Saturday, March 31, 2007

Springtime in the Ozarks

Early this morning I was awakened by the rumble of an engine. It seemed like the sound was coming from further down the hollow, across Torey creek.

When I became fully awake I realized it was thunder, accompanied by lightening. Together they announced the coming gentle, refreshing rain, predicted by the prognosticators at the local television station.

I arrived several days ago after a short visit with a dear old friend in Tennessee and a few days stay at Habitat for Hope, near Memphis, where I helped prepare a vegetable garden and loved on some incredible children who enthusiastically helped with the gardening venture.

The journey from Memphis happened mostly at night, about half of it along winding, mountain roads, through the rain and fog. An arduous undertaking that my trusty steed
(pickup truck) and I endured without complaint, but were glad to finally reach trails end at the little house in the hollow.

I was very Ill for the first day and am still recovering my strength three days later. Thanks be to God am really doing quite well.

The trees are budding, the ancient old apple tree is almost in full flower, and everywhere the rebirth that happens in spring delights my senses.

The forest is speckled with the white of flowering dogwood. Beneath, the green mossy surface is flecked lavender and violet from the wildflowers, like glitter on the ground.

In the yard there are beautiful, colorful tulips and other flowers, domesticated and wild, randomly scattered. I dare not mow the grass for a few weeks.

There is a porch, accessed from the living room, which looks out over the valley for now, until the leaves on the trees grow to their fullness and restrict the view. Then we will no longer be able to see the creek, the road and the houses, though we will still be entertained by the sounds of trucks clattering, roosters crowing, the neighbor’s dog barking…………

Another view from the porch, very close, is one of the ancient, gnarly maple trees. It has a dead, branched off trunk, most of which has long since fallen away, wood turned soft, a perfect location for the return of the woodpeckers, busily hollowing out a new home. I don’t understand why they build anew when, it seems to me, last year’s domicile, still intact, would do rather nicely.

Now I must trudge up the hill to the well house and begin to repair the water-frozen pipe, damaged before my arrival. It’s time I have running water so I can shower at home and do my laundry.

Oh well!

Shalom for now,

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