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1. |
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Long and lonely are the highways that lead here
Late travelers chasing the finite summer days
Soon returning to the hollow sheen of suburbia
Before the Northwoods descend into winter again
Tall are the forests; breathe deep of the air here
Cold and clear is the water in these, the greatest of lakes
Many thousands more inland; cedar and iron tint copper
Where whitetail and walleye roam their respective domains
And if the cities you reside in ever grow wearisome
And your travels may find you above the Mighty Mackinac
Or somewhere on 41, Northbound from Wisconsin
If you seek a pleasant peninsula, look about you
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2. |
Superior's Song
03:22
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Violent and vast is her icy expanse
A great wolf running wild and untamed
Colder than the ocean, as free and ferocious
This sea, Gitchee Gumee, her name
In her turbulent depths undiscovered
Many a life has been lost
The mighty ore boats that dare to enter her lair
Are sure to count the cost
Oh, in her midsummer majesty
Oh, in November's malevolent gales
Oh, hear her wild siren song
Oh, hear all her tales
Strong are the people that settled here
A paradise forged on iron and pine
Unrelenting in winter, brave cabins of timber
And the men who worked the iron ore mines
As the summer's tranquility passes
How our hearts grow fond of those days
Nostalgia's dust, how ferrous and rust
Washed away by Superior's waves
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3. |
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4. |
Robert Traver
02:14
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Her gems come as forests, rivers, and lakes
All her prominence carved atop the lower 48
Dividing the empires of three great freshwater seas
In summer she welcomes in friends, new and old
With a promise of memories yet to be told
Superior’s shores are inviting in late July
‘Round the end of September her colors will change
Resplendently dressed in a red and orange blaze
Standing ghostly and stark by the whitetail opening day
As the North wind brings back the first snow of the season
Ice on the lakes and blanketing trees
And the snow-laden pines gleam like Christmas decorations
Four seasons, full circle come April or May
As the crystallized snow slowly washes away
Peepers awake once again from their long winter’s dream
Each season gives reason of why this place has to be seen
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5. |
Trout Magic
01:46
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Lyrics from “Testament of a Fisherman” by Robert Traver
Permission by Kitchie Hill, Inc.
I fish because I love to;
Because I love the environs where trout are found, which are invariably beautiful, and hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly;
Because of all the television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing I thus escape;
Because, in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing things they hate, my fishing is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion;
Because trout do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed or impressed by power, but respond only to quietude and humility and endless patience;
Because I suspect that men are going along this way for the last time, and I for one don’t want to waste the trip; because mercifully there are no telephones on trout waters;
Because only in the woods can I find solitude without loneliness;
Because bourbon out of an old tin cup always tastes better out there;
Because maybe one day I will catch a mermaid;
And, finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant – and not nearly so much fun.
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6. |
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In the rushing Escanaba of Hiawatha song
Lay me by my father, and as the years go on
In the rushing Escanaba of Hiawatha song
Two lives upon the water, their spirit never gone
That summer was a dry one, the year he first came home
A wife and newborn waiting at a station down the road
That river was a wild one, its alders hanging low
The life the war had stole of him, ‘round the bend, returning slow
He felt the tension growing and the hair-fine leader whine
The net, his father readied, calling out to take his time
The rush of cold came sudden when his footing snagged the line
The rocks lay hard beneath him, nothing injured but his pride
On and on, the river rolling ‘til the delta opens wide
Some seasons offered more than others where the secret waters hide
Long and dark, the icy winters, knowing spring they’d someday find
Sixty years chasing a spirit in the wild Northern pines
The rain had just subsided enough to see across
They’d not been there together since that battle dad had lost
Lacking strength to hold a fly rod, his means to count the cancer’s cost
There he’d be set free forever beyond the stones the river tossed
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7. |
Michigan's Song
03:54
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The highway signs are harbingers that hold their secrets in plain sight
Stretching far beyond these longing eyes can see, she’s a mirror in the first light
Her rivers are the gateways to places you never thought you’d find
Each town with its own tale to tell and I, just another passerby
These fields roll on for what may seem like hours and never-ending days
Southbound on an eight-lane winding through a concrete and steel maze
Therein a thought compels me, for her great waters reach a thousand different ways
Dizzied skylines and lonely shorelines both look upon her waves
Roll, old Michigan, roll
For the millions in Milwaukee and Chicago
Steam, old Michigan, steam
Sleeping Bear and the summer reveler’s dream
Roll, old Michigan, roll
Roll, old Michigan, roll
Ninety miles and counting as the sun paints its brush atop the pines
Throwing orange and hues of gold across the road and these full and favored eyes
One last time glance out the window as the water withdraws into the sky
Once again, the day’s end, I’ve arrived; God bless these highway signs
Long, old Michigan stretches long
Indiana to the mighty Mackinac
Lore, old Michigan’s lore
U.S. 2 and the wild Northern shore
Roll, old Michigan, roll
Roll, old Michigan, roll
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8. |
For the Coming Storm
03:29
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Low on the Western horizon
I watch as the sky turns to stone
Far off across the Great Water
Storm clouds gathering home
The North wind uproots the vast stillness
The tree line obscures in the snow
Stoke full your fires with hardwood
I feel the chill in my bones
And this wind will carry me home
And this wind will carry my soul
And this wind will carry me home
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9. |
Pole Line
06:20
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Ghosts across the river, barren trees shiver
The cold North won’t yield her ground
My senses asunder, I pause and a wonder
When lighter days make their way down
And I know it’s gonna be a while
Gonna be a while before the winter takes its leave
Ten below, the pole line runs for miles
The pole line runs for miles where I can finally breathe
Left with few choices but the wind and its voices
Supposing it’s time to turn home
Casting aside my wandering pride
I know that’s a story all its own
With winter receding, its brittle snow bleeding
Out under the lengthening light
Bleak skies long behind us, may they often remind us
Of summer eyes, wild and bright
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10. |
Cold & Free
04:39
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There's a light on the water
The sky is an author
A ghost writer of our stories and times
Though we call this place home
It's never our own
Our livelihood, logging and mines
But is her land expendable,
Her yields dependable?
A profit that soon will run dry
For all the waters deep inland; Superior, Huron, and Michigan
Give life to the land and the sky
Cold and free
Is the North wind over fresh water seas
Tranquil and low
December fields of lake effect snow
Calm and still
Nightfall and the July whippoorwill
So won't you tell me
Do you want to see this land remain pristine?
Do you want to see this land remain pristine?/Our lakes and our rivers run clean
(Do you want to see this land remain pristine?)
This place is not replaceable
Nor history untraceable
Do we care what we leave when we’re gone?
But for now all I offer
Despite the world and its bothers
Someday will be a song
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Under This Cold Sky Marquette, Michigan
Genre-spanning songwriting shaped by the Upper Peninsula wilderness.
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Orion Demos, Lansing
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