I've gazed upon the schoolhouse hill with memories flooding back,

And I've heard a lonesome whistle as the train rolls down the track.

It's remembering generations and the hard work that they bore,

It's recalling all the mountain tales all this...and much, much more.

It's here in this valley that I love where mountains touch the sky,

And the soft winds sing a melody of peace and God on high.

For here are the roots of my family, my life. my loves, and my friends,

Tis here this body of flesh and bones shall remain until the end.

Andrews is a place of seasons, of the myriad of colors and moon-drenched nights of fall, of gentle showers and beautiful flowers of spring, of barren trees outlined against a gray sky and the wind of winter, of warm twilight and the thunderstorms of summer.

Andrews is a place of history, of tree-shrouded paths where moccasin-clad feet once walked, of armor -suited men who searched for fame and fortune, of immigrants who searched for freedom and space.

Andrews is a place of people, of friendly smiles and gentle words, of friends who care and help, of kind neighbors who are always there for living.

Andrews is a part of the fabric of America, a fine jewel set in the mosaic of freedom.