2010 Jordan Heimatfest Medallion Hunt

Beat the heat and damp and blahs.
Find the gold and feel like shahs.
Peering up or grubbing down,
It’ll be within our town.

Can’t be high up in a tree.
Won’t be buried ‘neath the scree.
Isn’t hid on private ground,
Public place is where it’s found.

Watch for traffic when you look,
Keep your nose out of that brook.
City limits bound your seeking,
Coin is wrapped so isn’t leaking.

Read the welcome words upon it.
Grab your hat or don your bonnet.
Take that coin down to the city.
If you don’t, well that’s a pity.

Summer now is winding down.
A new school year looms, ah, but
Kids still roam all ‘round our town
They act like they have made the cut,

While some leaves turn to brown.
In these times, it’s hard indeed
To ‘void a limp ennui.
It’s the heat, the rain, our need.

We wish for certainty
When plans lead on to deed.
Hear the cry of lonesome gold:
Coin of our own wee realm,

When all is finally told.
Take hold of your own helm,
Hold off the coming cold.
What will happen here, I ask,

If that bright disk is left?
Cluemeister gives the easy task,
To those not yet bereft
Of fun, in which we bask.

Traffic’s died down now, and finally it’s quiet.
I can’t chow down, no, ‘cause I’m on a diet.
What, I do frown, can I do that’s some fun?
Go jogging downtown or opt for a slow run?

Why not be out and about in fresh air?
Stroll around Jordan with nary a care.
Take in the sights and walk on the sidewalk.
Bring your best friends and have a nice long talk.

Leisurely, stroll where the trees and the grass meet.
Find a nice spot and with snack take a green seat.
Gaze around town with a view spread out in dew.
Know that a search for hid gold coin won’t bore you.

Better a hike through our wide open spaces,
Than hunting for old foes and friends by their traces.
Track down that Heimatfest big old medallion.
For which there’s really a big hue and cry on.

All right, now, let us get serious.
Hunting for gold is not all that mysterious.
Once you’ve determined the path that you’ll travel,
You can get at it with pace that is furious.

Cluester advises you don’t climb up gravel.
You’ll come a cropper. If not, it’s a marvel.
Turn past a corner that is far from square,
Rake up no muck as you’re not I. Tarbell.

And if you wonder while walking out there,
Why you should care there’s a coin out to bare,
Contemplate this, my fine searching friend:
You’ll be rewarded with funds and to spare.

Chamber J dollars your family can spend,
Only if you on your way out do wend.
Time, it grows short in more ways than one.
Soon summer’s Heimatfest comes to an end.

Don’t worry, folks, if wind doth blow.
The coin it bathes in its own glow.
Our warm earth holds our gold below,
Awaiting those who’re in the know.

Two meanings have “around the bend:”
One is where your path should wend,
The other hopes your mind will mend.
Hoping nauseous clues will end.

Southward make your steps to head.
Where you’ll be there is no lead.
Nor is there field or garden shed,
But one nice place in which to wed.

Step aside from well-worn way.
But not far from walk do stray.
Heimatfest’s a week away,
Finding coin will make your day.

Here and there you’ll hear the patter
Of small feet and squirrel chatter.
Up and down the trees they clatter,
Digging bark and leafy matter.