The Earth is Grace (Newsletter)

It was about 3pm Sunday afternoon. As usual, I was tired and just wanted to relax. Enter Marianne. Before I knew it, we were headed toward Rocky Fork State Park just south of Erwin.

         Rocky Fork is a 2036-acre quilt of dense, Appalachian cove forest in the steep, rocky folds of the Cherokee National Forest. The parking area for the still-undeveloped park is a dirt pull-off with about a six-car capacity. When we pulled in on this lovely Sunday afternoon, ours made car #3.

         I tied my boots, set my trekking poles, and gave my backpack to Marianne. (Don’t judge. She has better discs in her back and joints in her knees than I do.) After passing two fishermen, five hikers, and four dogs, all of whom were leaving, we were the park’s lone visitors

         Thanks to recent rain, Rocky Fork Creek chattered urgently on our left. Within a half-mile, we opted for a right fork which led us on a gentle but steady ascent away from the creek. The further we climbed, the more the rush of the water blended with the rustling of the breezes. When given another choice, we turned left and continued climbing into deep silence.

         The air was fragrant with moist earth, rot, and new life. It all but oozed with humidity. Even a momentary stop caused my glasses to blurr with condensation.

As we skirted large puddles, the clear, still surfaces suddenly roiled with muddy streaks as tiny frogs gave themselves away in desperate attempts to escape notice.

And, oh, the limitless green! The dark avocado of evergreens and late summer hickory, oak, and poplar; emerald mottled with the reds and yellows of already-fallen maple and sassafras leaves; and the bright, liquid seafoam of the high canopy backlit by the sun.

After we had hiked some three miles, the sun began to sag close to the nearest ridge tops. It was time to turn around. A forest trail like that in reverse is, in effect, a brand new trail. Trees angle the opposite directions. The light falls differently. Things once hidden are revealed. It is a kind of metanoia. And because the forest is alive with fauna as well as flora, there is no telling what may reveal itself to you on a return trip. That Sunday it was a large rabbit, a young and apparently ailing hawk that let us get within six-feet of its perch next to the trail, and a mother bear and her three cubs scampering up a steep hillside across a small feeder creek.

To enter such a world is to experience what the Japanese call Shinrin-yoku, or “forest bathing.” In deep woods, silence sings like a chorus. Solitude surrounds you with a most welcome and welcoming company. The remote wildness draws you close to holiness and reveals God’s creative patience and purpose.

The Earth is Grace.

O Lord, how manifold are your works!

In wisdom you have made them all;

         the earth is full of your creatures.

When you send forth your spirit,

         they are created;

and you renew the face of the ground.

(Psalm 104:24, 30)