If by sea or land I roam . . .

I miss those West Virginia Hills, as the state song goes.  So it is always a soul-balming treat to return to them for a couple of days.  We have started our west-ward trek with a weekend in Sago, the riverside hollow in the hills where the Aylestocks settled generations back.  Coal mining has denuded and decapitated some of those beloved hills, swathes of forest have been laid bare for power lines, ugly metal scaffolding rises to hold coal chutes for loading the train, equipment rumbles, and most disturbingly the massive dump-trucks full of the black mineral roar up and down the narrow curving two-lane road only meters from the house, day and night, every few minutes, so that a thin film of coal dust permeates everywhere.  But not on Labor Day weekend, and without the trucks, if you look more east than south, it is possible to remember the old days here.  A screened porch, cool blue sky, towering maples and pines, a slow river crystal clear over smooth stones, acres of grass and shade, and the sheltering hills all around.  Hikes and swims, reading books and cooking dinner.  Open windows and chirping crickets.  I love this place. 

The per capita density of ATV's and guns must be pretty high in West Virginia, and my parents' place is no exception, so Jack and Julia enjoy the thrill of driving.  We shoot old soda cans from the rail-road track across the yard.  But mostly we just explore the woods and the river.  Point out the way a birch twig tastes like root beer, or how sycamore trees with their peely white bark lean out over the river.  Jump off rocks and splash.  Walk or drive up the road to a high spot for cell phone reception to check in with Caleb and Luke once a day.  Watch 1940's movies with my mom at night (Cassablanca, you can't beat that, and the lesser known The Best Years of our Lives, which is a post war re-entry tale that hits close to home in many ways).  There is some time here to be quiet in the woods, to listen and pray, that we need as we head into a month of testifying and travel.

If by sea or land I roam (and we have done both), still I think of happy home (not sure where that is, but this is as close as anyplace), and my friends among those West Virginia Hills . . .