Maryhill: The Park That Never Sleeps
-- A Folk Ballad to Be…read moreSung to the Tune of Endless Jake Brakes --
I camped beside the Columbia, where the golden hillsides gleam,
To find a little peace and rest, and live the camper's dream.
The river shone like silver, the wind was soft and still --
But no one warned of Maryhill, the park that tests your will.
The freight trains sang from dusk to dawn, with whistles long and shrill,
On both sides of the riverbank -- a stereo of thrill!
Each clattered by in endless line, with steel on steel's refrain,
Like Zeus himself had dropped the beat for thunder made of train.
Then came the trucks, all night they climbed that two-mile stretch of road,
Their engines moaning, gear by gear, beneath their heavy load.
You'd hear them grind in agony, ascending toward the stars,
While down below, the campers dreamt of buying hybrid cars.
But mercy fled the morning when those trucks came down again --
The Jake brakes sang their diesel hymns across the river plain.
For minutes on end, the echoes roared -- a basso, blaring suite,
A three-minute truck-fart fugue in thunderous repeat.
The tent pegs rattled, spoons took flight, the coyotes packed and ran,
The herons left for Idaho, and so did half my plan.
I stared up through the canvas roof, eyes wide and sleepless still,
And whispered through my pillow: "Lord... deliver Maryhill."
Yet sunrise came all honey-gold, and peace returned for show,
The river shone like mercy -- as if it didn't know.
And though my eyes were bagged and red, my heart forgave the thrill:
For beauty roars as loudly as the trucks at Maryhill.