Finding the place we live takes an adventuresome spirit. The winding orange dirt path from hard-top road to home passes abandoned tobacco barns, tall grasses, deep woods and crosses a stream. Weather can make it impassible and provides a cozy sense of isolation, of wilderness.
Snow Creek is an agricultural community in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains and convenient to nothing… unspoiled and an eager participant in what is best about each season. We made it our home one August when timber rattlers were on the prowl – at first unsure of our choice of real estate. Fall came, and the fresh-water pond turned into a kaleidoscope of shimmering colors, frequently visited by water fowl: wood ducks, geese and heron. Wild turkey and deer roamed the hills behind us, and the smells of wood smoke rose in the air. Winter brought crystal clear days, our breath visible on the fresh air — and snow and snow and snow. With spring came the discovery of Lady’s Slipper flowers, wild berries, wild flowers, wild… Summer brought an abundance of lily pads, ripening fruit trees we didn’t know we had, and unfortunate overgrowth of poison ivy.
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The place we live is sensual. Nights are black save for the blanket of stars overhead, and we spend time together lying on the ground looking skyward, deep in our own thoughts. Depending on the season, night sounds are loud and include an orchestra of insects and frogs at pond’s edge, the gentle sounds of a neighbor’s cattle, the occasional yip (then call) of coyotes, an owl beckoning another in echo across the pond. Day brings a variety of treasures: the ever changing complexion of the pond’s surface, blackbirds launching from a ridge — pepper in the wind. The crunch of tires on gravel heard way before an approaching car…. The golden eagle that sits on the thunder struck tree at wood’s edge…. The intoxicating smell of fresh cut hay rolled into a hundred monuments to nature’s abundance…. The very real spiritual connection the setting provides…. The ever present sense of gratitude.