With more than 50 Blessed Drives rambling in my head and heart, I couldn’t help but reminisce on my way over to Bugtussle. No matter how I sliced it, I was treading on ground already traveled in my sojourns across the county. But I don’t buy a roast beef sandwich for the bread, Family. Tucked in between Robinson and Swan Creek is Meat if I’ve ever seen it! My breath was taken away by the beauty of Bugtussle over and over. Truly, I hope y’all will take a slow Blessed Drive down this one if you’ve never gone before. Until then, let me try to whet your appetite a little.

Coming off sweet Swan Creek Road is an iconic meadow surrounded by trees and creeks. With the Spring Green growing all around, everything on this drive was vibrant and crystal clear, like a fine wine glass without any spot or speck of dirt or dust. That tree standing in the middle of the creek screamed in defiance at the trickling water, even as the rock wall seemed to be holding back the force of the earth behind it (lest the defiant tree look less so!). Baby’s breath (or something like it) lined the roads. I can’t help but smile when I see those “weeds” and others like it. I can close my eyes and see my father-in-law (and also farmer) whisper with a conspiratorial smile, I know they’re bad for us, but they sure are pretty. But this is also when the terrain starts to change. Tall rocky hills and dark damp rock shelves hide caves and crevices galore. I can hear that old ‘coon hunter I talk with every now and again, watch yer’ dawg ‘round ‘dem caves, Boy. Cain’t stand a dog lost like that. Breaks my heart. But before my Heart could get lost in the Dark, those trees standing tall and strong come into view. I’ve been to Parris Island and watched Marines stand at attention. As strong as those men and women looked, I hope Nature never calls her battalions up. Don’t miss the quilted barn before you start going up the steep hill where a chimney named Grief watches the valley. It’s also right about there where Bugtussle changes.

As I crested the top of Bugtussle Mountain and cast my gaze upon Clark’s meadow — where the turkey is probably still doing her daily rounds — I found myself in a bit of a topographical riddle. This is not the first time it’s happened to me in Lincoln County; it probably won’t be the last, but it still confuses me every time. Was I higher than when I started? Lower? Are these mountains? Hollows? Both? How? Pushing aside the Mystery of our Place, I nestled myself into the mystical safety of the hollow. Hidden cow ponds provide water to the Wise, and that woodpecker and chipmunk just had to be friends. And that’s when it hits you, Family. For lack of a better term (maybe the local dwellers know), I’ll call it the Carr Creek Vista. If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I’d never believe it. The hills are high into the sky, the valley is low as you can go, and the absolute wonder and weight of Beauty bears down on you. I can’t quite describe it, but I can give you my feelings on it. It’s like a sweet smell of spring grass mixed with sunrays falling through clouds while a cool wind hits you right when you need it. It’s that memory you have of grandaddy’s smile while you walk in the Wild woods of grandaddy’s grandaddy. It’s that feeling of Right in a world full of Wrong. All I can say is test it yourself!

And those dog statues at the bottom of the hollow right next to the horse track at Campbell’s corner reminded me people walk outside and behold the beauty of the grandeur of the Carr’s Creek Vista. I bet it never gets old, and if it does, it’s the fault of humans instead of the hills. Coming upon Ms. Ivytwined-barn and her neighbor, old Mr. Rock-foundation-barn had me wondering just how long people had been finding safety in this hollow. I know those goats and their kids on the rocky hill will be fine here in the Quiet of Bugtussle, too. And by the time we ended over at the bean patch, I turned right around and did the drive again.

Bugtussle helped me remember that some Beauty can never translate to screen or word. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then that turkey’s walk, goat’s maa, or beholding that Carr Creek vista must be worth immeasurably more. Experience itself can never be captured — only described. My children are growing up in a world that fights with me over this most obvious Truth. How can getting pinched by a crawdaddy of your own catching ever be translated to a YouTube nature show? How can the mysterious untamed wilderness of the hollows of our county ever be known unless you walk it (or drive it) yourself? Bugtussle reminded me that real life is just that. Real. And real can be hard sometimes. It can make you sweat. It can hurt you. But at the end of it, I’m with Bugtussle. Give me the good stuff. Give me this Blessed Drive down Bugtussle Hollow.

— Thomas lives in Lincoln County and is a pastor in Taft.