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TIME AND THE FLYING SNOW
©Gary Bowman

Now, gather round, people, if you’ve got the time, and listen to my tale
It was the spring of ’46, when we hit the Emigrant Trail
Bound for sunny California, ‘fore the passes were closed by winter snow
Nine covered wagons left Missouri that day, two-thousand miles to go

We crossed the Blue River, tho it took several days, on account of the driving rains
On to Nebraska, along the Platte River, our wagons crossed the Great Plains
For all the hardship and toil, such beauty cannot be told
The antelope grazed, our spirits were raised, 1000 more miles to go

We hit Beaver Creek, on the 4th of July, and reveled with spirit and zest
With speeches, salutes, fiddles and flutes, then, took several days rest
Up the Sweetwater, and through Devil’s Gate, to the Continental Divide
As we traveled on, a new world dawned, and we left the old one behind

The trail split, at Bridgers Old Fort, where we rested for 4 or 5 days
Off to the north was a well-traveled path, that was surely the better way
But we turned southwest, a shortcut, we thought, that was a reckless mistake
O’er the Wasatch, and across the vast desert just south of the Great Salt Lake

We crossed those rough mountains and salt desert, too, and paid a mighty high cost
The shortcut, it warn’t no shortcut at all, and precious time was lost
Rivers dried, and the oxen died, and we lost a wagon or so
It’s Rockies to the east, Sierras to the west, 600 miles to go

We reached the Sierra Nevadas, at last, ’twas October 31st
Up the steep slopes, past Truckee Lake, hoping we’d seen the worst
Just a mile shy, Of that final pass, California would soon be in sight,
But, weary and tired, We sat ’round the fire, Then bade each other good night

‘Round the campfires, Under the trees,
Great feathery flakes, Came whirling down.
The woods were filled, With falling stars,
Softly, Silently, Touching the ground

This dreaded storm is upon us, With hail, sleet and snow,
Crying and lamentations, Oh, how those shrieking winds blow
The dread of death is upon us, Our hearts are filled with fear
No earthly words can describe, The night’s bitter cries of despair

Gentle rains fall, on the valleys below, oh, Sacramento
Rain in the valley, But here on the mountain, We’re trapped in a prison of snow
So, here we wait, At Heaven’s Gate, For death or rescue to come
Helplessly hoping, Day after day, Time and the Flying Snow,
Time and the Flying Snow
​
Now that you’ve heard this oft-told story, From one of the few that survived,
A more tragic tale has never been told, I’m grateful to just be alive
So, heed these words for the journeys you take, As you travel across this great land
Don’t take no cutoffs, And hurry along, Hurry as fast as you can