treeplanting
Butter in the Bush
Based on a true story — a poem about an ordering mishap in a remote bush camp
Christmas comes but once a week When the chopper brings the grub. The cooks ordered five sticks of butter. The gaffer heard five tubs.
LT was in the camp that night. And the Scotch did make the rounds. As always, he had a bright idea. “Boys! Peg that tarp tight down!
We’ll heat up all this butter! And spread it down real thick. We’ll leave enough for the cooks to cook. Four tubs should do the trick!”
So we spread it all across the tarp And slid around like eels. At first it was fantastic fun. But fat, you see, congeals.
As the night got cooler And our brains woke up We thought, if there’s a bear around He’s sure to eat us up.
So we stripped off all our clothes And tossed them on the tarp. We partied in the shower tent, Buck-naked in the dark.
The water washed us mostly clean Of dirt and fat and sins. But boys and girls were intertwined wearing nothing but their skins.
Some tents were full; some tents were not, The night the butter flowed. And when I poked my head outside I saw that it had snowed.
All the mess from the night before Was covered now in white. We threw it all in a cargo net And tied it up right tight.
The chopper made an extra trip Of tarps and jeans and butter. And on the other side, the gaffer cried And insulted LT’s mother.
It wasn’t wise. It wasn’t smart. And, yes, I lost some clothes. But Christmas comes but once a week And it doesn’t always snow.
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