I've come upon you, travelling an unmarked road over shallow limestone and hot dry weeds.
I've found you in this place.
Nothing but silence here, nothing but the whisper of the wind in the long grass, the spice of the red cedars under the hot sun. An unfamiliar bird voice calls...a bird who does not know backyard feeders, one who feels only the rhythms of this bit of the county, forgotten now.
You did not prosper here.
You built this house when many lived in fine brick and stone, their cattle fat and their fences strong.
|Moses Hudgin log house 1860, PEC|
You farmed a bit on this begrudging land.
You fished in the unforgiving lake.
You sailed sometimes for a bit of pay.
You'd laugh to hear we've saved your log house.
But they did.
Because sometimes we still need silence, and the stories that a hard man on a hard farm can tell.