I live out on the eastern slope of the Sandhills of Nebraska, madam, on a piece of property that was homesteaded circa 1874 by a family that wished to raise pigs.
They were very good at it, and raised generations of purple- and blue-ribbon-winning pigs circa 1875 until June 1950, when the barn burned down, after they switched from raising pigs to raising cattle.
There is a mound here, circa 740 cubic yards in bulk, near where the barn had been. It grows green and lush with all sorts of flora, both decorative and useful.
To the outsider's eyes, it looks just like another bump in the terrain; just like so much ordinary dirt.
Someone born and raised in the Sandhills would recognize it as a "man-made" mound, but nothing more than that.
Old-timers and soil scientists however know what it really is; antique swine manure, and apparently of a pristine quality, 100% natural, no chemicals.
Immediately upon learning of this, I baptized it the William Rivers Pitt.
The saga of the William Rivers Pitt--because, really, it is rather remarkable--has been covered much at conservativecave (although not lately, because I might mess with an ongoing doctoral thesis about it, by yapping about it too much).
The saga's at least twenty chapters long, and if I get energetic enough, and the doctoral thesis is done, I just might gather it all together and tell it again.
its a great big pile of pig poop.... perfect..
Aha!
Now things are getting clearer. ; - )