When I 5 or 6 years old.........I stood at my Grandmother's kitchen window, looking outward, during a heavy spring Thunderstorm.
My young eyes SAW the bolt of lighting that took a 100 plus yeas old, massive oak tree down.......to ground level. Leaving nothing but a stump........there was SUDDENLY no shelter from the sun, the heat, the rain, the frost, the winds......that the many head of cattle had come to rely upon.
Now, there was, a tree limb, near the ground, with some branches overhead, providing shade for a little girl, to go, quietly, seeking refuge from somewhat cruel big brothers.......she was safe there, safe to write the words on a tablet, that would never be read or ridiculed.
The streets of Bakersfield and Laredo
The hills of Nashville, and Pennsylvania
The deserts of Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico
The fields of California vineyards
The red rock of Utah
The clear mountain springs of Montana
The plains of Kansas, Nebraska
The wheat and corn of Iowa
The rivers of Michigan and Ohio
The museums of Atlanta, Jackson, New Orleans
I have seen the crossing of both our northern and southern borders
I have seen much........and visited many monuments........it is the call of a traveler to do so.........to see, to do, to imagine, to invite, and to retell..........
When, I stand in amazement, it is in the face of the force of lightening
When I stand in wonder, it is in the power of a forceful nature,
When I seek to go home..............it is to the shade and shelter of this tree..........she was just a lone tree in the lower pasture, until, that moment, as a wee child......that I witnessed her fall.
There seems to be a natural kinship born, in the moment that you witness another's fall from grace.
Most of us, probably, do not want to be around at that moment, but when we are.........it is meant to become a part of us and how we relate to everything else.
I have not lived " there" for well over 40 years. But each time, that I visit " home", the state, I have to make a trip to the homestead..............much has changed......the house and barns have not stood for years........but I can recall, where the house was, the various barns were, the garden, the soybean field, the rice patties........................
the brokeness of the tree, is right there, just barely southwest of the honeybee camp............don't you see her stump?
Can you not see her massive branches.........her leaves, sheltering me, protecting me, shaping me, while I found my own voice?
She, is the place, that is worthy of revisiting.
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