The Hopewell Farms

As a small boy, mother and father would drive me to the Hopewell Farms. The trip took 4 hours from Toledo... past the Old Logan Ruins, through the rolling Pomeroy Hills, then straight into the belly of the beast they call, the Hopewell Farms.
Oh lord the painful sight of the farm as it appears on the horizon! Shocking, like a screwdriver to the eyeball. Yet calm, like a bowl of chili that has been left out on the counter for countless weeks on end.
Many nights I wake to the sounds of the Hopewell Farms. The cries, the screams, the Bobby McFerrin mix tape always on repeat... they echo in my mind. To stay calm I relieve myself and think about the finer things in life... like my Steely Dan records and the sweet gourmet taste Grey Poupon spread over crisp rye.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bobby_McFerrin