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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 |
