Dorothy Brush "Random Thoughts" Published April 9, 2003

Each spring I remember the early years

An inner restlessness fills my being with the coming of spring. For those attuned to the land and its rhythms, spring is like a giant magnet, pulling and directing the feet to return home to those early roots. For me it is the place where I was born and grew for 18 years. After that I lived in many places but I always felt the tug to return to the source each spring. Back to that specific space I could call "in the beginning."

The place where my home stood was surrounded by land and woods and filled with memories of a country child. A child in awe of nature's changing scene. There I spent hours in my private forest room, my own green cathedral where I watched in wonder as the squirrels played. A place where I learned to be very quiet and I could hear the deep, constant heartbeat of the earth. In the spring I recognized the stirrings as it wakened from the long, cold winter. Already wild flowers, delicate violets, clusters of salt and pepper and spring beauty were pushing through the dirt as they stretched to feel the warm sun. In the tree tops birds sang a different spring tune as they built nests.

Quiet gave way to exuberance when I explored every curve and bend of the tiny creek. Reaching the stepping stones that led to the opposite side of the shallow creek was an adventure to a child. It was as exciting a journey from step to step as crossing the Mississippi must have been to early explorers.

For many years I did return each spring, but as time passed, changes took their toll. Now I do not visit in person but through my memories. It must have been that same way with the pioneer families who left all that was near and dear to head west. Most had to know they would never return for a visit.

Our children did not have the advantage of living in the same place for 18 years as I had. We lived in one place long enough to put down solid roots in the community and then a new opportunity presented itself. It was painful pulling up those roots and transplanting them to another town. It was the price of being a mobile society.

Each spring as I remember those early years, I wonder if the price of a mobile society is too high. Our children, now adults, lived in many different homes and towns. Were their lives enriched or deprived?

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Dorothy Copus Brush is a Fairfield Glade resident and Crossville Chronicle staffwriter whose column is published each Wednesday.