Dawn's Notes
Going To Shakertown - November 2024
by Dawn Phelps, RN/LMSW
Richard Gwin, Lexington, Kentucky, wrote the memory below. He began as a little farmer boy in Tennessee, grew up, married my sister, and became a builder of structures like hospitals and schools. In his later years he had cerebellar ataxia and had difficulty walking. But as his physical difficulties increased, his gratefulness about life’s gifts increased, and he revealed his thankfulness in his writing. Here’s his story of their 54th anniversary. Richard is “home” now, and we miss him.
"Last night a 'fore I's sleepin'
Strange thoughts there came to me."
I was reliving, in lyrical wonderment, our trip to Shakertown, Pleasant Hill. The one we took August 8 to mark the completion of our fifty-fourth year of marriage. Though there are several ways to go, we chose not the 4-lane thoroughfares and parkways to speed us there, but the slow, curvy, upsy-downsy ways between fences and through forest, the quintessential Kentucky back roads.
I knew it would take a longer time but had planned for it. That's one of the things you get to do when you're retired—just slow down and "smell the roses" along the way. No more racin' to get "there"….
So, although we were fairly droolin' in anticipation of the wonderful food at Shakertown, we consciously decided to enjoy the trip, and we did—unhurried through the Kentucky back roads, all paved, by the way. Come to think of it, I quit seeing gravel or dirt, country roads since we left Tennessee and moved here, over 40 years ago now.
We were only on a 4-lane highway less than a mile when we turned left . . . then began our bonding to nature, and always the twisting, turning of the road…. Could these first have been buffalo traces or Indian paths, who knows? But it is "the road less traveled." And such a sensuous delight! Supper will wait.
But progress we do make. It was a time to indulge the soul, to add to our library of shared experiences. And we found that the joy is in the journey. We had a destination, but, oh, we were enjoying the journey….
Hardly a field of ripe tobacco along the way since the acreage has been so vastly decreased. But still long shadows were cast by those randomly spaced, round bales of hay, or a herd of horses silhouetted along the ridge. And you wonder why we came to the Bluegrass—and just stayed?
They say that "beauty is in the eye of the beholder." But if you haven't seen what I see, it's probably just because you haven't had the chance, or learned the art, of just slowing down, gazing deep at all of nature around you. It's all there! But you have to open your eyes, your senses, to take it in so you can experience it, embrace it, cherish it—to let its exuding presence fill and calm you. God is like that too—always all around you, but unseen, unobtrusive unless you look for Him.
But we're not there yet. Miles to go. A thousand turns to make. Hills and hollows galore. We've scarcely just begun…. But we have a journey to complete. So onward we press . . . for all these years. . . Now, down, down, down. Here a curve. There a curve. A high rock bluff on the left, a chasm on the right. (Would anyone hear my plea for guardrails!?) Until we reach The River—the Kentucky River….
Watch out for those 15 mph signs—up from the river to light and openness and sunshine again. There are individual trees again, not just a mass, with room to stretch their leafy arms. Yes, "trees that look to God all day, and lift their leafy arms to pray."
Still more curves and hills.... But if you turn right, then your journey ends at Pleasant Hill. The rock fences and grand buildings are still there, giving permanence to a settlement almost 200 years old. And supper from those traditional Shaker recipes awaits.
Now, inside, past sweeping twin, circular stairs, you're seated by a window with wavy, rippling glass. Your eyes can't help but follow it outside where you see the graceful, peaceful trees with inviting benches in their shade, and on to the huge garden, from whence comes so much of our supper….
And so, we remembered. Would tonight's supper make us young, and strong, and vibrant, and pressing at the "bit" of life like we were 54 years ago? But we remembered. I still consider Joy the girl of my dreams, and she was still seated right across the table from me.
God has been so good to me—living comfortably, securely, driving here in a cushioned, conditioned car, and here delighting in a delicious meal amid everything I could envision to make life fairly glow with serenity and peace. Quite a trip for a little ol' ragged, country boy from the hills of Tennessee. Again, I say, God sure has been good to me.
And then the journey back by the same roads. Still light…. I wonder if the night creatures—the crickets and frogs, the dry-flies and whip-o-wills, the katydids, and owls—were starting their singing. I remember the serenades from my childhood when I turned my head to the foot of the bed and opened the window. There listening and watching for those shooting stars—until sleep slipped in, unheard and unseen, and gently closed those wondering eyes. And the sleep was so-o-o peaceful.
We miss out on so much with our air-tight, conditioned houses and cars with windows closed—always closed. And then we're home again. Need I go on?
Call about the next "Living Life after Loss" Group at:
Meadowlark Hospice
709 Liberty, Clay Center, Kansas
(785) 632-2225
Dawn Phelps, RN/LMSW, Group Facilitator