“Even if I know I shall never change the masses, never transform anything, all I ask is that the good things also have their place, their refuge.”
This peninsula on the shores of Lake Martin is a refuge for weary city dwellers who come, dusty from the hot asphalt of urban life, to bask in the loveliness of its rippling waters. Here, one finds several species of trees sharing roots, packs of city dogs set free and running with abandon, and ample provisions made for the wildlife. Last night, we gathered on the front steps to watch the Fourth of July fireworks, but what we watched instead, were the fireflies lifting out of the grass and carrying their tiny lights into the branches of long leaf pines. This is a long overdue sigh of re-connection.
It is easy to get so wrapped up in the human realm that we forget there are places like this where stressed out refugees from corporate America can come for renewal. There is enough life-energy in the natural world to recharge all spent human batteries if we would allow it. But, just as Ann and Ellen have done here, it must be provided for and welcomed. Elizabeth Gilbert, in her book, Big Magic, writes that we humans easily claim that we love the world, but we have real doubt that the world loves us back—in fact, that possibility never occurs to us. There is a reciprocal relationship between humans and nature. Nature provides the seeds, man plants and harvests them, then feeds them back to nature. What if we were to believe that it is not us against the natural world—not a conquer and subdue kind of hierarchy—but a passionate, mutual love relationship. Would we treat the earth with more respect?
As I sat here on the porch with my friend, a little red-headed house finch very purposefully flew up, grabbed onto the screen and screed a little song at Ellen. I think he was speaking in gratitude for the wonderful hospitality shown to his kith and kin. We should all follow his example.
In the Spirit,