About five o’clock yesterday we hopped in the old black truck to head down the mountain, past Miss Sarah’s place and the hundred year old barn, past the brown dog that lays in the middle of the road, down, down, down past the Beaverdam Methodist Church parking lot and on to the Ingles Grocery.
Grabbed up a plain pizza and enough onions, peppers, mushrooms and stuff to make it good, plus some ice cream bars and a bottle of bust-head. (I believe this was Cabernet Sauvignon bust-head rather than Chianti, Merlot or Shiraz bust-head).
As we drove back up the mountain, I noticed the church parking lot had a few cars pulling in. Ah. Wednesday. Bible study and choir practice.
We turn on the one-track road that takes us home. A neighbor’s red mini-SUV meets us coming down. We pull over on the grass to let them by. I can’t help giggling. I know those folks, and they were on their way to join the others at the church for Bible study. Here they are, descending the mountain, going lower and lower to learn about getting higher with their higher power. Here were we, heading higher and higher to the top of the mountain, planing to get a little higher yet with our pizza and bottle of bust-head.