In a thicket of trees, past a gurgling stream, a weathered trio wearing floppy red caps and sporting bushy, white beards huddle around a microphone.

It’s a curious sight to encounter about 11.5 miles north on the NCR Trail, the 20-mile stretch of former railway-turned-multiuse path in northern Baltimore County, formally called the Torrey C. Brown Rail Trail.

The minuscule musical group — who barely clear a foot off the ground — stands in front of a porch emblazoned with the name Grand Ole Opry, purportedly broadcasting live on the iconic Nashville radio station: 650 AM WSM.

They’re the Soggy Bottom Boys — no, not the star-studded cast featuring George Clooney from the Coen brothers’ Odyssey-inspired “O’ Brother, Where Art Thou?” — but a carefully curated collection of garden gnomes.

It’s one of more than a dozen gnome scenes that play out among hundreds of the tiny lawn ornaments on a hillock abutting the trail.

“As the trail itself gained popularity, more people discovered it naturally on their own,” said Jennifer Cashell, a state park ranger along the northern section of the NCR Trail since 2007. “Some of them call it the ‘Point of Gnome Return,’ some call it ‘Gnome Hill’ and some call it ‘Gnome Mountain.’

“To me, it’s always been a part of the trail as I’ve known it.”

The man behind the gnomes is Gene Stiffler, a bluegrass fan with a clever streak. He’s turned his White Hall property into a regional landmark for the countless cyclists, hikers, runners and other trail enthusiasts who pass by.

On one side of the tiny hill, dozens of the little figures stand sentry, labeled “Gnomeland Security.”

Another trio of gnomes sits together next to a sign that reads: “THERE’S DRUG ACTIVITY IN THE REST ROOM SEND IN THE SQUAT TEAM.”

Nearby, a miniature Elvis tribute artist named “Little Gnelvis” croons.

Stiffler, 84, has been collecting garden gnomes and sharing them with passersby for over two decades.

“What brings me joy is the people,” he said.

Who is the Gnome Master?

A fan recently anointed Stiffler the “Gnome Master.” He painted Stiffler’s portrait and dropped off a T-shirt featuring the art and the moniker.

The octogenarian maintains his acre of property with devotion — mowing the grass, repainting the gnomes and replenishing a snack stand with water bottles and packages of peanut butter crackers available for $1 a piece to trailgoers from May through October.

A Baltimore County native, Stiffler’s father worked on the Northern Central Railway that became the NCR Trail.

Stiffler grew up with four brothers and three sisters and credits his big family for his sense of humor.

“We had it rough. It was rough going,” he said. “We were a big family and we didn’t have much to live on. We just had to have fun.”

Stiffler worked in retail most of his life, retiring from Sears around 20 years ago. He first bought the house adjacent to Gnome Hill in 1964, back when the locomotive’s wail still whistled through the forest.

Damage from Hurricane Agnes in 1972 decommissioned the rail line and the Maryland Department of Natural Resources purchased the abandoned land in the early 1980s. The NCR Trail opened in Gunpowder Falls State Park in 1984.

“I was against [the trail] when they put it in,” Stiffler said. “Once they put it in and I got to meet all these nice people, that makes my day, just talking to all these people that come out here.”

Cashell described Stiffler as the benevolent “proprietor of Gnome Hill.”

“Gene has really settled into enjoying the attention that it draws — not in an egotistical way," she said. “But it makes his heart happy that Gnome Hill affects so many people and that it’s got such a positive vibe.”

The hill bears witness

People make daily pilgrimages to Gnome Hill.

Runners and cyclists use it as a turnaround or rest point. Some folks use it to impress visitors, whether a French tourist or Japanese foreign exchange student.

Others stumble upon the destination, like the dozens of women who used the trail to get to Baltimore on their way to D.C. for the 2017 Women’s March.

All, Stiffler made clear, are welcome.

Brett Rhodes used to live in White Hall before he and his wife moved to Baltimore. But whenever he’s in the county for work he walks the trail, usually with a camera slung around his shoulders.

Gnome Hill often beckons.

“It’s so creative and it’s grown throughout the years. I think it’s a great destination for everybody to visit in the community,” Rhodes said.

Before the gnomes, back when the hill was just a dot along the Northern Central Railway, President Richard Nixon rode by on the train to Gettysburg.

President Abraham Lincoln almost passed through, but never made it while alive.

He avoided the rail line during his inaugural route in 1861, fearing rumors of an assassination plot. Four years later, after his actual assassination, Lincoln’s body made its way past the hill.

Today, the train tracks have been replaced by the grooves of bike tires and baby strollers.

Locals and newcomers who run or walk by wave at Stiffler or, like Rhodes, pause at the hill to snap a picture.

‘Too Much Make Believe, Not Enough Reality’

Stiffler is a poet at heart.

One winter, he penned an ode to Baltimore’s rat infestation recorded by hand on cassette at “The Gnome Hill Studio” that begin:

“It was the night before Christmas in the Baltimore flats.

Not a creature was stirring except for the rats.

There was hardly a sound on the Baltimore streets, as the children were waiting for Santa’s toys and treats.

But the alleys were littered with trash everywhere. It looked like poor Santa may never get there."

In 1976 Stiffler recorded a track on a country music album, “North of Nashville,” called “Too Much Make Believe And Not Enough Reality.”

Stiffler said he’s lived through plenty of reality, most of it in solitude. But Gnome Hill gave him community in ways he never imagined.

Strangers drop off Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas sweaters and, of course, “Gnome Master” T-shirts.

And that’s not even accounting for the gnomes themselves.

“People give ‘em to me practically every week,” he said. “They don’t need an occasion.”

Maybe it’s trail magic; maybe there’s just never enough make-believe on Gnome Hill.