Bob Brehl shared with The Apollos four students’ tribute to Gould Hoyt, a former professor whose rich legacy at the college includes the Woodsmen’s Team, Forestry Club Cabin, draft horses and more. It was written by John E. Eaton ’78 and Brian M. Maher ’79, with print and art by David D. Smith ’78 and Margaret (Knott) Lord ’79.

Twas a Monday in silvi, when all through the woods,
Not a student was stirring, it was like no one could.

The pulpwood was strewn through the woods without care,
In hopes that the skipper soon would be there.

The students were snuggled all under a tree,
With visions of good grades that came for free.

And Pillis in his Ford and Artie in his scout,
Had just settled down for a good keg of stout.

When out in the woods there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the boughs to see what was the matter.

Away through the forest I flew with a flash,
Threw down the pevee and up through the flash.

The logs in the midst of the new fallen snow,
Gave a look of confusion I just didn’t know.

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But five horses and twelve logs in the rear.

With a driver so cheery, lively and bright,
I knew in a moment it must be Mr. Hoyt.

More rapid than loggers, his horses they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name.

“Now Leo and Lady, now Belle, Queen, and Midnight,
To the top of the log, to the top of the pile
Now skid away, skid away, skid away all.”

As dry leaves before the skidder they fly,
When met by an obstacle, they mount to the sky.

So up to the tree tops the horses they flew
With a skid full of logs and Mr. Hoyt too!

And then with a twinkling, I heard in the snow
The prancing and pawing of each humungous hook!

As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down on the balsam, Mr. Hoyt came with a bound.

He was dressed all in wool, from his head to his chaps,
And his clothes were tarnished with all kids of saps.

A bundle of boughs he had flung on his back.
And he looked like a logger just back from his track.

His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples so cheery!
When he first caught sight of that huge black cherry.

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the dicky on his chin was all covered with snow.

The reigns of the horses he held tight in his teeth
As he rode over the slash that lay underneath.

He had a stern look and a very mean face.
As he sneared at the horses, they picked up their pace.

He was short and quick and knew his stuff
And he smiled when I saw him, but I knew he was tough.

The look in his eye and the twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had plenty to dread.

He spoke not a word as he tied off his horse
But went straight to lecture, no doubt of course.

And laying a pevee aside of his nose
And giving a nod, towards the cabin he rose

As he jumped from the balsam that was beginning to fall,
We heard the word “timber” that was known as his call.

As he jumped from the tree he heard him relate,
“And be here at nine! And do not be late!”