear-bells on the dogs!
Jingle bells, jingle bells,
Where are all the kids?
They sure walk a lot faster now
Than I recall they did.

Dashing through the mud,
Our backpacks feel like rocks,
Sinking in the crud
Over our wool socks.
But the hot tubs now are near;
The crew begins to smile.
Tolovana’s luxuries
Make everything worthwhile.

You better watch out,
It’s not a mistake.
You better not shout
That the news is all fake.
Climate change is coming to town.

The data still aren’t lying.
The rest of the world’s awake.
They know that we’ve been bad, not good,
So vote well, for goodness sake.

I’m making a list,
And checking the stats.
Science and research
Are boring like that.
Climate change is coming to town.

Good King John was… not so good,
At least as writ by Shakespeare
And acted in the sunny woods
With armor, pomp, and fake spears.

Hither, pages, wave thy flags,
Though the troops seem skittish.
You will soon be dressed in rags,
Neither French nor British.
The Duke of Austria’s a goon.
I lost my head deservedly.
Lizzy got to stab Melun,
And did so unreservedly. 

Warfare, poison, death, deceit,
And King John starts to sing now.
But hark, Prince Henry’s awfully sweet,
So Molly’s England’s king now.

And did these feet in recent times
Walk upon Fairbanks’ theater scene?
And was a calendar of this
In charitable venues seen?

The oranges have long been tossed,
My “Yorkshire’s” hard to understand,
But I still keep part of my heart
In England’s green and pleasant land.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the white Thanksgiving a month ago
And the white Halloween,
And all the days between
Which were, likewise, filled with snow.

I’m dreaming of a white New Year
And an ironically-white MLK Day
And Valentines will be white, too
And probably right through
White Passover, Easter and May Day

I’m dreaming of a…
Look, okay, can we say that it will be non-white by my birthday?
It’s on May tenth.


Wee Washoe emery isthmus,
Whew issue America bismuth,
Whee eschew Ameer eke Erasmus
Anahata nude deer!

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