"Be Still" Road--and Childhood Memories

Last week as Jonathan and I meandered from Rapid City to Custer, having traveled over to Rapid City  for the weekend before a medical appointment on Monday, we came upon this little road that looked like one of the mountain roads in Colorado.

 

"Be Still Road," the sign read.

"Oh, Jonathan!" I gasped, "please turn around and let's go down that road!"

I just had to see what that road was like.  

Well, it was like this in a few spots--carpeted with purple bergamot, as Hannah would later identify for us.

We spent a few still moments along this road, just breathing in deep gulps of beauty together--sunny meadows, slender aspen, and bright sunflowers with purple bergamot and asters. 

I hoped the grass did not contain chiggers as it does at our place. Surely up here in the Black Hills there aren't many chiggers. At least I hoped not. 

I wanted to be still for a bit, but I could not. I just kept oohing and ahhing and gulping in the wild, summer beauty. 

Being still, though, does not necessarily mean being totally quiet--or merely hanging out with an empty mind. 

Being still can include the recognition of beauty--in quietness or excitement. 

It can include worship,

gratitude,

enjoyment of wild splendor under a wide, blue, South Dakota sky. 

This photo does not do justice to the carpet of purple bergamot. I did not walk far in any little excursion from the vehicle. I had little energy, and moving felt stiff and a bit painful.

But if one had eyes for beauty, it was there. In Rapid City or Custer area, we drove around, looking for beauty. I even asked to stop at this yard sale where a unique mail truck was delivering mail. I found an enamel canner there for just $2 and remembered how when I was a little girl and our family lived in Custer, Dad used to go to garage sales nearly every weekend in Rapid City. 

Dad used to run a tourist business three or four of the summers we lived in South Dakota from 1974 to 1978. He made carved redwood name signs like these above that are still being made in Hill City, near Rapid City. And he would scour the weekend yard sales not only for needs for his family but for supplies for his old fashioned photo business, purchasing everything from antique glasses rims, to fringed jackets to a wagon wheel, lantern, and long gun.

I have fond memories of helping Dad run his tourist shops. And then we passed a sign in Custer that said Wesleyan Church, five blocks. My family attended that Wesleyan church for about three years when I was young. I asked Jonathan to run by that, and here it was. 

Only now it is no longer a church. I crawled carefully out of the Honda and walked a few yards inside hoping to speak to someone.  The inside has been turned into apartments and a small laundromat with signs in Spanish only. The doors were open, and I went inside, calling, "Hello?" with no answer.

I didn't know what to make of it, with the sanctuary and Sunday School rooms all being turned into apartments or rooms and a lobby...

But the building was just as I remembered it--steep roof and all built into the hill. I felt sad--a thriving church now non-existent, a bicycle parked in front of the sanctuary door, and dozens of bicycles behind it.

We had to go on our way, thankful that although some church buildings are no longer being used for worship, God's church is still growing and thriving.

At one point, we saw a stream near the road, and I asked for some time to sit and dabble my feet.

It was wonderful--not as ice cold as the mountains streams in Colorado, just thoroughly comfortable and cool. 

Jonathan caught a funny picture of me splashing cool water all over my poor hot head, roughing up and thoroughly wetting my poor, short, gray hair,

as for a few short moments, 

I just was still.

Still under the warm blue sky of the Black Hills in South Dakota.