The Mountain Laurel
The Journal of Mountain Life

Visit us on FaceBookGenerations of Memories
from the
Heart of the Blue Ridge


By Carl "Skinny" Rowland © 1989

Issue: September, 1989

Now old Spot and me were huntin' bear,
away up high peak trail,
But we only found a track or two,
and those were mighty stale.

So we kept right on a going,
now we didn't know just where,
It's sure enough the bears ain't here,
so the critters must be there.

Well we went on down through canyons,
then climbed the far off peaks,
and walked on down the ridges,
and splashed through cold deep creeks.

Then we zigzagged forth and back,
and walked around and round,
but we didn't see a bear or track,
as we covered miles of ground.

By this time snow had started,
and the wind it bent the trees,
and all our grub had run out,
and I thought for sure we'd freeze.

Now I knew just where our home was,
and that fact is for sure,
but I couldn't seem to figure out,
just where it was we were.

Well days went by and we crawled on,
and each day we got weaker,
we were close to starving now,
and our outlook was much bleaker.

Now old Spot and me soon eyed each other,
both with food in mind,
and about that time I climbed a tree,
to see what I could find.

Well bless my luck, there lay the town,
now survival was a cinch,
except old Spot and me was starving weak,
we couldn't move an inch

But once again my brilliant mind,
up and saved our fateful day,
I unsheathed my knife while grabbing Spot,
and made a desperate play.

Now I listened to the painful yelp,
and the howl and mournful whoop,
Old Spot had lost his once long tail,
and I made some tail soup.

Well that is what had saved our day,
and not just mine alone,
because I ate that tail soup,
then gave poor old Spot the bone.