Julian Historical Society
Menu
Musings, reflections, ruminations...
This is where you will find more historic information than opinion (we hope).
Because Julian bloomed from the discovery of gold, maybe gold is where this column should begin.
here the trails grow dim in the waverin' heat
An' the sky is a cloudless blue; Where the purple ranges far away Are always callin' you. I hear their voices in the night When the moon comes over the rim, An' the smoke trees in the canyon wash Look spectral, white an' dim. I must go to the land of the blue mirage Where there's nary a drop to drink, I've got to go where the chollas grow, Way down in the Salton drink. The rugged ranges bleak an' bare With neither shrub nor tree, Their temple canyons deep an' wild Are always callin' me. My burro's packed, my canteen's filled, My bed roll lashed on tight, With powder an' grub an' pick an' drills, We're pullin' out tonight. We're headin' straight to the Malapi hills Where Peg-leg found his ore, An' where he found so much loose float, There must be plenty more. They found him deep in the Malapi hills, In the grease woods' scanty shade; They followed his crooked trail for miles, By the tracks his burro made. His shrunken hands clutched his dry canteen, An' close to his prospect hole, In the stillness of the night he had answered the call An' the desert claimed his soul. ............ EHD |
Archives
September 2018
Categories |
Proudly powered by Weebly