We enjoy good clean drinking water
Flowing out of our underground springs,
And lots of rainwater for washing.
There’s wood for burning in great supply
Because all things eventually die.
Our home is shaded by wooded hills;
Our crops rarely require watering.
Our clay soil holds onto moisture
With a blanket of leaves from our trees.
Our land supplies most of our needs.
What we cannot grow and cannot make
Our neighbors are willing barter.
There are still some hunters and trappers
To trade game for a few chicken legs.
And there are always the chickens’ eggs.
Just as the natives found that they had
A metal of enduring value
That could be traded for outside goods,
The gold that’s found in our many streams
Is another source of trading means.
The people who settled this mountain
Surely picked a secluded enclave.
If we wanted to be in hiding,
And drop out of the outside rat race,
Coker Creek would be the perfect place.