Jeep Trails

Bama's "Preppy Sky"

Set up for yourself roadmarks,
Place for yourself guideposts;
Direct your mind to the highway
The way by which you went
Return, o virgin of Israel,
Return to these your cities.
Jer 31:21

There was nothing better than growing up on an Army Post in the 60's. A great protected enclave with kids everywhere, Ft. Rucker, AL was my main stomping grounds. In fact, it is my birthplace, so despite all of our travels, I can claim to be a native son of Alabama. In my 5th and 6th grade years, helicopters droned night and day, as Vietnam had created quite a stir for the Army’s new calvary horse, the Huey Chopper.

Carved out of the red dirt, hardwoods and pines of Dale Co., Ft Rucker was a young explorer’s dream. I had a secret place, a familiar junction, where I would steal away in the woods near our quarters. It was a quiet haunt by Claybank Creek, a refuge from the summer heat, tranquil with the placidity of an early Sunday morning. The water had worn the sand into and fine, clean, grain, cool to the touch. I loved sitting with my shirtless, tanned back resting on the swollen trunk of an old cypress, listening to the soft gurgling of the eddy pool that provided cool relief for my toes. The water moved slowly, much like the pace of everything in the deep south in the summer months. Never the boisterous sound of rushing water, it was more like that beautiful guttural cluck that a turkey-hen makes during the spring ritual of finding her tom. Looking up, I admired what I now call the preppy sky, that classic contrast of a thick humidity laced blue against the green of the tall pines. Oh sweet memories...let your mind take you to one of those places for a moment..a heartbeat or two...you can spare the time...

OK friends...come back...many of our adventures would take us so deep in the woods, that we frequently found ourselves...LOST. No worries, Jimbo’s Dad had told hin to look for a jeep trail or an opening in the sky. Jimbo was much more the adventurer, and he was able to get us out of our jams. I listened to Jimbo, at least most of the time. He and Scottie cooked up a plan to "borrow" a rubber raft from the survival camp ( you know, where the snake eaters train) and float down Claybank Creek. I passed on this trip, thankfully, they ended up sharing the raft with a cottonmouth and got caught to boot. Boy, did they catch hell. I digress...What a great feeling to find that jeep trail, that preppy sky opening, a familiar tree, my little eddy pool. Familiar places that took us home would put a grin of relief on our faces.

I am at the point in my life of finding something familiar, a sojourn back to the eddy pool. Like those early years of my walk with Christ. I am almost back home, but just finding that familiar path is such a relief. Oh..forgiveness..I remember that, compassion, yea, I see it...making up for so much lost time with dear friends...God, forgive me....Those ignored words in red, pardon me Jesus. All the frenetic energy that I have wasted trying to be Martha instead of Mary (Luke 10:38-42) just kind of burned me out. You didn’t need my scurrying about? Should have spent more time at your feet listening? Keep talking Lord, I am listening now; my back is against the cypress and my toes are in the eddy pool.

Mark
Prov. 17:22