I live in a magical garden, tucked into an enchanted forest. As I write this, I’m appreciating a lush green branch hanging heavy with peaches. This little tree sprung up on its own on the edge of our front yard, nestled in with some mimosas, apparently growing from a carelessly tossed peach pit. We didn’t even notice the tree for the first time until it was full of baby peaches.

The chamomile tea I’m drinking came from the chamomile flowers in my garden, but I didn’t plant them either. Awhile back I kept thinking that I should drink chamomile tea to help ease the tight, sore muscles that were a side effect of large doses of steroids, part of my chemotherapy regimen. But I never quite got around to actually making chamomile tea until the day I found a thriving chamomile plant growing with my bachelor button flowers. Today is the first day I picked some of my own chamomile for tea. It tastes way better than store bought.

Several years back I was smitten with hostas, so I planted them all over our property. They’re now at their peak of calming beauty. One of my favorites is a plant with slender, light green leaves that came up all on its own in the middle of a patch of lawn. Huh. It’s a variety I’ve never had before, and it fits in beautifully near a little hosta garden I’d put in myself.

Recently, Rick and I saw a coyote in our backyard. We don’t live in a remote area; we live in a typical Huntington-area holler neighborhood where the houses are close together along the creek and the backyards morph into steep forested hills.

A few days ago, a newborn fawn was nestled only a few hundred yards from our door. Its momma must have been out foraging. I sat two feet away and whispered sweet words to that baby while it looked into my eyes with its own eyes open wide in wonder. A couple nights before that, we watched an incredibly cute baby possum scamper around our backyard. We’ve seen wild turkeys like never before.

And then there were the foxes. For two weeks I saw red foxes from our dining room window. That was during a time when two OVEC friends told me that they were feeling Laura Forman’s presence. Red foxes have been a strong symbol of Laura for some of us – wily, mysterious, beautiful. I haven’t seen a fox in some weeks now.

I live in an enchanted world where my soul flows with the melodies of wood thrushes and my spirit dances with fireflies. Where my mornings are perfumed by wild honeysuckle and the mists up the hollow add mystery to my nights. But it’s time to be thinking about venturing out again.

I’ve been sick for much of the past three years, which is why I was able to retreat from the troubled outside world; why I was able to seek and find Love, strength and comfort in the streams forests hills. The lymphoma is gone, now I’m recovering from the chemo. The lung cancer of nearly three years ago is still gone too, and my body has now adjusted well to life without a spleen.

I’ve missed so many of you – the incredible people I’ve had the exquisite good fortune to work and laugh with. It’s been hard to have to stop seeing you all so regularly. I’ve watched in awe at your collective accomplishments and marveled at your courage and stamina. How I’ve missed you – you ragtag bunch of good-hearted and stubborn people who think you can take on King Coal. The amazing thing is, you DO take on King Coal, and some days it even seems as if he’s a little bit less kingly than he used to be.

How easy it would be to stay here in my enchanted world 24/7. I’ve worried that I’m not strong enough to jump back into the fray. I have to keep reminding myself that in our collective battles for justice, just as in my immediate surroundings, There’s Something Else Going On. We’re not alone.

The words from a Catholic Bishops of Appalachia Pastoral Letter – This Land Is Home to Me – bring me hope. It reads:

Being an active part of our struggle again is scary. It’s dirty and mean out there, and some people don’t like us very much. But when I let the Bishops’ words live in my consciousness, I know without a doubt that as long as I continue to pour my heart out to God, and make the time to immerse myself in awe of Creation, I’ll be just fine.

Whatever happens.