On Top of Old Smokey

When I was a very little girl, we visited our dear family friends, the Davenports, at their house on Maywood in Detroit. One of my very earliest memories is of Butch Davenport, the father of the family, sitting down on the side of the double bed, into which four or five of us little kids were tucked, and singing us a lullaby in the dark. I have a vivid memory of the mattress sagging sideways under his weight, of him holding his pipe in his hand on his knee, clearing his throat a little and starting to sing in a velvety voice.

"On top of Old Smokey, all covered with snow...

He always sang "On Top of Old Smokey." I don't know why - perhaps it was the only ballad whose words he knew or maybe it was just popular at the time - but we loved to drift off to the sweet sound of his voice singing that song.

I hadn't thought about that in many years, until I was up in the chilly Boston night this week soothing our granddaughter back to sleep in the rocking chair outside her bedroom. Never having had children of my own, this was a nearly novel experience for me but while I sat with her cuddled in my arms under her soft blanket, here came the right tune to mind and the perfect words for sleepy little kids...

"On top of Old Smokey, all covered with snow,
I lost my true lover, for courtin' too slow..."

Thanks, Butchie, for this and all your many other blessings.