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The Splendid Handiwork of God
As I grew and expanded my horizon I walked or rode through other lovely valleys like Little Creek, Wolffork, Persimmon, Warwoman and Timpson. All these valleys were rimmed by forest-clad ridges and mountains and connected by gaps in the ranges such as Blue Ridge Gap and Davis Gap. I trod old trails worn deep by the Cherokees and earlier Amerindians that lived here in the dim past. My pioneer folks and Cherokee forebears trod these trails and called this land home.
Here and there were roaring, foaming waterfalls fringed by mountain laurels and rhododendrons. Trout – the brook and rainbow – finned in dark cool depths, waiting for a kid equipped with cane pole and a Prince Albert tobacco can full of red worms dug behind the barn.
Led by my dad, Neal Justus, or Grandpa Dock Dickerson, my brothers and I, with uncles and cousins, camped and fished by the wooded shores of Lake Burton and enjoyed the grand feasts Grandpa prepared for us. We camped by springs in coves on Glassy Mountain or other choice spots to hunt squirrels that abounded in hickory and oak groves. Sitting by a fire at evening’s gloaming after dining on squirrels and dumplings, we heard the angelic voice of nightingales (wood thrushes) and the lonesome hoot of owls. Showers fell upon our lean-to shelter, while lightening flashed and thunder rolled over the peaks. It was a great life!
This early walk with nature flavored the rest of my life. My mind and heart and eyes focused on the grand creation that sustains us. On journeys across America I fell in love with the Rocky Mountains and the Cascades on the Pacific rim of our great nation. The vast black forests and snow-clad peaks standing over secluded valleys were magnified replacements for my childhood home in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I came to understand the mystic nature of the Amerindians and their love for the land that nurtured them. It was clear why the early trappers, mountain men, explorers and settlers faced dangers and hardships to settle the Great American West.
On the forested slopes of northern Luzon Island I was reminded of the Blue Ridge Mountains of home. In Korea, from a high cliff I beheld the sun’s waning glow turn the Yellow Sea into molten gold through which fishing vessels with slanting sails headed in to port. In Vietnam’s central highlands forested mountains often wreathed in fog rose over a plateau of red earth where herds of cattle grazed watched by natives dressed much like traditional Amerindians. In the dry season dust devils like baby tornadoes arose in red columns and spun away toward the blue-hazed mountains.
Among the swamps, small fishing villages, back bays and narrow waterways south of Charleston, SC, I fished with a buddy from a small boat and admired egrets, ducks, shrimp boats sitting at old docks, grand mansions with white pillars, gulls soaring about gracefully, and Spanish moss dangling from the trees. When the tide rushed in from the sea, the marsh grasses waved in ripples though no wind blew. Once we gathered oysters from an exposed mound at low tide and ate them while beached on a tiny islet watching porpoises chasing a school of fish in an inlet.
The many hikes and hunts and fishing trips into remote places only reinforced my early training at home and church concerning the creation of the world and universe. I knew that only a creative being of unlimited power could bring these wondrous things into existence. At times and places I sensed an unexplainable presence. Among the great redwood forest of California I felt I was in a holy place and tears came to my eyes. Once, while I stood by a mighty giant, I heard a slight noise and I turned to see a deer standing within reach! The doe looked up at me and calmly began to nibble grass nearby. I thought here was a touch of Eden!
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