While it is rumored that the best sauerkraut in the midwest is made here, this place is not sacred for its kraut. There are some who believe that Peter Potterlater once dwelled here, but it is not for his mysterious visitation that this place is esteemed. Oh yes, this place is special in a much simpler sense. Here, undulating hills step up to see the expansive sky's constant color show. Shift to night, where effusive sky can dwarf the ephemeral spectator.
Stars shine bright as firefly dreams and occasionally the rare banana moon shows up on the horizon.
Warm season storms are a treat in this sacred place, fierce winds clamoring up in a great balagon of thunder and lightening, to drive rain down in torrents. It is for the rain that the hillsides wait, for it is the rain that brings life to the hills. When the sky delivers enough liquid cloud, the hills offer in return a golden grassland, forb-dotted and creased with riparian woods. Precious prairie juice seeps into the deep silt soil, ready for root uptake. All kinds of roots linger in the rich mollic horizon.