Cowichan Bay Village .com

With profound apologies to Clement Clarke Moore.

Several nights before Christmas, all through the Bay,
Not a power meter was stirring, not even at Ray’s;

The trees were all hung on the wires with care,
In hopes that BC Hydro soon would be there;

The people were nestled all blue in their beds,
While visions of steaming showers, electric heaters and hot cooked turkey dinners danced in their heads;

And mamma in her parka, and I in my ski suit,
Lay over-stuffed in the bed and felt quite the hoots.

When out on the dock there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen trees
Also shone directly on a figure who hunched on his knees.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear ,
But a very old genset, a big jug of fuel, and the guy had a beer,

With a pull of the rope, so lively and quick, 
Yet I knew in a moment it wasn’t going to do the trick.

More rapid than eagles his curses they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, $#@!!! now, £¥¥÷$!!! now, *^%&!!! and ?()$×!!!
Aw, *#:#%!!! on %%%#$#€!!! Aw, @$&#^@%!!! and ^^^%$&*€¥!!!!

To the top of the dock! to the top of the pier!
Every word that he said was so horrible to hear!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the curses they flew,
And then the pull cord broke and he ranted anew.

And then, in a twinkling, I saw on the slope
Another guy coming who carried a rope.

As I drew in my hand, and was turning to go,
Down the ramp came this fellow to see the mad-man below.

He was dressed all in Nomex, from his head to his boots,
And his clothes were all covered with pine needles and roots;

A bundle of gear he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a local just up from his shack.

His eyes — Who cares about his eyes! He had a rope and a screw driver. He gave these to the ranting curser and left… You didn’t expect me to re-do the ENTIRE poem did you? For the love of Mike!

Anyway…

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And undid the recoil starter cover; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He pulled one more time and a bellow arose;

He sprang to his boat, to plug in his heater,
While others looked on and considered him quite the cheater.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he dove out of sight,
MY ELECTRIC BLANKET WORKS AND I HAVE CHICKEN IN THE CROCKPOT!

And we listened to that generator all through the night…..