Back to Nature (Published on TBNWeekly.com - May 4, 2006)
A promise for the planet How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sound of music
Creep in our ears: soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
On a steep, downward slope that eventually splashed into a thin snaking creek,
Missionary Ridge faced Lookout Mountain as if to bow in reverence to this giant of
|Photo by Karen Mitchell Tremmel
a promise kept
From the edge of moss laden river stones the mountain thrust upward in rolling
waves of hardwood that touched the southern sky, as if Creator carved her just for
himself, a place to rest upon.
It was there on the side of the ridge the 100-year-old homestead had been built
out from local pine, cedar and hand molded bricks. The homestead opened her hearth
to the ridge, but her windowed eyes gazed upon her mountain from dawn to dusk.
As she looked to the south she could view the nurturing green of the valley. To
her north she watched the little creek spill into the mighty Tennessee River until
evening fell. After sparking the sky ablaze with remember mes, the sun as
quickly disappeared behind the mountain and the old homestead settled in for
another starry, cicada song night.
As a young girl my mother walked passed the home on her way to school admiring its
stateliness and rambling gardens. As a young woman she watched the house fall
slowly into disrepair and neglect. She felt that something inside of her own self
was faltering with each flake of paint and missing shingle.
One evening as she watched the old house liven under the touch of the suns
warmth in shades of golds and brassy oranges she secretly vowed I will make this my
home. She made a promise to the house and the land, I will fill you with love
and pamper your gardens.
In years to come she lived true to her promise and the gardens prospered under her
loving hands. The house blossomed under a fresh coat of pale yellow paint that
seemed to invite the sun in as a permanent resident, and the gardens
gardens. My mother spent hours bent or kneeling upon a blanket tending the lilies
and iris beds that curved across the descending levels of the sloping
Daisies met the gaze of Creator, faces turned to the sky and every wild critter
found a welcome place in the crook of a tree limb, rocky ledge or special pile of
lichen covered wood designated home to chipmunks at the edge of the pond.
Nature and the old home melded into symbiotic pleasure and my mother tended God
and garden with the same hands. The tiger lilies and irises became the prayers she
offered and the canopy of the trees became her church.
It occurred to me this Sunday morning, as I watered the lilies and irises of my
own garden, that if everyone took one hour a week to spend in a garden, walk a
nature path, float down a river or gaze at a sunset, perhaps all these prayers
would gather together reaching the heavens and perhaps be reflected back to the
hearts of politicians and powers that be.
Maybe this new vision will enlighten just one president, one governor to put
nature, our planet, back into the business of the day and join my mothers
promise to fill the planet with love and gardens back to nature.
Karen can be reached at MyMuddyPawsStudio@gmail.com.