We have long suspected that some mysterious movement lurked in these rolling hills.
Over the last three years we put it down to a sheer force of goodwill reflecting back off the sky around Insider time but during these few weeks a fuller truth has emerged. First there was a rustle of crinoline in the bushes, the faint waft of macassar on the breeze, the rare mornings of perfect symmetry in ones moustache or the swirl and undercurrent of the river pulling one round like a petticoat. It seemed the birch whispered the approval of our forefathers and the oaks the wise words of our ancestors. As this year's Insider wore on these ethereal bodies took shape and flesh and as they did the presence of this hitherto secretive movement became undeniable. From the ether they have been watching us, without our knowledge they have been helping us. They have put down their centuries old vow of secrecy and abstinence, risen from the sanctity of their slumber and chosen to emerge into the 21st century as our respectful and irreverent guide to the challenges of our past, our present and our future.
The Backwoods Historical Society has broken cover.