I’ve allowed myself to slip into a deep summer reverie; I’m working (yes, it takes work for me) to enjoy every minute of summertime. I work too hard and enjoy too little most of the time. Silly me.
Our stay at Spring Lake was so brief, but very special.
Sunday was our last day at the Round House. After church, the kids enjoyed a quiet afternoon at the frog pond. Richard read a book; I walked around the property, taking photos. I wanted to remember the feelings of the day and I hoped pictures would help. Aunt Susan was in my thoughts all day. I looked down the road where she grew up and took time to think of her as a young girl, running around this little town.
The Secret Garden, always such a special place, with its places to sit and rest and bits of interest like the Thinking Rock, tiger lilies, yellow brick pathway, money bushes, and more remains true to its name.
I love a good, rustic pathway and the rustle of leaves as I move down the lane.
New oaks at my feet and a canopy of tall oaks over my head taught me new life lessons simple and profound and not easily expressed.
I studied the tiles for an extra long time, smiling at the thought of a young Aunt Susan not being able to resist taking a pretty tile home many years ago.
On the deck, the usual restful spot awaited me, bathed in green light filtered through the trees. I found a plaster of paris mold that Dad made in 1961 of a seahorse sitting on a table there. I smiled, picturing Dad just a little older than Daniel.
Echoing through the property was the sound of my children laughing and splashing together at the frog pond, enjoying the details so carefully created by Dad. This may be one of his most powerful lessons: children need rocks, dirt, and water to be happy.
And here, these things are in abundance.
The kids sought me out and asked me to take a picture of them on Grandma’s swing. Pow! I felt so much gratitude for them…
My wanderings took me up the road, to the spot that was burned last summer. The foreground still looks marred, but the view had the same effect that it always has on me. I had the usual sharp intake of breath as I tried to comprehend it all. I’ve never felt this powerfully about any other place. And again the view taught me quiet and powerful lessons impossible to describe.
And there was healing in the thoughts of family, home, heritage, and a loving Creator.
And then I walked down the hill and we drove away from my own personal Walden Pond, resolved to live with more simplicity, more faith, and greater effort to find joy.
