“An acoustical Marvel,” that’s what they say,
And folks are now coming from far, far away
To explore the water tank up on the hill.
“A sense altering experience,” a unique kind of thrill.
But if that tank could talk, what a tale it could spin,
Of hopes that were dashed again and again.
A history of circumstance, of providence, of fate,
A journey of mystery, the long, lonely, wait.
A treatment tank, maybe? With an attached mixing shed?
It’s original purpose, some folks have said.
It arrived in Rangely from no one knows where.
On a truck in big pieces and bad need of repair.
The welders got busy and within a short time,
The tank was together and looking just fine.
It would make a fine water tank, but then, maybe not.
The tank sold once, then again it was bought.
So for years it sat empty, the days were all long,
But the tank started listening and that kept it strong.
It listened to the river, to birds flying by,
To trucks on the highway and planes in the sky.
It absorbed the music of the snow on its face,
And the screaming dirt bikes in their earth-ripping race.
Of rowdy young folks that sometimes stopped by,
Who’d crawl in the portal to talk, laugh and cry.
The tank liked their passion, and life sounds so proud
The breaking of beer bottles, the clamor, the crowd.
But one day an angry teen screamed with a holler,
“This useless old tank is for sale for One Dollar.”
The tank couldn’t believe the words that it heard
Its demise now was certain and completely absurd.
For more than five decades it had worked toward one goal
Of capturing the resonance that spoke to its soul.
The scrap yard would silence the tank’s dream to share
All of the magic it had captured with care.
But, when all hope seemed lost, a young man came peeking.
Bruce, a musician, was listening and seeking.
Destiny, Divine Will, Karma, or chance
That day was the start of the Serendipity Dance.
Like all things good, the progress was slow,
And when it first started, how could anyone know?
That the tank would be famous, a bright shining star,
And people would come from near and from far.
To listen to its sounds and echoes and wonder,
Of quiet, gentle whispers and soft distant thunder.
Recordings and poems, passions on fire,
Nobody knew what the tank might inspire.
So if this tank could talk, I think it would say,
“Be patient…listen, and you will find your way.”
To learn more about The Tank visit: tanksounds.org