Debbie Croft: A place to call home

I’m amazed at life lessons and spiritual analogies found in simple things outdoors – like tiny clumps of grass growing in cracks of pavement, and miniature oaks surviving in crevices between slabs of rock. Water, sunlight and a little bit of dirt are all that’s needed for living things to grow.

How streams of water take the easiest course down the hillside. And how the sun always shines above the fog and clouds, beyond the darkness.

The fragrances of springtime take me back to what I knew first – to the pastures and endless green of Virginia and the German countryside.

I caught myself last week with a sudden urge to run over and grab a low tree branch, swing my legs over the top and hang upside-down. I used to do things like that, once upon a time.

Funny how the most random thoughts come to me, while walking with the breeze swirling around, kissing my arms and face.

Finding a fragment of red plastic from a shattered brake light lying on the road, and I’m transported to our kitchen where I watched my mom make cookies with red plastic cookie cutters she collected for free from bags of flour.

I remember taking a bath in the middle of the day with sun streaming through the window, shining on soap bubbles. My brother and I had played in a puddle, not realizing it was run-off from a honey wagon – what Germans call the horse-drawn tank full of liquid fertilizer from cow manure.

Two part-time jobs keep me indoors most days – writing, of course, and working with spreadsheets, databases, handling communications and miscellaneous administrative tasks for a nonprofit.

On a rare day off, I ignore the piles of laundry and dried grass and lint on my floors, and head outside to work in the yard. I envy the goats and their carefree days. (My husband envies their owner’s access to effortless lawn mowing.)

On a typical morning, the view outside my kitchen window draws me outside to stand on our front porch in wonder at God’s handiwork.

Be still and know, a Middle-Eastern shepherd once sang.

And already the bugs come. Our daughter noticed it the other day.

“Yep,” I said. “The more rain we get, the more bugs.”

Another life lesson: In every circumstance there’s a trade-off. Turning 18 means finally being on your own, but adulthood also comes with responsibilities, bills, car repairs and presidential elections. And with advancing years comes wisdom, but these body parts don’t cooperate like they used to.

For those who don’t like bugs and humidity, there’s Arizona. But beware the cacti and scorpions and rattlesnakes and vast stretches of boring, brown landscape. Not exactly the best place for enjoying a picnic.

Even though there are cobwebs, and even though it’s crooked and in need of improvements, I found my home nestled right here in these green hills.

This story was originally published February 19, 2016 at 1:49 PM with the headline "Debbie Croft: A place to call home."