An allergy doctor told me years ago that goldenrods are not the real
cause of the sneezing many of us do every fall. He explained that they are pollinated by insects and take the rap for ragweed, which is pollinated by the wind. I was glad to learn this because very little is more magnificent than the sight of a county road in autumn, lined with purple ageratum and goldenrods.
Sunday, I saw on Facebook that one of my friends was disappointed
because her phone had changed time zones without her realizing it. That meant the alarm went off an hour late, causing her to miss church.
I know her well, and I knew that although she was upset over missing what might have been an edifying sermon in her church building, she had not missed a chance to be reverent and grateful. Not if she were in her garden and with her dogs.
I’ve gone to church in many settings, and I will always love Jernigan Methodist, the church my ancestors built and which I grew up in. I am also quite fond of St. Dunstan’s Episcopal in Auburn. And I enjoyed many a tent meeting over the years on dirt roads out in the county. So I am not discounting the value of church attendance, be it in a formal or informal setting.
However, a line from a song we sang in junior high choral has never stopped playing in my head: “in my dear green cathedral there is a flowered seat, with choir loft in branched croft, and the songs of the bird hymns sweet.” Over the years, I came to an understanding that we can be worshipful wherever we are. Later, in high school, I read Thoreau who reinforced my belief that “Heaven is under our feet, as well as above our heads.”
And then there’s Truman Capote’s “A Christmas Memory” in which, after a day of wading high pasture grass to fly homemade kites and eat Satsumas, Aunt Sook declares to her cousin, Buddy: “I’ll wager … [that] at the very end a body realizes the Lord
has already shown Himself. That things as they are, just what they’ve always seen, was seeing Him. As for me, I could leave the world with today in my eyes.”
So we tend our gardens and enjoy the glory, even whenthat glory shows up in our own backyards or in a ditch along a county road.
Marian Carcache welcomes
comments at email@example.com.