Sometimes even rolling stones find a place to gather moss. Something stops the forward momentum of the stone, and it settles itself into a soft spot in the earth that seems custom-made for it, and the earth fills in around it, solidifying its non-moving position. It might start rolling again at some point, if the forces of nature are strong enough, but if it does, it will carry with it the bits of moss and earth it picked up during its stop.
When I was a rolling stone, moving from one home to another with the Air Force, San Antonio was the place that stopped my momentum. I would never have dreamed that could happen. For one thing, I loved the different places the Air Force would send me. Also, born and bred in the Midwest, I loved winter and was convinced I could never live in the south. Not only did they barely have any winter, but their summers were ungodly hot, and I have never been a fan of hot weather.
But the USAF program I wanted to join was only in San Antonio , so off I went into the land of mild winters and absurdly hot summers. I arrived on New Year’s Eve 1988, and while January 1989 began with 70 degree days, by the end of the month, we were dealing with an ice storm that closed our base for at least a day.
When I moved here, I knew exactly one person, a friend I had met at my base in Belgium. Somehow this sprawling overgrown small town in south central Texas inextricably tangled itself all through my heart, and for the first time since college, I started putting down roots.
I spent eleven of the best years of my life in San Antonio, not leaving until my civilian job relocated me to the Atlanta area. When I moved, I left behind friends who felt like family. Ten years later, they still feel like family.
I’m in San Antonio as I write this, sitting at a Jim’s Coffee Shop and drinking decaf while I wait on a friend to join me. The good folks at Jim’s don’t mind if you sit here for three hours drinking coffee. That’s one of the reasons I love them. When I lived here, Jim’s was my “office away from the office.” They don’t have Wi-Fi, but back then, no one needed or wanted Wi-Fi, so it didn’t matter. It’s a standing joke with my friends that we’ll go to Jim’s at least once while I’m in town. I arrived about 4 hours ago, and this is my second Jim’s today.
Some things never change, I guess. I wish the same could be said for San Antonio. My little over-grown small town is a city now. Yes, it’s always been one, but now it looks and feels like one. Especially the highways. As a child, the appeal of Dr Seuss’ HooberGloober Highway book was the absurdity of it. Nowadays, it seems every major city has their own version o fit, and San Antonio is no exception.
But that’s OK. Thanks to my friends, I don’t have to learn how to navigate these new roads; all I have to do is ride along, and close my eyes if the road starts heading into the clouds. Which brings me back to my original point - my friends.
As I said, when I moved here in 1988, I knew one person (who no longer lives here). Today, as I contemplate how to spend the four days I have here, my biggest challenge is finding time to see all the friends I want to see, for a long enough time-frame to *really* visit and catch up with each other’s lives.
I’m celebrating friendship this weekend, with friends who know all my darkest secrets and still love me. Friends who don’t mind that I don’t keep in touch, because they know that I’ll contact them when I’m in their area, and I know that they’ll be as glad to see me as I am to see them.
San Antonio is a heart-home for me, the first one since college. My friends are the reason for that. And like that rolling stone that stopped and then started rolling again, I carry them with me; not as bits of moss and earth stuck to my outside and able to be rubbed off, but as cherished treasures in my heart.
On Saturday, Oct 15, I jumped out of bed before daylight, fed the dogs, etc, and then jumped into my trusty PT Cruiser and headed north, still pre-daylight.
Now, I'm not a pre-daylight kind of gal...but when heading to the town of Helen GA in October, it's best if you get there before the crowds from the city. So by 815, I was on the outskirts of Helen, looking for a place to eat breakfast.
Bacon, eggs, grits, toast, and fantastic coffee were served up to me for a ridiculously low price in a local feeding place that reminded me of my Grandma's kitchen, and I was back enroute to my final destination: Anna Ruby Falls. My attempts to get there earlier than the weekend crowd paid off -- I was car number seven in the parking lot, I think.
Most of the following was written on that day, sitting on a stone bench beside the trail leading to the falls. All the photographs were taken then (as ever, click them to embiggen).
My goals for the day were fall color, and peace.
As you can see by the above photo, fall color wasn't quite there yet. LOL
Even so, it was a beautiful day, just the right hint of fall temps..cool enough to enjoy the hike to the falls, with the promise of warmer weather once the sun was awake. The occupants of the other six cars must have gone to the visitor center first, because the only people ahead of me on the trail were those who had parked when I did.
Normally, my objective at the falls is to reach the top of the trail as quickly as possible. That day, I took my time, gazing all around me with each step. I hadn't realize there would be flowers still blooming - they added color to the greens and browns all around me.
Families passed me as I stopped to drink in the beauty of creation. The children's laughter and energy was as soothing to me as the wind in the leaves and the water rushing over the boulders. Some of the same families passed me on their way back down the trail, while I was still enroute to the top. Again, my plan was working; when I reached the viewing platform at the falls, everyone there was on their way out.
My word-smithing skills aren't adequate to describe the effect this place has on my heart & soul. But the Psalmist knows, and I found myself reciting his words with my own added twist as I stopped & started my way up the trail...
The Lord is my shepherd, I have everything I need. He leads me beside still waters, and some that are not so still.
He restores my soul.... My soul needs restored, God -- I feel like it's been ripped to shreds. Yea, though I walk in the shadow of death and decay, you're still here, walking beside me, holding me up, keeping me going. The shadows run from your light -- the light that is so much brighter than our poor sun that there is no comparison.
I look at the sun -- watch its rays highlighting the golden leaves; and understand artists' fascination with trying to paint light, and the effects of light. My camera won't be able to do it justice, but I try anyway.
The sun makes the leaves translucent -- they glow as if with inner fire. Does your light do that for me, God? Do I glow with your fire?
I've felt trapped in darkness lately, walking in the shadows. Even though I've felt alone, You've been with me, and brought companions for the journey. I thank you for that, Lord, and for your presence in my life. I'd have never gotten this far without you.
Tears are close to the surface today - good tears at the wonder of your love and the beauty of your creation. Even in autumn, as nature prepares for winter's sleep, there is beauty. There's a lesson in there somewhere, about beauty being present in all stages of our lives, but this is my day for experiencing, not for thinking.
Thinking and pondering can wait for later. For now, I nourish my soul, soaking in the sun and the breeze, the sound of the water, the smell of the damp leaves, the many-legged bug crawling from the top of the stump to the side, unsccessfully fleeing my camera flash, the skittering of dry leaves as they fall on or blow across the asphalt path.
Today, it is truly the journey and not the destination that matters to me, and this journey brings peace and renewal and faith. When I examine the tree growing from between two slabs of rock, how can I help but think that I can thrive, too?
I'm still grieving, and there will still be shadows to walk through, but I carry the light of the world inside my heart, and no shadow can overcome that. His goodness and mercy hang out with me, tagging along wherever I go, showing me the beauty in the midst of what appears to be decline.
And one day I'll be in God's house forever, and the things that seem so overwhelming now will be revealed as short threads in the pattern of my life, accenting the rest of it. Until then, His creation will remind me of his unending truths, and his never-ending love.
Today has been a good day, but tomorrow will be phenomenal. Tomorrow, for the first time since 2006, I will be visiting one of my favorite spots in the entire state of Georgia: Anna Ruby Falls. Anna Ruby Falls, according to their website, is a twin waterfall named after the daughter of the man who owned much of the area. One fall is 153ft tall, the other a mere 50ft, but together they are a delight to the eyes, ears, and soul.
The Falls are located in the Chattahoochee National Forest, directly adjacent to Unicoi State Park, just north of the small town of Helen, GA. Their location makes October visits a little more challenging: in the 1970s, Helen became a major tourist destination by reinventing itself as an alpine village. So every fall, it holds the longest-running Oktoberfest in the south.
This means I have to be up at the butt-crack of dawn and on the road for the 2hour trip by 630am. Those who have met me will assure you -- I'm NOT a morning person. Nonetheless, I'll be up early, feeding my very bewildered dogs who will most likely leave most of their food untouched just from their confusion at the very early feeding time, and hit the road with just a travel mug of coffee and maybe a slice of peanut butter toast. I might stop for breakfast in Cleveland, GA: a friend who lives up that way has told me about a small restaurant the locals seem to love. It all depends on what time I go through there. The visitor center at the Falls opens at 9am, and I want to be there as close to opening time as I can, because with it being Oktoberfest and all, by 1030 or so it will be impossible to find either parking or solitude. So I'll get there early, find a parking space, head up the half-mile trek to the watching area, and soak up as much nature as I can before the rest of the world wakes up. That's my goal, anyway. Then wander the visitor center a bit, wander around town for awhile fighting temptation in the shops, and head south just in time to see all the other cars in the northbound lane sitting still as the drivers wonder when they'll be able to get the rest of the way into Helen.
The dogs are staying behind. Sometimes I'll take one dog with me on a trip like this, but tomorrow is a day for ME, for restoring the tattered edges of my psyche, reminding myself that the world is still a wonderful place no matter how many evil-doers may dwell therein, and that life is still beautiful. Besides, when I have a dog with me, I can't spend 30 minutes just soaking in the grandeur of the falls, and taking an entire memory-card's worth of photos. LOL
For those of you who are nowhere near this part of Georgia, I found a YouTube video to give you a taste of what tomorrow holds in store for me. Enjoy!
Sharon's post about Figaro got my memories flowing....
Once upon a time, I lived in a townhouse (end of the row -- great apt!), and the neighbor on the other side of my one adjoining wall was a... scavenger is the polite word, I think. He spent part of every Sunday exploring the dumpsters in the apt complex, bringing home lots of functional items people had thrown away. At one point he had almost a dozen vacuums that people had thrown away because they needed new belts. He would repair them, and hand them out to folks who needed one. He brought me a kitchen table one time - only one chair, but I lived alone, so one chair was enough.
I put my houseplants out every spring, brought them in every fall. Usually brought in more than I put out, because other plants that were on their last legs would mysteriously appear on my tables. They usually had a long, healthy life with me (until the year we got a very early frost :sad: )
Anyways...I came home one November evening and saw a palm tree sticking out of the top of the dumpster by my apt. Mentioned it to Cliff just in passing, about what a shame it was that they had put this 6ft tall tree IN the dumpster, instead of beside it, cause now no one could give it a new home.
Headed out to run some errands, and when I came home later that evening, Dolly the Dumpster Palm was leaning on the wall next to my apt door. Cliff had pulled her out of the dumpster so I could save her life. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to salvage her pot and soil. Apparently, he just persistently tugged at her until she came free, and pulled her out of the dumpster from the top of it.
I put her in the bed of the truck with my other houseplants, and headed down to the car-wash station the apt complex had. Used their high-pressure hose to GENTLY wash her down and get the dumpster crud off of her, and then cleaned the outsides of all the houseplant pots to make sure I wasn't bringing anything into the house with them.
Got to Lowes right before they closed and bought Dolly a new pot and soil, and had sense enough to buy a wheely-deal at the same time, so I wouldn't have to carry her around.
Put the pot on the wheely-deal, added soil & Dolly, watered her in, and wheeled her inside. To my amazement, she survived and thrived. Like Sharon's Figaro, she continued to grow, and it got more and more challenging to bring her inside come winter-time, even with the wheely-deal.
Then came the year of the early frost. I lost about half my house-plants that year, and Dolly was one of the casualties. *sigh*
Still, she had 3-4 more years than she would have if Cliff hadn't been my neighbor, and she was loved during those extra years, so I hope that counts for something.
...PAINFUL!
As I told my massage therapist this morning, it seemed like a good idea at the time! LOL
See, I knew that we had this beautiful weekend of wonderful cooler weather. I also knew that I hadn't done any yard work in FOREVER due to our yucky hot weather. And I knew that my massage therapist could see me around mid-morning today.
Aha! Thinks I yesterday, after scheduling the massage appointment. To get the most massage benefit from my hard-earned dollars, I should take my free time this evening and whack those weeds into control with my trusty Husqui (Husqvarna - yes, I name my power tools. Your point is?).
I think I lasted an hour - but the weeds near the picky neighbor's fence line look better, the weeds in front of the mailbox are gone, the weeds next to the house are no more, the meter-reader will be able to get to the meter to read it, and the eventual monarch waystation looks more like a flowerbed and less like a totally neglected raised bed.
I limped my way into the house, doing my usual "drop the clothes in the washer on the way in, and run for the shower to forestall poison ivy" dash, and realized when I came out of the shower that it hurt to walk. Seems I bent my knee some direction it's not supposed to go while I was weed-whacking. Gotta love the healing powers of an ice pack.
This morning, as I mentioned earlier, I took advantage of the cool temps to deadhead 2 of my 18-24 butterfly bushes -- I try to keep the ones by the mailbox looking presentable (it also helps keep the mailbox accessible by the letter carrier, which is always a good thing).
My short attention span decreed I shift to another yard job, so I grabbed the wheelbarrow and the pitchfork, and moved 3-5 barrow-fulls of wood chips from the big pile behind my driveway to the weedy portion of my front yard oval. As I was "wheeling my barrow through streets broad and narrow," to quote an old, old song, I finally realized where I could transplant one of the near-dead azaleas I bought last fall and over-wintered in a container. It's a fine healthy plant now, and I have just the spot for it.
All I needed to do was to de-turf the Zoysia from that spot, dig a hole, amend the soil, etc.
Well, I got it de-turfed, at least. That's about the time my back started screaming at me. I ignored it until I was done de-turfing, then limped back into the house for another "drop the clothes in the washer on the way in, and run for the shower to forestall poison ivy" dash (in case I had brushed up against any while deadheading/minor weed-pulling/digging/moving wood chips -- I am *paranoid* about PI, in case you couldn't tell).
I kept trying to tell my massage therapist that yard work is relaxing and restorative for me -- every time I did, she would laugh, because my body apparently disagrees. When she was done laughing, she taught me some stretches I could do before and after yard work to help my body handle it better, and told me I had done enough yard work for one weekend.
I had no problem agreeing with her on that, but there are still over a dozen buddleias to deadhead, and an azalea hole to dig. Guess I'll do it a little bit at a time, instead of trying to do it all at once, especially since Dorothy is out of town next weekend.
