walking with God

I spent most of two weeks trying to find the biggest tree in my part of the world, measuring giant sycamores that it would take half a dozen men to reach around. Then I visited the biggest sycamore in the world, a giant on the banks of the back fork of the elk in West Virginia. Which of course may or may not still be considered the champ. These things seem to change every year, with passing thunder storms or ice damage, or the whim or skill of who's measuring. What I found was that the numbers, the feet and inches didn't seem to matter. These great trees had withstood hundreds of winters, thousands of storms, and my measuring could not capture the dignity and strength of these great trees. I came away deeply impressed.
I've spent some time in the Albright grove. Deep in the Smokey mountain backcountry where giant oaks and poplars tower, presiding over one of the few places a saw has never reached. The feeling I came away with was of awe. I found myself wanting to whisper like a child in church.Here the woods had power, magic, that you could feel in the air. Here the spells of Indian medicine men seemed plausible. Here a great spirit still lives. If God exists, surely he must take his walks here, among these great trees.