Sunday, October 6, 2013

Mountain Paradise

Last week as I was driving a certain memory came to mind. I thought of a place we almost lived. A place that was almost home. Our almost paradise.

No, it wasn't Belize. It was up in the mountains. The mountains of South Carolina.

Imagine a beautiful log cabin built out of ceder. Our feet knocked on strong ceder trunks, hewn down out of the mountain to make a home. Almost our home. Wooden floors, wooden walls, all hand made in my young mind at the time, by a man and his family back in the pioneer days; although now I see it wasn't quite that old. Dad showed me the ladder that came down out of the ceiling. He climbed up to opened the trap door then let me in. Gingerly I climbed the steep steps and popped into a room as large as the entire cabin below. Dad told me how he would build a wall and make a bedroom for the boys and a bedroom for the girls. The room was just like out of a story. It was dusty, you could see the particles wafting through the air when they floated into the sunbeam that lit up the room. You could smell the scent of wood. A sturdy deck came out from the dining room and over looked the river that flowed swiftly by. I remember looking at the water fall and soaking up the beauty. It was exhilarating. Also I squealed to Daddy about where I could put my play kitchen.


To get to the two story cabin we had to cross a bridge, also made out of ceder. The wooden bridge double as a road wide enough for vehicles and an entire extra house. We were going to make it into our school room. Trees swallowed the small clearing for these two wonderful homes. I could see little birds flying over head but I couldn't hear them. I was standing on the bridge leaning over the railing gazing below as the water rushed over the boulder. The swish, and pounding filled my ears and I couldn't hear anything else. Endlessly the water rushed on. White, and noisy, and happy, and perfect.

We got to explore the land that went with the house. There was a pond, already stocked with fish. A stream fed into the river. There was a place up river before the water fall that was slick enough to slide on. It was a huge red boulder and it sloped gently down hill. We four children had so much fun sliding on the rock getting all wet. We couldn't wait until we lived there and we could do that every day all summer.

The place was truly a mountain paradise. We breathed in the sweet clean mountain air; listened to the birds; watched the little water creatures dance in the stream. We even saw fish jumping in the river! I could easily imagine a grizzly bear standing on one of the rocks pawing the fish out of the air.

As we drove home that evening I kept thinking about that beautiful place and I felt awe. I couldn't describe it at the time, it was a new and strange feeling for my young self. It made me think of God. I told myself as I watched the orange clay road streaming past the window that we must have almost been to the Garden of Eden.

The feeling of awe however was mixed with dread because I could hear my parents talking about the one flaw the place had. Power lines, big fat, ugly, wires stretched directly over the cabin and bridge. Mom was worried about the long term effect those lines would have on our health. I knew instantly even though they raved over everything else, that we would never live there. Those dreadful power lines!

Our search for the perfect home continued. Life went on, we never did by land. We moved to Missouri. I asked myself if I would ever see my beloved South again. Despite my excitement I was quite chagrined that we were moving "up north". We lived with family during the summer; rented a house for a year; finally settled on our forty acres where, if you have been a faithful follower to my blog you would know, my journaling began. We lived there five years and I thought it was the perfect home. I didn't think it was paradise but I loved the place.

Somehow in a series of labyrinthine yet providential episodes we found ourselves in Florida. Back in the south again, albeit a slightly homogenized south. I suppose I am homogenized myself. The quietness of being here; living a mundane life with no dark rumbling storm cloud on the horizon, kinda leaves me feeling queasy. The more normal my life is the more I find myself thinking back and remembering everything that has happened. The more I can look and see and trace God's hand and leading us thus far in our journey. That mountain paradise was something that lead us to search for a home in the country. Searching for a home in the country, among other things, is what lead us to Missouri. God has been very particular in what He has brought me in my life. I find it my duty and joy to search and try and see why He has done it, and to be thankful for it.

1 comment:

  1. Ahh . . . the peace after the storm . . . so glad He's brought you through! :)

    ReplyDelete

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