Yelping Hill ironically derives its luster from the pernicious relationship that grew between two Gilded Age New English families over the intentionally confusing legalities of land ownership disputes. Rather it was the claim over a stream that ran the length between the Winterland's and the Smint's properties that ignited the feud as the head proprietors of both families' fortunes were simultaneously attempting to augment their respective family solvency. Each magnate attempted to employ the independently inspired, though as such, overly asserted idea of erecting a paper mill at the slender neck of the stream. Pecuniary knuckles clashed and generations passed, but the surrounding treeline was left undisturbed as was the momentum of an impassioned, but ultimately frivolous feud.

At the heart of the matter true beauty could be found however, because throughout the years two contractually estranged neighbors met nightly on a hill in the far northeast corner of the Smint estate. It was there that the illegitimate daughter and half-sister to the rest to the Smint clan sought solace in her secretive development of her operatic singing talents. This is the hill that drew a young Henry Winterland one foggy September night by the gentle bellowing of petite Josephine Smint; on a night that found Henry clumsily waltzing through the wood on his way home from his first night of accompanied drink and ballyhoo amongst a few fond schoolmates. As some kind of unanticipated sobriety tugged him off his course of safe return, he drew a closer and more attentive step to the base of that hill, and his clouded vision was displaced as his guide by a sweet and innocent magnetism that wafted his ear. Effortlessly and not long thereafter he lay upon the abrupt incline of the wetted, grassy mound, which was to be his future destination and seat to a nightly performance both mutually acknowledged and accepted by artist and audience. Some nights Josephine would omit any glance down from her focus on the notes and exhalations to give notice to her only fan, but for those darkened hours in the Connecticut woods a celebration of art, life, and joy stemming from two syncopated hearts would overcome all fatuous quarreling between two fabled and long since forgotten families. Yelping Hill - a quiet but eternal metronome for the triumph of good tunes above all else.

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