Weekend Getaway

I am homesick. I find myself going backward into childhood. I am at my grandparents' farm; I am alone in the middle of a giant field (I have crossed a small stream to arrive at this field, and I have passed by a a little hidden graveyard of rusting appliances and old farm vehicles). The field has a steep slope to it, and is it full of spring grass and wildflowers. I am alone and I feel totally at peace.

I am homesick for this place because on my way to a weekend trip to the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee, I drove through Kentucky, my home state. I drove past farms similar to my grandparents'. I saw abandoned farmhouses with great stone chimneys and weathered gray walls, like lonely ghosts rising in empty fields. I saw gentle creeks and rivers and lakes; I saw cattle grazing, and barns and silos. At each sight, I felt a sad pang in my chest. The place called me home, although it is no longer my home.

There is something about the country that comforts me. There is something about wide open spaces and solitude and the sound of rushing streams that suggests to me that I am whole and right. As I type this, I can feel the walls of my house falling away and I see the wide night covering wide expanses of green land like a dark embrace. And there is nothing around me but space and I hear nothing but the creature sounds of night.

My children enjoyed the mountains. Of all we did, they liked eating fried chicken at the side of a creek, and later throwing rocks into that same stream the best. We threw and threw rocks into that stream, and for some reason the act never grew old. Ethan's nails had thin black moons of dirt underneath them from digging in the dirt.

My country children. Thank the good Lord that the country is blossoming in them.


The creek speaks
In sounds gentle
Clear water
Clapping hands
Over boulders
Rocks pebbles
Rubbing them
Smooth as the
Underbelly of
A salamander
And my child
Fat dimpled
Hands digging
Into sand finding
A stone small
Enough to fit
Into his palm
He lets it go
Falls into
Crystal water
To rest only
For a little while
Until the creek
Cradles it again
Turning it over
And over
Carrying it
downstream

Life Plans

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

He was so excited, like I was unlocking a door, or like puzzle pieces were falling into their designed places.

"Yes," I say. "It's a good idea."

"But you've never wanted to do it before."

"It seems right now."

My husband is not a day to day planner, but big plans are imperative to how he lives his life. He has for years asked me to set down on paper (or, for him, an excel spreadsheet) our life goals. I have not acquiesced, as the mention of an excel spreadsheet seems to send cold chills up my spine (I do not believe every problem can be solved in the cells of an excel speadsheet, and it seemed somehow contradictory to plan out the expansive goals of life on such a software program. Perhaps Word would be better, but the ideal would be a small journal, with all the words hand written). But in my stubborness, I have become lost in a maze of tasks, and the big vision of where I thought I was going has become blurred. So, in an instant decision, I told Chris that it was time to plan it all out.

"Get the laptop. Open up the spreadsheet."

He looked at me like I had asked him to open up a long anticipated gift. We were sitting at the dinner table, surrounded by remnants of dinner. I thought I would be able to compartmentalize goals, making them into convenient check lists, but my husband doesn't work this way, either. He is a fluid thinker, goals are wide and all emcompassing, so mine started to look the same.

I was the first to list my goals. Here is a sampling:

1. Want to travel the world
2. Want to write a book
3. Huge family dinners at our house someday
4. Kids to be happy
5. At peace with God/fulfill life purpose

Some are more concrete than others. Some have a more direct path, where with others, the path has not been located yet. Some I struggle with, some I wonder if they will ever happen. But there were my goals, and it seemed better, them looking up at me from the computer. They said, Hello, this is where you want to take your life. Are you on your way yet?

Sitting there, with a trail of turkey gravy still remaining on the plate before me, I wondered if it were possible. Happy children, happy even into adulthood. Peace with my God and thankfulness for the things He has gifted to me. Peace with myself and the paths I had chosen to follow. I still don't know that. I somehow wished the spreadsheet would make a quick calculation when I entered into it information about my past experiences, my current dilemmas, my fears and expectations, and let it spit out to me the answer. But this spreadsheet was not that sofisticated. Computers can't do everything.

We have a chalkboard in our kitchen. I put quotes on it, and change those quotes periodically. I looked at Chris and directed him to put something up on our board to begin us correctly on the goals we had set.

He wrote, "Begin with the end in mind." It seemed appropriate for us. To remember the vision first, and take the steps to get there.

Lavender

My favorite smell is lavender. It is the smell of my son's nighttime bath. I wash his hair in it, and I have lotion that smells the same. When I get Ethan out of the bathtub, I wrap him up in a hooded towel and he always, always reaches for me. When I pick him up, he pulls his legs into himself, and clings to me like a wet sheet. He lays his head on my shoulder, and all I can smell is his hair. I breath it in like it is oxygen. He will likely be my last child, so it is so important to me to soak up everything sensory about him: the smell and feel of his hair, the way his small body conforms against mine when I hold him. It is such a perfect time, this after the bath time, when I hold my son.

Lavender hair
Sweet flower
Head resting
In the cup of
My hands so
Small I weave
Fingers through
Flaxen light
You do not
Bat a beautiful
Blue eye
Shadowed by
Lashes long
And unbelievable
My son my
Child with
Damp hair
Full of flowers
Sleep thinking
About stars
With heavy
Eyes and the
Moon with a
Silver robe and
Slippers knowing
That I will keep
You always and
Watch over you