Timber By Paul Croy

Timber By Paul Croy I typed the following from my most precious book, “Old Blazes,” by Paul Croy. I have loved his poems for over fifty years myself, and they have been very influential in my life. I met him about twenty five years ago at his home. He was in his eighties then. We corresponded, and his last letter to me tells of his deer hunt. He said he was nearly in tears, knowing it was his last. Two years ago I made a diligent search to find relatives of Paul Croy or at least someone who could give permission to print his poem “Meat in the Pot” from “Old Blazes” in Bugle, the Journal of the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation, to which I had sent the poem informally. They liked it so much they wanted to print it and asked me to see if I could get permission. I was able to find a couple of people who knew him, but nobody with authority. Finding none, the editor decided to print it anyway. Here’s the copyright from the book itself: Copyright April, 1937 by Paul Croy Copyright 1947 --All Rights Reserved— By Paul Croy, And Ross Hall, Sandpoint, Idaho Lithographed in USA By Myers and Co, Inc. Topeka, Kansas Second Edition Revised August, 1947 Second Printing. This story takes place in North Idaho, which was big timber country way back when. You can still see some of the old railroad grades, springboard notches, and evidence from the old logging days. Roadside historical markers tell some of the story, but not the drama that these men lived. Please turn the page and read on. I love this poem so much I’ve committed much of it – and other poems by Paul Croy – to memory. For me, that’s noteworthy.

Timber By Paul Croy My pal them days was Ern’ Brazeau, an easy goin’ “Jack,” His jawbone line was too damned square to let him take a statement back. We lived in pretty rugged times back there in ‘92, And I was big for eighteen years— just learnin’ now to chew. We worked along from camp to camp; just hellin’ here and there. And licked a lot of skookum men— and done it fair and square. And when the “panic” hit the “states” we cinched our belts a hole, And got along as best we could and didn’t ask no dole. I saw Ern’ first in a eatin’ house with a doubtful lookin’ “Jane’ (And them’s the kind who won’t abide a slur upon their name) And some big burly miner come a-leerin’ past their booth; He looked at Ernies’ girl and said what likely was the truth— But Ernie laid his smokin’ down beside his steamin’ dish; “I’ll lick him,” said he quietly, “just let your soup cool, Miss,” I helped ‘em pack the feller out and bound Ern’s busted hand, Says he, “I guess they got to learn, “A River Pig’s a man!” I got my ham and eggs an’ spuds and moved to Ernies’ booth, And we got well acquainted; me, an’him, and Ruth.

While we was talkin’ through our smokes like new-found friends will do, Why back come “Ernie’s miner” with his whole damned “muckin’” crew. We just had time to swing our chairs— disablin’ three or four— When Ernie hollered, “Timber!” an’ headed for the door. I just cleaned up the cripples while Ernie wrecked the place; And helpin’ clear the crowded door was old, white-haired Lew Mace. We partnered up, the three of us— and traveled for a space, And then we filed on a “stead” and Lew, he worked the place. And me an’ Ern, we settled down to work in local camps, And sort of called the shanty home— and pitied loggin’ tramps. We’d always split our checks with Lew, an’ then we’d go to town And “blow ours in” on cards and gin, but Dad, he’d “salt his down.” Now all of us was woodsmen and we loved our tools of trade; The axe Ern had was one Old Dad had worked on nights, and made. One day in spring we drew our “time” and took our even shares, And Ern and me went on a spree to drown our winter cares. While losin’ stacks at poker Ern talked of Old Dad Mace: Of how he saved each cent he made, and a card sharp, known as Ace, Cashed in his chips and left the game and it was breakin’ day ‘Fore Ern and me, cleaned properly, got started on our way. We’d just reached callin’ distance of where our cabin stood

When we was stopped by muffled shots that echoed through the woods. I looked at Ern—we never spoke— (except that Ernie swore) And he met Ace right face to face as he stepped through the door. With both hands full of crumpled bills Ace tried to get his gun, And past the two I saw Old Lew, and knew that he was done. Then Ernie swung an’ knocked Ace out but turned before he fell; Says he to me, “We’ll flip to see who sends this skunk to hell.” He chucked a coin, and called for “tails;” it jingled on the floor— We bent to see—says he with glee, “I do this little chore!” And then he got Dad’s savings from the pocket of the sneak, And grabbed the lout and dragged him out and rolled him in the creek. Ern got his axe that he kept cased and standin’ by his bed; He looked at Lew and took a chew; “We’ll square this thing” he said. We dragged that thievin’ killer to a slashin’ in the flat, And all the way he begged and prayed; “The dirty, spineless rat!” Ern found a dead and limbless tree that stood on level ground; “I guess this ‘stick’ will do the trick, it’s big enough, and sound.” He started from the blackened snag and stepped off twenty yards; He marked the place and turned to Ace: “This ain’t no game of cards, Your cheatin’, murderin’, dirty tricks won’t get you out of this, You’ll watch me while I ‘drop’ this tree

and me, I never miss!” We jerked him to the spot Ern marked, and stood him so he’d see; We tied his legs to driven pegs, his up-stretched arms to trees, And then the thing we planned to do came to him gradually; “Repent your sins,” Ern says to him “While I go fall this tree.” Ace yelled and cursed, and bribed and begged; and fought against his ties. What hopes he had he’d killed with Dad; he screamed his futile lies. Then Ernie gauged the tree and swung the axe he loved so well, And every chip that left the bi t sent Ace a step toward hell. Those measured axe blows marked the seconds he had left of life, The imps of hell who heard him yell prepared him further strife. Then Ace’s screamin’ voice grew weak to harsely mumbled pleas, His bulgin’ eyes looked toward the sky and watched that gnarled tree. The under-cut was finished now and Ern had stepped around, And blow on blow left less to go than what lay on the ground. Ace sagged against the bloody ropes that held his twisted wrists, His fear-set face was white as paste; I watched as through a mist. His blood-shot eyes were glued aloft, a froth came on his lip, And then he screamed and with it seemed to let his reason slip. He jabbered like some senseless ape; I felt an urge to pray-Then looked at Ace; “God, what a face!” his hair was turning gray!

Then Ernie gave the axeman’s yell; “Timber!—watch his face,” I glanced to see that leanin’ tree hung “skybound” over Ace, It quivered to another blow like some sail-laden mast, And one last cry rose to the sky and blended with the crash. There wasn’t much to bury but we scraped it in a hole, And that’s the way we made Ace pay and sent Old Dad his soul.

Some of you may find the following glossary helpful. I have known these terms all my life, and Paul Croy is in no way responsible for any errors I have made in describing them. “Timber!” -- the traditional outcry a faller yells when his tree is about to fall. Even today, fallers give an outcry, but now it is just “Whoop!” River Pig – The name men who drove logs down the river in rafts gave to themselves. At the turn of the century, log drives were common in North Idaho, on the St. Joe, Clearwater, and other rivers. River pigs ran on top of the logs with their corked boots, boots with metal spikes that gave them traction on the slick wet logs. They lived and ate in a wanagan, a floating barge with a tent cookhouse and bunk that floated along with the logs. River Pigs lived a dangerous and difficult life, and they were tough. Really tough. undercut -- a wedge of wood cut from the side of the tree in which the faller wants the tree to fall. snag – a dead tree, usually with few or no branches remaining. Faller’s axe – A double bitted axe with a long bit for reaching deeply into the cut. Typically, one bit was sharpened finely for quick cutting and the other sharpened for strength to chop knots