85 Acres

I was walking my prayers the other morning, as is my practice, on the 85 acres of farmland that our neighbor generously allows us to enjoy.  I was about 80% finished when suddenly I stopped…

It will be 9 years this summer that we moved to Lenoir City and I began to regularly walk “the field” as we call it.  Our kind neighbor has allowed me to mow a path (See the blog for 8/8/11, Mowing As A Form of Prayer.) around the circumference with a few cross paths to create multiple options for walking.  I have no idea how many times I have walked that path, 3-4 times per week x 52 weeks x 9 years = 1404-1872 times give or take a few, then add twice around every couple of weeks to mow, and random walks during the day, evening or night just because I can and because the field beckons.

Lets go conservative and say 1500 times around…1500 times around over 9 years and no two times have been the same. Seasons, for example, change everything, foliage, color, moisture, wild life, humidity, smells and temperature.  The stark, bare, browns of winter may be interrupted as they were this year with the peaceful white of snow or the crystal glitter of ice, then spring fades in its multiple shades of green punctuated with the brilliant color of the wild flowers.  Summer may be deep greens and dense foliage or faded green, parched leaves, and hard ground when the rains fail to come.

Whatever summer brings, as the fall temperatures cool the colors heat up with brilliant shades of red, yellow, and orange variegated by the sharp dark green spires of the cedars and pines.  Everything seems to open up and become more angular as the trees lose their leaves and all of a sudden we can see our neighbors through the trees again.  The smell of burning leaves and the crisp air tells me the days are getting short and winter is here again.

Through the seasonal cycles the fields themselves are constantly changing.  The brown grass of winter becomes the bright green of spring that turns golden as the grass grows tall and turns to seed.  Our neighbor provides an artistic touch as the grass is mowed in a pattern that follows the gentle contours of the rolling hillside and is then baled in large circular bales that decorate the fields in patterns that, though random, seem to be placed just right.  Some summers he has planted fields of giant sunflowers that open their sunny faces to the sky and force you to smile.

The old barn with the tin roof and tractor let you know that, yes, this is East Tennessee and aren’t you glad you are home?

Whether it is spring wild flowers, summer thistles, orange ironweed, and Queen Ann’s lace, blackberries lining the edge of the field or mulberries littering the path from its overhead branches, they all seem to know when it is their turn to grace the field with their particular blessings.

If I am quiet and paying attention I am amazed by the variety of wildlife that skitters across my path, flies overhead, or climbs up my leg.  Yep, there is always that tick or two and any number of insects, friendly or other wise, to swat away from your eyes and ears.  There are beautiful butterflies, and dragonflies and strange beetles that crawl out from under things.  I pass the hornets nest hanging in the tree and watch my step lest I encounter that snake that slithered under the four wheeler that time I was taking the grandkids for a ride.   I’ve seen deer, rabbits, turkeys, turtles, chipmunks, squirrels, groundhogs, snakes, all kinds of birds including a couple of hawks that regularly patrol the skies and a couple of owls almost as tall as me.   I ran across the owl sitting on its prey in the grass once, he twisted his head around at me and glared with big yellow eyes and I decided he could breakfast in solitude and I was fine with that, thank you very much.  My dog Abby and I found a deer carcass mouldering in the grass, with a cool skull and a nice rack.  I hung it in a tree at home and a varmint of some kind, two or four legged I don't know which, made off with it.  Coyotes can be heard often, and seen often enough.  I watched about four of them slink across a snowy hillside early one winter morning…it was chilling in more ways than one.  I have found splatters of blood tinged feathers in the grass and wondered if it was dinner for the hawk, breakfast for the owl, or a midnight snack for the coyote.  Spiders, lots of spiders, weave their magic in the high grass, across the path and up in the trees, all especially visible on a foggy morning when the mist hangs on their webs.  An early sun rising through the trees makes spider webs, frost covered trees, or snow turn to diamonds that are almost too beautiful to comprehend.

Yes, and don’t let me forget to mention the sunrises and sunsets, so different in every season playing on all the variations already mentioned.  They are so spectacular as to render one speechless.  Just as spectacular is the moon, rising on a fall evening, lighting the whole field late at night, or slowly fading in the West at dawn.  A full moon or any slice of it that may be given on a particular night, when it reflects off a snowy hillside will take your breath away.

So what did I hear the other morning that made me stop?  It was a particularly foggy morning, fog so dense you could only make out shapes as you looked out across the field.  Every spider web, and there were thousands of them shimmered in the early morning light, the quiet was deafening.  I had walked most of the way absorbed in my thoughts, looking mostly at my feet and as I dodged the many spider webs when suddenly I literarily stopped in my tracks, marveling at what was around me…and the One who spoke the cosmos into being whispered in my ear... “And that’s just 85 acres.”  

There was a pause and then He said..."I'm like that."

After 1500+ times around the field I have only begun to scratch the surface of its wonder and beauty, I do not know it exhaustively, but I do know it well.  I know where to avoid stepping in a hole, I know where to expect the smell of honeysuckle, or to pick blackberries, or be on the lookout for a deer or a turkey.  The field feels like home, it welcomes me in and feels familiar and good.  To tell you the truth, I don’t know much about solstices, or how coyotes take care of their young, what makes a leaf turn bright orange rather than yellow, or even what a hawk’s favorite food might be.  I don’t know how to predict the weather, build a hornets nest, or judge how much color there will be this fall.  I can’t even name most of the wild flowers like my wife can.  There is a lot about all that I see and experience as I walk that familiar path that I cannot explain, define, or adequately describe, but I know I can’t stay away for long with out missing it desperately.  I know that walking it I feel like I am at home and belong.

So it is with the One who breathes life into me every day.  I do not know Him exhaustively, there is much about Him that I cannot explain or understand.  I can't tell you how big he is,  or how He makes predestination and freewill work together.  I don't know how He keeps up with all of us and hangs out with angels at the same time.  If I were to write a text on systematic theology it would be pretty short, I am afraid.  But, I do know where some of the “holes” are I need to avoid to preserve the relationship and where to go to savor the sweet aroma of His presence early in the morning.  I do know that He has great affection for me and that when I am quiet and open I can feel His presence.  I know enough to be drawn to another lap and to miss Him desperately when I stay away to long.  I know enough to know after 1500+ times around with Him that it is just a glimpse, a beginning…its just 85 acres.