Taking Shelter
There have been times in my life when I was struck by a particular view from the inside of an outdoor structure. There is something about the perfect balance of safety and exposure to nature. Just as there seems to be a nice, resonant, life-giving balance between vulnerably engaging in our lives and maintaining enough safety to not get killed, abused, taken advantage of, kept in the dark of our essential nature.
I am sitting at the picnic table my grandmother placed on the covered cement patio outside her barn. The columns and roof line create a frame for the lovely view of the home she constructed in the likeness of her mother’s in the same place. She had to tear the old one down because it was beyond repair when she acquired the property from the rest of the family. She grew up in this place, and her life will likely end here. Her middle years were spent raising six children, mostly on her own, going to college for a teaching degree, teaching, and dealing with an alcoholic spouse. My mother remembers the lack of interaction with her father. He was absent, if not physically, certainly in every other way. She and my aunts and uncles have each dealt with the trauma of their childhoods in different ways. And yet, we all love spending time on granny’s property. It holds enough of the kind of history that makes us proud to be part of the rural Texas clan of Welders.
Views Made for Nature Lovers
The central feature of this framed view from the barn patio is the pond Grandmother had constructed. She, and most of her descendants, are nature lovers, and that pond has hosted a variety of creatures including snakes, turtles and at one point a giant alligator that made its way over when the Trinity river, just down the way, overflowed in a big storm and flooded the whole property. They had it trapped and taken away. On one side of the pond is a stand of oak trees that follow the driveway which curves beyond the house, turning to the main road. From some branches hang bird feeders and below one is a bird bath. The sun room on the North side of the home is used almost entirely for watching the avian visitors by the pond. The sofa is sometimes used to sleep overflow guests, but I find the room too bright and prefer a futon in the well-shaded library. Back at the patio the left side view is forest. Grandmother’s portion extends about a half mile to the North. It’s dense, but a path was cleared that takes you all the way to the property line, close to the Trinity, along the fence, and back around. Only the brave walk that loop. Most of us choose the Gator to avoid water moccasins and other dangerous snakes. The view is peaceful. My back is to the barn, my feet on concrete, and I feel safe. I can let go and just take it all in.
A Safe Place to Connect
This state of safety and exposure is resonant with my soul. When I can relax and be present, I can align with mystery. Plus, when I’m visiting grandmother’s house in Texas, there’s not much to do but to clean up after Aunt Renie’s feedings. My favorite is fried catfish and okra. Trinity river catfish. We sit around and gossip like good country folk. We sip iced tea and share memories. We connect. We are family.
The wrap around porch on the South side of her home is another framed view experience. I almost always wake up before anybody else, excluding the orchestra of birds and insects, make coffee and sit out on the rocking bench to listen. I might write in my journal or read. Eventually someone joins me. The squeak of the screen door hinges ignites a tiny longing. I’ve been alone long enough and delight in the company of others. What do we want to do today? Perhaps we could pull some weeds or clear some of the fallen branches along the driveway and Gator path. It might be time to head to town and pick up some things from Walmart. Maybe we’ll lunch at the Mexican joint in town. Plans are made. Our laughter contributes to the symphonic soundtrack of the wild surrounds. We are connected. We are family.
The Structures of Leisure
Life is overwhelming so much of the time. There’s always more to do. More to take care of. Vacations like these, with a balance of safety and simple pleasures, connection and contemplation, bring the soul back to ground. We remember a bit more who we are. There is something or someone outside of us that reflects our own nature, a symphony of sound, a rocking motion, coffee on a mild morning, a wall at our back and a roof over our head, a door opening, and plans being made.