There is a village in a valley, ‘neath a mountain called the “K,”
Where the Similkameen River goes winding
So peacefully on it’s way.
It’s a peaceful little village,
Keremeos is it’s name.
And the horseless carriages go drifting through
To the coast line and back again.
When the sun peaks over the mountains
Between the shaggy crests,
And paints the slopes all purple and gold;
And drives the shadows west.
There was a day of yesteryear
When the red men passed this way;
And pitched their tents along the banks
of the river and the streams.
Then the old stage coach came rolling
Along the snaky mountain trail.
And cowboys watched their white faced herds
In the mesquite and chaparral.
But now the scene is changing
The bench land is covered with trees.
With orchards in fragrant blossom in spring,
Bent east by the western breeze.
When you are journeying through this valley,
Take time to camp a day.
You’ll remember this place for always
And be glad you came this way.
- By Wilf Miller, Keremeos