I've noticed that, in the shift from college lifestyle to young adulthood, over the past three years, my attitude has changed significantly. Many folks say, "I'll never work in a cubicle,' and yet most do anyway. So, I've been thinking about what delights my soul, what makes the little boy inside shout out and jump up and down in excitement. I'd like to share one of these delights of my soul, and ask the rest of you Apples for yours.
Brown County, Indiana, in the fall. There is absolutely nothing like it. I spent so much time in Brown County (known for its hills and for the quaint shopping towns like Nashville and Gnaw Bone that rest in her valleys), while I was growing up, riding horses, chasing girls, staring at the night sky, taking in the fresh air. It has always been a well of renewal for my heart and a place to clear my mind.
I frequently recall so many moments that were made in B.C., such as laying out on a picnic table in the middle of the Horseman's Park in the State Park. Not many people were in camp that week. I picked a spot where no trailers were set up, so there would be no artificial light. The trees are sparse in the campground, so there was no obstruction of the view. A cool fall evening, spent lying on my back, gazing at a gorgeous night sky... I might have been 14 or 15 at the time. My heart was captured by that sky, by that place, by that exact moment - and perhaps that is why it has become a place that my heart delights in.
Many of my favorite memories surround the place... my first very memorable kiss. Running up and down the creeks - what we called creek-stompin' - on my trusted old pony... riding horses at night, clear summer nights, with no flashlight, where the stars and the moon overhead would provide plenty of light once the eyes had adjusted.
Standing on one of the street corners in Nashville was a man named John Franz. He played guitar and song old folk, pop, and love songs from the '50's, '60's, and '70's. He abandoned real life - a job, a wife and kids, whatever passed for normal then - to be a sort of hobo, a man and a guitar, just traveling, seeing, singing. I would spend a good deal of time with him during college. I would just go and sit and here him play for hours, hoping to get one of his many stories. He personified the free spirit of Brown County for me. And now, when I drive down Nashville's streets... I don't see him anymore. Part of me hopes he just moved on... but part of me knows that he, well over 65 years of age and having no health insurance or no means to care for any health concerns, part of me knows he probably fell ill, since the last time I saw him he was not doing well.
And many other memories are tinged with such sadness, memories that pull at the heart-strings. Old people and faces that I loved, gone from my life... a girlfriend here, a childhood best friend there, folks that moved on as I moved on in my life.
I remember skipping classes at I.U. to take my soon to be fiance (and soon to be ex-fiance, as it were
) to the park for picnics... just laying out on a blanket, on one of the hillsides in the park, enjoying the view, and more importantly, the good company. It wasn never an escape, but rather a return. The average, ordinary grind is the escape. The woods, with their breezes and birdsong; the hills, with their slopes and valleys and hidden streams; the endless, breath-taking sky, full of more stars than I've ever seen before... all those are home. So when I visit, I really, truly, just return.So... how about you? What keeps you a little young at heart?
