The Snake in the Road

Yesterday morning, as I was returning from Home Depot and Walmart, travelling south on Qualla Road between Newby’s Bridge Road and Spring Run Road, I saw a black snake in the southbound lane of the two-lane road. That section of Qualla Road is heavily wooded on both sides, and at this time of year the trees provide a shaded canopy over the asphalt.

Since there was no traffic heading north I knew that I’d move over and pass the snake so as not to kill it. Even though it wouldn’t be likely to live long on the road I wasn’t going to be the instrument of its death.

As I approached the snake its head was elevated and turned toward my car, it was going to defend itself. Poor sad thing, I thought, it doesn’t know where it is or what it is dealing with – it doesn’t know that its only chance is to move and move quickly. Someone driving behind me will likely run over it and kill it, or if it tries to cross the northbound lane the same thing is likely to happen. It doesn’t know about cars and metal and tires and speed and weight – this is not the time for it to fight, it needs to take flight.

As the snake was dealing with forces it knew nothing about, humanity does not understand that it has unleashed a horde of demons and confusion upon itself as it has sought to redefine the image of God, and to determine good and evil. The velocity of life, of electronic informational cocaine, the exaltation of economics and promiscuity (in all its forms), and the baptismal waters of narcissism are more than we can understand and live with – and so we medicate, kill ourselves and others, and live lives of such frenzy that our humanity is stripped away layer by layer amid the trivial and mundane as we, to evoke Neil Postman, “amuse ourselves to death.” Life and government by Twitter says it all.

The snake was no fool, it just didn’t know what it was dealing with. It didn’t lay the asphalt, it didn’t design and manufacture cars, and it didn’t instill a fear of snakes in many drivers that would motivate them to kill it. The snake was no fool.

The same can’t be said of us.

“Professing themselves wise they became fools,” Romans 1:22.

But I Don’t Want To Garden

The sun will be up soon and I plan to be out in the enclosed vegetable garden. Up until last weekend I wanted no part of it. People would ask me, “What are you putting in your garden this year?” and I’d say, “I don’t want a garden this year, I need a break. Since we may be moving I don’t want to make the investment of time and labor. Even if we’re not moving I need a break from the summer heat and humidity.” I really didn’t want a garden this year.

Another reason I didn’t want a garden is that last October a storm damaged our raised beds. It lifted some of the frames up and moved them every which way (the frames are made of 12 x 10 pressure-treated lumber – they ain’t light). The disarray was disheartening. I had originally constructed the frames when we lived on the Zuck Homestead. Then I dismantled the frames and moved them to our new home. Then I moved all the dirt from the Zuck Homestead (good soil is gold) to our new garden – the move took a number of weekends. I looked at the disarray for some months before I attempted to reset some of the frames. A couple of the frames were beyond repair. What had been nice and neat was a mess.

The storm had also washed away most of the mulch used in the pathways and had lifted much of the underlying landscape fabric – did I really want to invest time and energy in restoration?

But there was a small problem standing between me and my goal not to have a vegetable garden…or perhaps I should say there was a big problem standing behind me pushing me forward toward the garden…Vickie. She wanted a garden this year. Oh great…what am I going to do. I was hoping her talk was just talk. But then she came home with tomato and pepper plants, and then she told me that she’d be planting beans. And then she told me that she’d be out in the garden putting it back to together…and then she asked me for help. Oh great.

Since I couldn’t let her attempt to move the heavy frames I repositioned those I hadn’t yet touched around the soil a few weeks ago. Then last weekend I got out to the garden early in the morning, repaired the frames as best I could, weeded the beds, moved soil from bed to bed in order to have beds for the plants (much soil had washed away in the storm when the frames were lifted up and tossed about) Vickie purchased and for beans, began to tidy up the walkways…and as I was doing all of this it happened…the joy and pleasure of the soil and gardening returned…I could feel it under my fingernails.

There is nothing quite like soil under the fingernails, nothing quite like soil in the pours of fingers and hands, nothing quite like holding earth and working with it. While wearing gloves has its place…the joy of wearing gloves is taking them off and feeling the dirt.

Well…I need to go now and plant tomatoes and peppers.

Oh how I do want to garden.

What Is A Note?

What Is A Note?

What is a note, if not played with other notes?

What is a note, if only played solitarily?

What is a note, if not played in harmony with other notes?

What is a note, if it never knows the joy of melody?

What is a note, if it never dances counterpoint?

What is a life, if it knows but itself and lives only to itself?

We have bartered away symphony for cacophony.

Melodious harmony for noise.

Beauty for the hideous.

Uplifted hearts for baseness.

Intelligible speech for chaotic utterance.

Purity for debauchery.

We desecrate and are desecrated.

We tear down and are torn down.

We are ashamed of the modest and we exalt the coarse.

We offer our children to the gods of economics and hedonism.

We drink from polluted wells and streams.

Parasites live among us and within us – eating our souls.

Romans 1:22.

Robert L. Withers