The good life

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist 

It is not that we warm the home we built with firewood or cool off by unlacing our work boots and letting the creek water wash over our feet. It's not that we raise our own beef or enjoy cooking with the eggs our chickens lay or love sinking our teeth into a sun-warmed tomato just picked from the vine. 

When we first came to the valley back into 2003, we inherited an old fisherman, who had been fly fishing the creek for decades. He told us this land was just about his favorite place on earth, and he had travelled far. He was a wildlife photographer. One day we stood talking beside a deep hole as he was taking off his waders. He paused in his efforts, perhaps to catch his breath, perhaps not, and looked up at the hillsides rising from the creek to the flat lands above.

He smiled and waved one hand toward the hills. "There is so much energy in this valley. It ... fills me." 

At the time, I was new to the valley and did not quite understand what he meant. As the years passed, I have come to understand.

In the earliest spring, I can look up the forested hillside and see bloodroot's white flowers jumping up overnight from last fall's leaf litter. Their white is a striking contrast with the dark brown of the woodland floor. Yes, they burst forth with energy.

Spring turns into an overhead symphony of greens, brightly florescent, softly new, or bold and strong. The greens turn the valley hills into a quilt of my favorite colors, while the wildflowers below bloom yellow, purple, blue and red, and of course the hills are soon decorated with redbud. The creek runs hard and fast, swollen with rain, and energy abounds.

Summer burns hot, the garden grows, and as the creek runs shallow, fish gather in the deep pools. The valley seems to simmer in the heat, and I confess that I feel my own energy wane. All I want to do is find a shady spot to sit with my feet in creek, but the garden grows and the weeds proliferate and their energy amazes me.

And then comes fall and the hillsides burn in yellow, red and deep forest brown. The leaves fall and swirl in the breeze and as they drop, my heart curiously soars.

The valley's winter energy lies in the silhouetted trees, as they store their life's sap safe in the rooted earth. Their standing dead logs burn bright in our wood stove. The wind may howl. Snow may fall, but we are warm.

The old fisherman no longer fishes the creek. I cannot tell him that I understand, but I believe that he knew that one day I would. It is unbelievably hot in the valley today. After chores, Greg settled into his shop, wrenching on his latest wrenching project. 

I watered the roots of my wilting gourds and then decided to take the puppy for a walk up the dry creek bed. The rocks rang like wind chimes under our footsteps. A breeze blew my hair from my damp forehead. We found a deep pool under a shady overhang. 

I settled down on a ledge and took off my boots. The puppy splashed in a small waterfall. With my feet in the cool water, I really did feel infused with the valley's renewing energy. I leaned back to soak it all in and did not move – nary a muscle – until that is a very wet puppy decided to jump and shake all over me.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com. 

* * *

••• Publisher's note: A free press is critical to having well-informed voters and citizens. While some news organizations opt for paid websites or costly paywalls, The Highland County Press has maintained a free newspaper and website for the last 25 years for our community. If you would like to contribute to this service, it would be greatly appreciated. Donations may be made to: The Highland County Press, P.O. Box 849, Hillsboro, Ohio 45133. Please include "for website" on the memo line.