It was quiet and balmy and beautifully green down by the creek with my two sons. We had tried and failed to find any snakes worth commenting on, and just about then the overcast sky got a little too heavy for itself. In the stillness of “no snake defeat,” our eyes turned to smaller things. Treading the surface of the little creek and dodging raindrops, a family of water bugs skittered around. They were so calm as the very heavens bombarded them. These springtime memories flooded my mind as I turned onto Three Hundred Dollar Road down over Petersburg way. As May meanders to a close, those bugs have been really bugging me. It took Three Hundred Dollars, but I got my answer why. Come on this Blessed Drive with me and see.

Coming off Bledsoe, it was gravel all the way, and I’m here to stay. I know some people prefer the finer things in life, but if I don’t have a little gravel dust on my tailgate, I’m not sure I’ve yet gone on a drive. Three Hundred Dollar had it, kept it, and even had me spinning in it. That barbwire fence ran along the cedar line was like the cherry on top for making me feel this place was my home away from home. In the late spring growth, the road was tunneled by oaks, cedars, elms, hickory, maples and more. Even as the Old Wood Clans claimed new ground on Three Hundred Dollar, those dead ash remnants were a silent testimony to the fragility of life.

This was only cemented in mind as I cast my eyes upon old Mr. Greer’s gravestone, sitting just as silently as those ash trees. I bet that ole’ boy stepped over more than a few ash saplings that now achingly loomed over that same field and farm in the Cane Creek Valley where he’s now buried. Family, I must admit, Joseph Greer must’ve been one of the smartest men of the Revolution. To acquire land in our county is to require a certain level of wisdom only known to those of us already here.

But Three Hundred Dollar keeps on going. With a washed out creek bed on one side, it slides into the dark gulleys of an even Darker Wild. Family, the shadows cast off that mountain side grow long enough to hide Things. Even in the afternoon sun, my instincts — or those remembered whispers of my Papaw and Mamaw — had me certain I would never step foot down there. And there were so many rocks on the hills sunk into the earth. It seemed like a trap of hundreds of years, slowly swallowing all who chose to stay. Of course, it’s right about there that you’ll also need four wheel drive to get up that rollercoaster lift hill and first drop. It felt like Dollywood’s inspiration! And down on the other side was the most beautifully iconic Lincoln County field, fit for picnicking and frolicking and friends. Just don’t look at that hill and her shadows for too long.

But what about them bugs? Why did Three Hundred Dollar give me that same feeling of frustration that those calm insects did? It hit me as we headed towards Petersburg proper for a little Paisley’s Place ice cream. When you’re a fox on the run, quiet calm refuge is all you want. Passing by a creek where the water bugs play makes you thirst for peace. Sprinting through the silent yawning maw of Wild Places makes you desperate to hide. But just like that fox with a bloodhound braying near, my life doesn’t stop at water bugs or Blessed Drives. I’ve got to keep moving. Even still, it sure is nice to catch my breath. In fact, I’d pay three hundred dollars for it.

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