In these wild-timbered lands, the Creator tests our mettle, especially when the heavens withhold their bounty and the land bakes hard for months on end. When our farm wells offer only dust, many have found their salvation in a certain hidden generosity of the earth. One must leave the more traveled paths, venturing into the rugged hill country that feeds the upper arms of Dry Creek and its neighbors. It is in those secluded hollows, where so many lesser runnels take their start, that even when all else is parched, a cool, clear essence perpetually weeps from the ground, untainted and ever-constant. That silent, dependable issuance has been the very lifeblood for our families and our stock.
The nearby timber mill, with its great steam engine hungry for timber and the very means to make its steam, also came to depend upon this unfailing seepage when other flows dwindled. It’s a place spoken of with deep respect, more than just damp ground; it's a promise the land keeps.
