DEAR SUN SPOTS: I want to thank you for the information on how to get rid of sumac (Dec. 26). My daughter said your idea to get a goat was the best one.
Now I have another question. When my kids were young, I used to sing a song to them. My son in Montana wants the words to it, but I can’t remember all of it. The name of it is “My Lover Was a Logger.”
If you or anyone out there does remember it, I would appreciate it if they would send it to you so you could print it or they can call me.
Thank you for all of the advice, etc., that you print in your column. It’s very helpful. — Hazel, Jay
ANSWER: Sun Spots found a song online called “The Frozen Logger” that has the words “my lover was a logger” in it. It was written by James Stevens in the 1940s. It is categorized as a “silly” song, so it seems a likely candidate for the one you sang to your children.
As I sat down one evening, twas in a small cafe,
A 40-year-old waitress, to me these words did say:
“I see you are a logger, and not just a common bum,
‘Cause no one but a logger stirs his coffee with his thumb.
My lover was a logger, there’s none like him today;
If you poured whisky on it, he’d eat a bale of hay
He never shaved his whiskers from off of his horny hide;
He hammered in the bristles, and bit them off inside.
My logger came to see me, twas on a winter’s day;
He held me in his fond embrace, which broke three vertebrae.
He kissed me when we parted, so hard it broke my jaw;
I could not speak to tell him, he’d forgot his mackinaw.
I saw my logger lover, go striding through the snow,
Going gaily homeward, at forty-eight below.
The weather it tried to freeze him, it did its very best;
At a hundred degrees below zero, he buttoned up his vest.
It froze clear down to China, it froze to the stars above;
At a thousand degrees below zero, it froze my logger love.
They tried in vain to thaw him, and if you believe it, sir
They made him into axe blades, to cut the Douglas fir.
And so I lost my lover, and to this cafe I’ve come,
And here I wait till someone, stirs his coffee with his thumb.”
DEAR SUN SPOTS: I would like to thank the lady who wrote about people who do not pronounce their “t’s” (Jan. 26).
I am English, and every time I fail to hear those t’s, I scream. Often I am asked if I am from Bri-in. There’s a “t” in there! Also, it is “curtain,” not “cur-in.” Stop being lazy. — A Brit from Rumford
DEAR SUN SPOTS: I love your column. You do so much good. I wish every paper in the country had a similar column.
I am so glad I am not the only one who is being driven crazy by the gradual erosion of the letter “t”! I thought it was just a local problem until I heard an announcer on NPR refer to “Public Radio Innernational.”
I asked a friend who is a speech and drama teacher, and she said it’s a form of linguistic laziness, a bad habit left over from childhood, but as we all know, bad habits can be acquired at any age. — Chris, Monmouth
DEAR SUN SPOTS: The Hartford Community Church is looking for crafters, food vendors and organizations, etc., who are interested in joining us at our Spring Fling Fair on Saturday, March 31. It will be from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. at the Hartford Town Hall, Route 140.
The cost per table will be $10, and the tables will be provided at the hall. We will have 15 tables available, so call me soon to reserve your table. Thank you. — Arlene Nason, 224-7355, email@example.com
This column is for you, our readers. It is for your questions and comments. There are only two rules: You must write to the column and sign your name (we won’t use it if you ask us not to). Please include your phone number. Letters will not be returned or answered by mail, and telephone calls will not be accepted. Your letters will appear as quickly as space allows. Address them to Sun Spots, P.O. Box 4400, Lewiston, ME 04243-4400. Inquiries can also be e-mailed to firstname.lastname@example.org.