Chestnut Ridges

The Monongahela rushes through the wooded glades.

Where smells of richness in your soil freshly turned by spades.

Your wide and verdant valleys climb into gentle hills.

Shared tales of “revenuers” hunting for “moonshine” stills.

A few of your farmers still walk behind horse and plow.

Land where tired miners trudge home with coal dust darkened brow.

The Youghiogheny flows north; small streams fill and renew.

Awesome bright morning light sparkles on blankets of dew.

You grow buckwheat for griddle cakes served in steaming stacks

Planted in fields that were cleared of trees by sweat and axe.

Ohiopyle has rapids with roaring waters white

And tours of Fallingwater and Kentuck; homes built by Wright.

The trees of the Chestnut Ridge turn from green to red and gold

There are festivals where steam belches from tractors old.

You’ve noted words your patriotic sons dared to speak.

Fighting for their liberty and to protect the weak.

Native trout swim your brooks, fed by icy mountain springs.

Scary sounds of your ruffed grouse explode with thunderous wings.

Soldiers built forts of Ligonier and Necessity

Marching in woods where Indian’s voice rang loud and free.

In history you rebelled at paying whiskey’s tax.

You’ve festivals where women spin thread from plants of flax.

The Amish and Quakers chose to make this land their own.

Hunters and trappers carried knives with handles of bone.

Your religious liberties drew folk from far and wide.

Boys became men in your wilds as their mettle was tried.

Conestoga wagons and carriages plied your trails.

Peddlers and freighters hauled supplies in bundles and bales.

Amusement rides at Idlewild and Kennywood Park

Or relaxing in Killarney’s millhouse, watching its fireplace flame and spark.

Some folk have used crossing rods, dousing to find water.

Jugs, crocks, and bowls were shaped by the hands of a potter.

Old barns become beautiful, awesome in moon’s soft glow

Grist mills and saw mills claimed the banks by your streams’ swift flow.

Views from Mt. Washington, stunning when Pittsburgh’s lights shine

At Amish farms, bright hued quilts hang to dry on a line.

Your mines delved deep seeking veins of coal and iron ore.

You have thick stands of chestnut, oak, elm, and sycamore.

Scattered inns provide respite along your roads and pikes.

Your blacksmiths shaped iron rods into horseshoes, nails and spikes