Yonder

Sacred Origins

I'll be over Yonder. 

I heard him say it a thousand times, if I heard it once. Growing up in the Blue ridge, meant that you were connected to something more than just a place to call home. The earth itself seemed to hold an amazing energy that draws the essence of who you are to the surface. This is a place where herbs grew wild on the river bank, and were used by my Grandparents as medicine. Laurel bushes are indigenous and take up a large part of the river banks, and the trails that wind throughout the mountainside.  As a child I remember taking the occasional road trip to the river. We would spend time with friends and family at a remote swimming hole and of course, at some point, the grill would be fired up and some sort of meat would be cooked for dinner.

We lived in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina, just minutes away from the river side where I spent so many wonderful moments. My Dad was a self employed Painter/Wall paper hanger, My Mother a CNA. Both were from the Blue ridge although they lived within 50 miles of each other, their lives were worlds apart. She was connected to the side of the mountain that was more well to do. Her family was surrounded with social influence that afforded them the avenues of success in business. He was born and raised in a remote location at least 10 miles from the nearest town. (and yes he had to walk in the snow, uphill, etc.)

My fondest memories of growing up were those of spending time with my Grandparents. I loved my Parents, but time with the Grandparents seemed very fulfilling. Mom and Dad were always providing, and although my home life was routine, from a Grandparent perspective the routine at home was given an origin. Everything revolved around work. I remember someone once said that everything comes through work, whether it is an outstanding structure or the chair that you are sitting in. What ever it is that we can see, you can believe that someone put hands to it and formed it for the purpose of another to use. Nothing was more true than watching the daily life of my Grandparents.

 The days started early. I was always well rested regardless of the fact that I was sleeping on a very soft mattress resting on old springs and an old metal bed. I would wake up around 7:00 am to smell bacon frying in the old cast iron pan, heated on one of my Granny's two wood stoves. Coffee would be in a percolator style pot on the stove in the living room. I would turn the corner as I entered into the kitchen and I would see Granny working hard preparing our meal. Nothing about their lives was contemporary, at least not in comparison to the lives of the people that I would come to encounter in my early life. Just as I would enter the kitchen and bid a good morning to Granny, like clock work Paw paw would enter from outside, he had already been out preparing and working since 5:00 am. I would ask him where he had been, he would simply reply , "Over yonder" 

When I reached a certain age, I would eventually join Paw paw on the hill side helping him work the trees. He was the owner and proprietor of a tree nursery. Every moment of the day was accounted for through the glorious routine they called the experience of living. I remember it being the small things that impressed me the most. The way that he would carefully  dig up a tree, easy not to disturb the roots too much. He would wrap the base in burlap and pin it down to preserve the base for moving. Keeping in mind that trees are alive and the moment that one is removed from its place of origin its longevity is greatly dependent on the judgments of the proprietor. These small impressions would eventually fold into a life of spiritual knowing.

I do remember that there were no accidents , no mistakes. The routines that were followed so closely, birthed a momentum of intuitive knowledge that could not be taught from a book or realized through studious intent. It just seemed natural. Every movement was ordered by what seems to be divine governing, as if to say this is your purpose.  I strongly believe that manual  labor is a conduit for humility. It is a powerful influence that comes from the service of one to another. Much like the honey formed by the infamous bee hives, that are structured through communal intent.