So, Fern, here's a song I wrote may years ago about Cliff's uncle. He wasn't necessarily the saint this song might make him out to be, but he loved Cliff and me, so we just loved him back. One day perhaps I'll make a video of me singing the song, so you'll know what the tune sounds like.
UNCLE GEORGE'S CABIN
copyrighted: Donna Wood
A young man built a cabin when he was twenty-one:
An independent fellow, took no lip from anyone.
He knew how to stretch a dollar and how to save a dime,
And some folks didn't like him cause he always spoke his mind.
He had an old Coleman lantern to light up his only room;
His lullaby was two old hound dogs, baying at the moon.
Two hundred acres of timber, and that man knew every tree,
And Uncle George's cabin seemed like paradise to me.
He chose a place to build his house sheltered from the cold.
A spring was there for water; there was room to stretch his soul.
There was wood to keep his body warm and squirrels there for meat,
And Uncle George's cabin never lacked for things to eat.
They tell me his wife cheated when he still was in his prime
And he sent her from the cabin: “But the kids,” he said, “are mine.”
Alone he raised three children, and he must have done it good,
Cause they all still remember that cabin in the woods.
Some folks called him “ornery”, but I'd just call him free;
He lived the way he wanted, and I can't say that for me.
You loved him or you hated him; there was no in between,
And Uncle George's cabin still calls me, in my dreams.