A Sacred Place

Moon Creek

I grew up in the rural South. There are so many memories that often grace my heart with nostalgia. I remember holidays with my childhood family. Both my parents had large families and on holidays we would all gather together to celebrate. There was feasting on all occasions, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter too. Summer grilling, homemade ice cream and croquet on the thick grass. In the evening the cousins and I would lay on the ground on one of Grandma's homemade quilts and stargaze. I cherish those memories of laughter I can no longer hear and beloved faces I have not forgotten and never will forget.

I remember Sundays in church where I learned all the old familiar Bible stories and still carry an appreciation for them in my later years. In the old days, before a new building was built, there was no air conditioning. The windows would be opened wide and you could hear the hymns for long distances. There were cardboard fans available on every pew and I remember those church ladies fanning furiously to keep themselves and the babies on their laps cool. There were church picnics with all the homemade fried chicken and pies you could possibly eat. There was the annual summer vacation bible school and the parade when we loaded up all our teachers' cars and the fire truck then drove down all the country backroads honking horns and yelling for everyone to come to bible school. There were the annual Christmas tree lightings and Christmas plays. I always seemed to play the part of the angel who appeared to the shepherds, I can still recite that entire scriptural annunciation by memory, with all the appropriate facial expressions and gestures!

I remember Moon Creek, people got baptized there for many years before a new church building went up with a baptismal pool. I think a lot of ambiance was lost when the creek was no longer used as a sacred place. When I was a child we'd go swimming in the creek. No one in the whole community had a pool so we all made use of muddy Moon Creek to cool off. You had to be careful of jagged rocks, toe-nibbling fish and the occasional, poisonous, water moccasin. We took our children swimming there just as our parents had taken us. Tradition dies a hard death in small Southern communities.

I don't get back home too often, there is almost no family left now. I occasionally visit my cousin. My siblings and parents are all passed away. My maternal grandparents' farmhouse is completely gone now but I can still visit their graves. I drive past my paternal grandparents' old farm and my parents' old home. The farm still looks wonderful for it's advanced age. Obviously whoever lives there takes pride in their property. My parents' house is all but falling down. It breaks my heart to see the home they loved and raised me in looking so neglected. I can't look at that poor house without shedding tears. I always visit my parents' graves, not far from Moon Creek. Someday I want to visit the creek again, just to relive those old memories. I wonder if parents still take their children there to swim. I like to think that they do.