I am a nature lover. No secret. All my friends know that. Even my acquaintances. I believe in trees. They hold the secrets.
Thing is – I wish they just weren’t in the way in Eastern North Carolina.
I find myself boxed in by them, yearning for wide open spaces only the Great Plains of Wyoming can provide for me.
I am tending my soil and garden here in North Carolina, working my garden shovel and planting new crops. I have tiny miniscule spinach leaves popping up, opening their delicate tiny leaves, in a miniature elongated V, bending and curving like a ballerina. Nature is so graceful.
I recently planted broccoli, cauliflower, and more tomatoes. I like to see the tiny seeds emerge, breaking through the dirt, as if to say, “I overcame. I became. I am born.” And then I watch them breath and grow, inhale, exhale. Such little miracles nature provides.
Back to the trees – I think I need to get in touch with the forest. The town I live in is not what I would call a green city. More like an orange city. The hot vapors of humidity in the summer make it very hard to adventure out under the big blanket of blue sky. But I really am trying. I go to the lake pictured in the black and white slide show above quite often. I have not been able to go this past month because of the heat. It has been in the upper nineties for what feels like the last month. With a heat index that feels like 100 degrees. I get bitchy in the heat and humidity. And this heat sticks to you like damp towels.
How I long for a cold mountain stream. I think I will plan an adventure or just get everyone in the car with enough diapers in the diaper bag and just go.
When was the last time you hopped in the car and just adventured it?
Where would you go?
I would go to the mountains or the beach. But the mountains are calling me. I don’t care where they are – The Great Smokey Mountains, The Rockies, The Appalachian Mountains.
Mountain towns are special places. Special people.
Or just a grove of trees where I can dance by the light of the moon underneath them.
A writer from North Carolina, Michael Parker, talked about “the longing to leave gene,” that goes with living in a small town. I think I have this gene, rooted deep inside me. Whenever a town gets too familiar or boring, I long for the adventure of a new space, a greener pasture. But I do long for wide open spaces. I am at home in nature. Where poetry dances before me. Leaves me breathless, speechless, filled with words only poets understand. I long for nature. I sometimes think I could live like Thoreau did and then I realize I have a husband, baby, and way too much crap. But what an amazing concept. To live so closely connected to nature that you are truly a part of it.
My husband and I talked today at lunch about where we will move eventually. He promised we’d get back West. It’s going to be a long time from now. But knowing that I will eventually be back where I love, provides such a deep sense of comfort.
How I miss my Aspens and Cottonwoods.
But perhaps that “Longing to Leave Gene” is kicking in.
Where do you long to leave and where do you long to go?