[Verse 1] Four hundred fifty acres where the sky begins to break, We’re sitting on the shoreline of the deep and silver lake. The Howell’s in the tractor, turning rows of heavy loam, The Howey’s in the truck-cab, driving freight toward home. To the East, the sun is rising in a band of burning gold, To the West, the day is waiting for the secrets to be told. French Lake is like a mirror, catching every cloud that flies, While we live beneath the blessing of the big Minnesota skies. [Chorus] Oh, the horizon is our witness, from the harvest to the haul, We’re answering the rhythm of the mid-west duty call. With the iron and the acre, and the water at the gate, We’re carving out our living and we’re defying heavy fate. From the rows of green and golden, to the highway and the line, The Howell and the Howey hold the land by true design. Where the lake meets the pasture and the wind begins to blow, We’re planting all the roots that we’re destined now to grow. [Verse 2] The trucks are loaded heavy with the season’s hard-won grain, Heading out to commerce through the sunshine and the rain. The Howey knows the mileage, keeps the logbook crisp and clean, Running up the interstate, a part of the machine. The Howell works the acreage, keeps the tractor on the track, Looking toward the horizon with no thought of looking back. We’re balancing the engine with the plowshare and the plow, The work is never finished, but we’re grateful for it now. [Chorus] Oh, the horizon is our witness, from the harvest to the haul, We’re answering the rhythm of the mid-west duty call. With the iron and the acre, and the water at the gate, We’re carving out our living and we’re defying heavy fate. From the rows of green and golden, to the highway and the line, The Howell and the Howey hold the land by true design. Where the lake meets the pasture and the wind begins to blow, We’re planting all the roots that we’re destined now to grow. [Bridge] The lake is our reflection, the highway is our flow, The Howell and the Howey have a long, long way to go. The kids are playing somewhere, out among the pine and wheat, With the soil of Minnesota underneath their running feet. We’re building up the future on a foundation of the dirt, With the muscle of the labor and the sweat upon the shirt. It’s a life of constant motion, yet a life of constant rest, With the horizon calling to us from the East and from the West. [Verse 3] The evening is a quiet where the water meets the shore, We’re opening the farmhouse to the night and to the door. The twenty-fourth song is a hymn of field and gear, To the life that we’ve cultivated year after after year. The Howell sets the lantern, the Howey cuts the light, Watching over 450 acres in the falling of the night. We’ve got the lake for spirit, we’ve got the road for pride, With all the love of family kept safe and deep inside. [Chorus] Oh, the horizon is our witness, from the harvest to the haul, We’re answering the rhythm of the mid-west duty call. With the iron and the acre, and the water at the gate, We’re carving out our living and we’re defying heavy fate. From the rows of green and golden, to the highway and the line, The Howell and the Howey hold the land by true design. Where the lake meets the pasture and the wind begins to blow, We’re planting all the roots that we’re destined now to grow. [Outro] The truck-lights fade to starlight on the curve of French Lake road, We’ve delivered all the promise, we’ve carried all the load. The Howell is the harvest, and the Howey is the haul, Within the wide horizon that’s encompassing us all. The twenty-fourth part is written in the loam, As we find our lasting peace in the acres we call home.
