In the springtime of our country's bicentennial. Two young lovers discovered a large rock, that was weathered in such a way to resemble a table. Underneath this table was a mason jar and in that jar a note was held. This is what it read:

Certainties are immutable, this I know to be true. A firm handshake and jolly pat-on-the-back for a job well done. These over-indulgences of manufactured ardor get old. I was never about love, just understanding. Something that can't be quantified in perceived notions from three hundred years ago.

So I post my stake. I make my claim in this Paris of the Prairies. Flat as far as the eye can see. But far, so far above you. And valuables to be found in the soil, if you know for what it is too look.

May the breeze carry these pieces of you and land where you may. These precise cuts and measurements will make me secure. Free from your vanity and suppositions.

I remain centered, devoid of your learning or experience. Grounded in belief of a singular idea...