Posted by Heather Harris

From the Ballad of Blasphemous Bill:





You know what it's like in the Yukon Wild

when it's sixty-nine below;

When the ice-worms wriggle their

purple heads through the crust of the

pale blue snow;

When the pine-trees crack like little guns

in the silence of the wood,

And the icicles hang down like tusks

under the parka hood;

When the stove-pipe smoke breaks sudden

off, and the sky is weirdly lit,

And the careless feel of a bit of steel burns

like a red-hot spit;

When the mercury is a frozen ball, and the

frost-fiend stalks to kill-

Well, it was just like that the day when I

set out to look for Bill.





-Robert Service





So, I thought I'd take a stab at one for our winter climate:

















Ballad of the Impatient Gardener





You know what it's like in the Western Wood

when the rivers overflow

When the earthworms wriggle their

swollen heads through the muck of the

mud below

When the fir trees blow like angry beasts

in the howling, fearsome gale,

And the rain runs down like slimy trails,

from the wet and loathsome snail;

When the clammy cold seeps sudden

in; and your bones begin to ache,

And the comfort of your woolen sock is

lost in your boot's lake;

When the gutter's clogged with rotted leaves, and the

storm drains start to fail-

Well, it was just like that the day when I

set out to plant my kale.

















When the rain starts falling, and doing any kind of gardening, even planting the five raspberries growing wan and sickly in my garage, is impossible, I turn, like any addict facing a supply shortage, to the next most desirable activity: reading. Last night I came upon this gem of a poem from Robert Service, the Bard of the Yukon: