steady on the gas, trusting the transfer case,
enjoy the fishtail as you churn in the ruts,
when you reach the top you can shut 'er down.
Stand in the wind and the silence.
From here you can see halfway to Centerville,
knowing the farms spread out before you,
the old clans, descendants of the settlers,
the land clearers with sturdy German names,
the Pletchers and the Sechlers and the Markers,
the Saylors and the Kregers and the Reams,
the Kneppers and the Sanners and the Stahls,
stone pickers, well diggers, panther killers,
forcing their wills on the beasts,
beam hewers, church goers, deer hunters,
old before their time, the price they paid for effort,
proud, self-reliant, still, still,
privileged to live among them,
standing on this January hilltop,
windswept and drifting.
