Standing Firm

"Summer is no more!"  It hit me the other day as we drove the back way to Franklin, up over Snowy Mountain.  The road is one of Pendleton County's little know by-ways that is one of the most beautiful drives in West Virginia...well at least to this transplant from New Mexico. 

The drive travels up the crease between two mountains along a creek.  

Down in the floor of the valley, before climbing the steep slopes to go over the crest of the mountain, the valley floor is sheltered and broadens out in places for farms and ranches.   The golden trees of autumn are clustered in stands and groves along the creek and on the slopes of the valley.  During the autumn, the colors range from the yellow and golds to the fiery reds of the area's Sugar Maples.  Slowly the valley closes in on itself as the track steepens and the climb starts in earnest towards the peak.

As we progress up the mountain we realize that the east - west orientation of the valley means that the winds roaring down off the heights of Spruce Knob (which is the highest point in WV) shoot straight through this pass of Snowy Mountain.  It is one of the few valleys we have seen that is fairly barren of trees, both in the  valley and on the upper mountain slopes around the valley.  Because of this, there is little to temper the gale force winds that can whip through the heights, with little regard for plant or animal cowering in it's path on those steep slopes.

The few trees surviving on the slopes have character and personality to them.  Many you can see the tendrils of the roots reaching out and tenaciously grasping the thin soil and layered rock on the hill.  Many show the wear and tear of standing up to the unrelenting wind, with few branches growing on the west side of the tree.  The eastern side of the same tree, meanwhile, is full and healthy with thick strong branches and foliage.

Covered in the beautiful foliage of fall, the trees are glorious, but we have found that these same trees show their beauty in winter as their black trunks and branches stand dark and bleak against the white snow and in the spring the same black branches are covered with pink and white flowers.  The sugar maple leaves are red as they bud out and then turn green.  Finally, in the heat of summer these proud trees stand firm and offer their shade to the livestock who seek refuge beneath their boughs.

I wonder, can we do so well?  No matter what life throws at us?  Can we gracefully stand the storm, looking majestic in our beauty and joy that only God can give us?  Are we able to offer refuge and succor to those around when life is throwing it's worst at us?  Or will we let the storm rip us from our foundation to lie useless and broken on the stark  landscape of life?  

We drive that route to and from town several times a week.  For me, it is always a time of contemplation and reflection.  God has many lessons for us to learn by observing him in nature.  Maybe we need to pay a little closer attention and listen and apply.  I know he spoke about it time and again in His word.

Mists of Time

I don't think the mists of the mors in Jane Eyre's England could have been more brooding and dampening as Germany Valley was that evening as Fred and I descended down the western face of North Mountain to return to our Cherry Grove retreat. There had been rain the night before, but it had cleared off and the sun was actually out and shining while we were in town tending to business of the day. But the clouds grew denser and deeper grey as we ascended the mountain, working our way up the serpentine road to the crest.
By the time we reached the top of the mountain, that puffy white cloud we had seen in Franklin had turned dark and broody with a cold whistle whipping at the windows of the car, buffeting us in the turns. The way down the west face was like parting the ice pack of the artic, except this was fog, dense, cold, and grey. About four serious turns down we were leaving the cloud bank behind, but discovered that the fog was covering the valley in waves. The layer of greyish white had laid itself down like a blanket and molded itself to the landscape. It conformed to the hills and hollows, with the far peaks reaching up out of the bank for a breath of air.
In the near scape, the mists would ebb and flow, lift and fall to reveal the farms nestled in the valley below. It was a game of peek-a-boo as one waited to see what was or was not there about the valley.  It made one want to look about for a fox to run through a thinning of fog with hounds baying at his heels and one of Bronte's character's dashing close behind on his charging steed.
We pulled off to the side of the road and got out for a moment to take in the scene and listen.  There was silence --- all sound absorbed by the fog above and below.  Suddenly the air was pierced with the call of one of the large eagles who nest in the area as he floated over us and down the wind currents into the valley with wings outspread.  
We finally gave into the cold and got back into the car to finish our journey home.  After a full year in this valley, we still have not been able to fathom the vast wonder that our Maker has created in these few acres we now call home.