THE BRANDING OF THE FORESTS 



By the "POET LARIAT" 



(On July I many of the National Forests were given new names) 



r^ OME and listen to" my story, all ye Forest Service men, 

 Once the Forester was sitting in his spacious, lofty den. 

 And he wiped his sweating forehead as he grabbed his stubby pen, 

 And he swore by all things sacred that he'd name 'em, there and then. 



So he punched a handy button and the messengers they came. 



Like a bunch of baseball rooters, when the umpire hollers 'Game!" 



And he sent this word to each one of his tried and trusty lads : 



"This day we'll have a christening; come and make believe you're dads." 



"Make 'em short, and make 'em simple," was the edict of the Chief. 

 "Chop 'em down to small dimensions, like a goat's tail — short and brief." 

 "No two deckers — no sky scrapers. One word only, nothing more." 

 And the workers murmured gently, whispered low — and softly swore. 



So they gathered in that aerie where the Chieftain sits in state, 



And they puzzled, and they foozled, and each scratched his aching pate. 



And they cut 'em and they slashed 'em, and they changed those names about. 



Oh, they placed them endways — sideways, and they turned them inside out. 



They hunted through the legends of the heroes — young and old. 

 They delved into the records of explorers brave and bold. 

 They searched for names of Indians, and of patriots so great. 

 And they studied o'er the doings of the big men of the state. 



So, after weeks of planning, and of scheming deep and dark. 



That went back almost in:o the days of Noah's Ark. 



They got those forests branded (sure they burned 'em good and deep). 



And the christening was over — then the boys began to weep. 



Quoth a "Super" from the Northwest, "'Tis indeed a bitter pill, 

 Vv'hen these people on my forest ask me, "Who was Bonneville?'" 

 To be forced to own up, honest, "You can search me — don't ask me," 

 Mebbe he's from o'er the ocean, from the wilds of gay "Paree." 



Oh, they took "Eklaka," "Long Pine," "Slim Buttes," and "Short Pine" too. 



And they bunched them up with "Cave Hills," then they named the whole thing "Sioux. 



And "Tillamook," and "Umpqua," (names that almost broke your jaw). 



Why, they've hitched 'em up together under sibillant "Suislaw." 



From the far Blue Mountain region came a query hushed and low : 



"Which of the Whkrrt^ins is it? For Fm just obliged to know." 



Here's a man who wants a permit for to pasture Baalam's ass, 



But he swears he's 'feered to graze him upon Whitman's "Leaves of Grass." 



Then from the peaks of Idaho there came a fearful yell. 

 You used to call it "Koo-ten-ai," but now 'tis "Pen d'Oreille." 

 "Hold on a bit — perhaps you're wrong," a ranger whispered slyly, 

 "'Tis Irish, sure — a good old name ; they call it plain "O'Reille'." 



And so it goes all o'er the West, and even with the ladies. 

 This christening job has mixed things up and just raised merry Hades. 

 So take your time, and learn the list, or else you'll lose your standing. 

 And live to cuss the fatal dav that saw this forest branding. 



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