regrowth

When I was growing up, my Dad farmed some ground east of town. “Payne’s Hill”, we called it. I remember sticking my arms out the window of his pickup truck to feel them sweep backward with air as we drove out 4th Street, past the country airport with dandelions along the runway, to check crops on the Hill. There was a one-lane bridge with tall arched trusses on the sides, and as we neared it Dad would yell, “Get your arm back in this truck before you lose it!”

In early Spring, as farmers burnt pasture, I would think to myself how silly it seemed that the beautiful Payne’s Hill was going up in smoke. Little did I know the regrowth beneath the ashes would flourish into new life on Payne’s Hill.

As luck would have it now, my family’s home is east of Payne’s Hill, and I get to drive the same drive I took in the pickup truck with my Dad for my morning commute each day. Each Fall I enjoy the leaves changing in different hues across the hill. When it snows in the Winter, the valley below the hill looks like a perfectly laid white blanket. Each Spring, I see smoke across the skyline as the pastures burn. And it always seems that once, every year, I come around the curve to crest the hill and am taken aback by the seemingly overnight growth of brilliant green new grass across the valley.

Spring 2021 is the Springiest Spring there ever was. After basically the longest Winter (quarantine) of all time, COVID showed up and set the whole world on fire. And now here we are, peeking out from the ashes, getting ready to bloom again.

Life is such a funny thing. A cycle of seasons, of loss and new life. Sometimes, when things seem to be “going up in smoke”, it’s simply life’s way of paving the way for regrowth.

May we always have the ability to see beyond burnt pastures. And may we never miss the chance to be taken aback by the beauty of new life.

Lindy