Philmont Poem by Justin Reamer

When I walk in the forest
In my backyard
During the day,
I feel the breeze against my head,
And I hear birds chirping,
And squirrels squeaking,
And rabbits coming right out of the bushes,
And deer walking slowly on the underbrush.

And, when night comes,
I look up at the night sky,
And see so many stars,
That they remind me of New Mexico,
Where that special place
Will always be
Forever in my mind,
The place I remember,
As Philmont.

It was Philmont Scout Ranch,
Where Boy Scouts
And Venturers
Come from all over the country
To go into the backcountry,
And loving the wilderness
That comes with it.

Philmont is for backpackers,
Who love to hike
And see the wilderness
And all its glorious beauty,
And for those who
Love nature
And cannot get enough of it.

Philmont is one of those
Special places for me,
Something that I will always remember,
And something
I can never let go of.

I remember Philmont quite well,
With all the wilderness,
And not a single person in sight.
I remember it well,
And I can share with you
Its unique description.

Philmont,
God's Country,
As many people have called it,
Was inhabited by many,
Such as the Pueblo Indians,
Who inhabited the land for centuries;
The Spanish conquistadors
Who were looking for God, glory, and gold;
Kit Carson and the mountaineers,
Who shot and trapped their game;
Lucien Maxwell,
Who was in charge of the Maxwell Land Grant;
And Waite Philips,
Who owned the place,
And gave it to the Boy Scouts of America.

Philmont is more than the
People who just hiked the trails;
It is the experiences there,
And the wildlife
And the wilderness itself
That makes it truly unique.

How I remember the mountains,
And all of their rocky features,
Covering the horizon,
Making an excellent view when
You summit them.

How I remember the T-Rex track,
that monstrous foot
That once belonged to a monster
That lived long ago.

How I remember the wildlife,
All the birds that sing in the morning,
And all the crickets that
Chirp at night,
And all of the owls that hooed
In the darkness
And the coyotes that howled at the moon,
And the deer that
Wandered in the sunlight,
Feeding off the meadows,
And eating all of the grass,
Looking so graceful
In their wild herds,
With no fear of humans
Whatsoever.

How I remember the rivers,
That streamed through the mountains,
And all of their fresh,
Cold water,
That refreshed one
After he took a drink.
And how the meadows grew around them,
With their excellent beauty.

How I remember the meadows,
Filled with wildflowers
Of every kind,
Such as daisy fleabanes,
Oxeye daisies,
Dragonheads,
Primrose,
Roses,
Sneezeweeds of every sort,
Smartweeds,
Buttercups,
Lilies of every specimen,
Sunflowers,
Vanity Fleabanes,
And Black-eyed Susans,
With all sorts of flowers
To even dream of,
Making a landscape
That looked like a painting
That someone like
Claude Monet
or Vincent Van Gogh
Would paint
To his desire.

How I remember the vegetation,
The beautiful trees that existed,
Including the aspens,
And the pines,
And the oaks,
And the birches,
And the maples,
And the chestnut trees,
And the firs,
And the spruces,
And the beautiful trees
That hold every sort of wildlife
Imaginable.

How I remember Mt. Baldy,
And the great view from up top
The great rocky mountain,
The Rocky Mountain of the Rocky Mountains,
With the greatest climb,
Up to 12,000 feet,
In which there was everything to see,
For I remember the great view,
All the beautiful mountains beneath us,
And the trail that took us down,
And the towns that one could see from
Far away,
And all the people walking in the distance,
Making their way up top,
Or looking like periods from so far away,
That they seemed to be about their daily lives.

How I remember the Tooth of Time,
That crazy molar that existed
Atop of a rock,
That we climbed at 4: 00 am,
Just to see the sunrise,
But we made it at 10,000 ft,
And saw the morning sunrise,
And how I remember seeing Cimarron,
The village right below,
And Base Camp,
Where we would be heading that morning,
And all the traffic that was there,
As well.

The sunrise was so beautiful,
From what I could see,
I saw the glowing first light,
And then the big ball of fire,
Creeping into the night sky,
Lighting the world,
As morning came to be.

How I remember the tall tales,
Of those who were there before us,
Such as the loggers
Who worked for the Continental Logging Company,
Who worked for days and nights,
With little pay and little rest,
And not much food to eat;
The Pueblano Boys who started their first union,
Who fought for their rights,
But then the company went out of business
In 1932,
And there was nothing left for them;
The Miners who worked for French Henry,
Who dug the gold out of Aztec Ponil
In 1922,
And suffered many hardships,
As many of them died,
For they had nothing left,
Or even to live on;
The ranchers who lived at Clarke's Fork,
Who branded all their cattle,
And branded all of their horses,
In 1951,
And ran their business better
Than any of the miners or loggers did,
For they all had a better share
Than any of their predecessors;
The railmen who worked on the railroad,
Throughout the 1870s,
Who worked day and night,
Assembled many,
And suffered hardships,
And many deaths;
And the Risches,
The pioneers,
Who came down in 1898,
Who wanted freedom
And a new life,
And started a settlement
On land of their own.

All these people had big dreams,
But they all suffered,
And they all made it,
Somehow or another.

How I remember the mini-bears,
Those things that steal your food,
For they are aggressive little things,
And they steal your food no matter what.
What are they, you ask?
Well, they're the rodents of the forest
And of the meadow,
Whether they be the chipmunks in the ground,
The squirrels in the trees,
The mice in the abandoned cabin,
The rabbits in the burrow,
The weasels in the den,
The gophers in the ranch,
The prairie dogs in the desert,
The groundhogs in the forest,
The rats in the trees,
The beavers in the river,
The muskrat in the pond,
Or the raccoons in the treetrunk.
The always like to steal your food,
No matter what,
So you better look out,
Or they will surely get you.

How I remember the Red Roof Inn,
That awful thing they call a loo,
Where smells worse than B.O.
Cause one to throw up,
And where defecation and TP,
Go inside the pit,
Where decomposition is
Good for the environment,
And the ecosystem,
They claim,
And where there are walls back-to-back,
And there are two-person pilot planes,
And there are no walls
And exposure to the wilderness;
For they are the most awful
But necessary
Piece of hardware out there.

How I remember the BO,
Since we could not wear deodorant,
And we had to hide the smellables,
For how much I knew we stank,
And we had limited showers,
It was Jack London calling us,
And I felt just like him,
As he was inspired
With 'Call of the Wild'.

Philmont is God's Country,
'Tis a place I shall never forget,
With all of its beauty and majesty,
There is nothing that could beat it,
And it is special due to its experience,
And everything that happened,
I loved every minute of it,
And go back to God's Country,
Once again,
For God is always watching over us,
As we go to that beloved place
That we call Scouting Paradise.