the cabin as expression of connection

 to love the earth

Lao Tsu reminds us to "love the earth" in our dwellings,

our Smoky Mountain retreat, 

what we call "the cabin,"

is a comfortable house: a good place to sit, sleep, eat, visit,

with window and porch and attitude

oriented to the rushing murmur of the clear creek flowing by,

all within the touch of the great forest

that owns this section of the Appalachian range massif,

the close-by rhododendron, beech, buckeye, sycamore,

have been my friends since childhood,

we have filled the walls with photos of named flowers,

of the ubiquitous bears and the occasional heron,

of the great mountain above, called "Walasiyi" by the Cherokee,

and photos of the family whose lives enrich us all,

while the earth and nature literally ground us,

we need to commit ourselves to a covenant 

within which we remember to be larger

than our finite years,

for we are also of the infinite, as Lao Tsu reminds us,

I started this writing because a friend gifted me

a great hornet nest from the Blue Ridge Parkway,

the dry remnant of a great colony,

scary in its prime,

I want to display it in our cabin,

I fear, though, that, rather than embracing

this creation from our long-distant cousins,

they who created this brooding home,

visitors at the cabin might instead fear,

for what we do not control can be frightening,

if we must "love the earth,"

we must trust that that means reaching for the larger self

toward which the best of all religions aches,

we need to expand and not limit who we are,

still, I do not yet know if displaying the great hornet nest

will move us forward, or into retreat from the unknown, 

and into fear rather than the desired awe.

by Henry H. Walker

April 4, ‘26