That Little 40 Acre Patch of Land


He came down from the hills of Tennessee
Carved out a dream where few would see
With calloused hands and quiet pride
He built a life on the county line

Forty acres, not a acre more
Just enough to keep from poor
But rich in ways that don’t wear thin
Roots so deep they still live in the wind

That little 40 acre patch of land
Held the hopes of one good man
Raised a house and raised a clan
With nothing but his heart and hands
It’s where my blood runs like the rain
Down through every furrowed plain
And though the house no longer stands
I still return to where it began

Buck was his name, and he wore it well
With stories only time could tell
Six kids strong, he helped them rise
Under those wide Illinois skies

One became the man who’d pass to me
The strength and grace of family
And in a photo from '75
The past stood still, and love survived

That little 40 acre patch of land
Held the hopes of one good man
Raised a house and raised a clan
With nothing but his heart and hands
It’s where my blood runs like the rain
Down through every furrowed plain
And though the house no longer stands
I still return to where it began

And when the wind blows soft and low
I swear I hear Buck’s old banjo
And I can feel his weathered hand
Still guiding me to understand

That little 40 acre patch of land
Made me who I am, not who I planned
In every breath, in every stand
There’s a piece of that proud old man
It’s where my soul still longs to stay
Though time has worn it all away
And though the house no longer stands
I still believe in what he began

©Copyright 2025. Recordable Music Inc
Writer: Songsmith