The breeze flies over the San Jacinto Mountains that rise toward clear blue skies. As the mountains reach heaven’s door they are topped with snow giving the breeze a touch of coolness as it settles down into the Coachella Valley below.

I am sitting in an outdoor lounge chair studying the magnificence of a place where God gave man the ingenuity to make something out of nothing.

Palm Desert, California is a manmade oasis in the middle of dry, rocky desert. It is a touch of Eden surrounded by lush lawns manicured to perfection with dollops of color from all the varieties of cacti, yucca, verbena, and lantana that have been planted. Date palms, fan palms, and bearded palms wave their branches toward the heaven above as if they were paying homage to the Lord.

If I leave my chair and walk toward the gate of my oasis, I see the reality of the desert across the street. Barren, harsh land that boast only one shade of beige. It awes me to see what water, planning, and design can do to a desert.

If I get in my car I will ride down streets named after Frank Sinatra, Dinah Shore, Gene Autry, Fred Waring and Bob Hope. It is reminiscent of old Hollywood. Golf is the main sport here along with hiking the trails up the rocky hills and in the Joshua Tree National park.

 

I have fallen in love with the jack rabbits, the road runners, and yes, Wiley E. Coyote is still chasing them. I have seen all three and, again, I am reminded that this is still God’s earth where the wild and the tame meet.

As the breeze cools my bare shoulders and the sun kisses my face, I know that I have been blessed with a gift and I am grateful. I never take being able to travel for granted; or any part of my life, for that matter.

The book that is in my lap was a gift from a friend who would love to be playing golf here. I smile looking at its cover. The book is, “Just My Type” by Lee Walburn. Lee is from LaGrange, Georgia, where I spent part of my youth. He started out as a columnist after graduating from LaGrange College where I went to school. He wrote, at one time, for the same paper that I write this weekly column for.

Oh, my goodness, where life can take you! You just never know where you will be sitting on any given day or what beauty will surround you.

I have been here a week and it is now time to return home. The plane is full. Once we settle in, I decide to finish Lee’s book. The flight arrives in Atlanta at night and we head home.

The finished book is now placed on my bedside. I think I will leave it there to inspire me as I wake in the morning. I will never have the talent of Lee Walburn, but with his smile gracing the cover, he reminds me that it might be fun trying.

 

 

 

The following morning I rise to a warm, sunny day. I take my neighbor’s dog for a walk. I notice the buttercups are awake from winter, the Japanese magnolias are blooming, the tulips are rising from the earth, and the cherry trees are budding.

Soon the Southland will become a festival of color. The hills will turn green and rain showers will turn the grass lush.  Mother nature touches the South with love every spring.  She renews its land and reminds us that God is still in charge of this patch of earth.

In my backyard is a community manmade water feature that for some unknown reason is teeming with fish. Maw and Paw duck are glad I am home so they can get their fill of cracked corn.  Rang-a-Tang Squirrel is still trying to get into the squirrel proof bird feeder where the cardinals, wrens, and blue birds feast. Chippy, my wonderful chipmunk, is busy running around the porch seeing what he can find to take home to the family.

Mr. Blue Bomber Heron, is sneaking around the water’s edge hoping to catch dinner. While I know, there are no road runners, or coyotes, or jack rabbits here, I also know I am still on God’s ground where the wild and tame meet.

I am home to the land where I belong. Even though, I love to visit other places on this earth, this earth would not be the same without the Southland.

 

 

Before closing my eyes to sleep I, once again, pick up Lee’s book on my nightstand. The first picture in the book is a sketch of the mill village where he grew up in our home town.

It reminds me that no matter where we travel or what wonders we see we are like Dorothy who went to the magically land of Oz full of adventure and color. However, upon returning to Kansas, she said with eyes brimming in tears, “There is no place like home.”

Oh, my goodness, where life can take you! You just never know where you will be sitting on any given day or what beauty will surround you, even if it’s called, “Home.”

 

Lynn Walker Gendusa is a former LaGrange resident who currently resides in Roswell. She may be reached at lwgendusa@bellsouth.net.