Where Do I Live?

It is a beautiful day in Mt. Juliet. The sun is out, and the last bit of color is still glowing here and there amidst the ever increasing dull hues that winter brings a blanket for. The one thing I do not like about this time of year is the in-between. There is a beautiful glow of Autumn and there is hopefully a crystal gleam of winter, but there is always an in-between. As if the trees are changing from their summer dresses to winter sweaters but they go about naked and unashamed for weeks at a time before donning their appropriate attire. I look out my window and look away quickly…completely embarrassing.

Thankfully God created window coverings. If they will not cover themselves, we must do our part to civilize creation.

I’m kidding of course. I love it all. Trees are beautiful no matter what they’re wearing. Something about gazing at them though, without their ruffles and lace, makes me feel like they are cold and when they are set against a dark blue sky and their branches are sun-bleached white, they make me feel small and slightly alone. I think it exemplifies vulnerability to me. It is what I would feel if I were reaching up for care or comfort and there were nothing protecting me from the whole world watching me need.

Thankfully…ahem…I don’t have any needs. Whew, that was close.

Last Tuesday morning the sky was so unusual as I drove Owen to school. It seemed as if we were in a patch of brightness and there were dark clouds hovering on both the east and west of us. As if they wanted to close up the gap and leave us beneath their dark blue canopy. It didn’t rain, and they didn’t close us in, but it was so interesting to look at and the white steeples and bare branches on the route between school and home stood out with such contrast against the depth of that color. It reminded me of a photo that Amy took recently and got me thinking about the beauty of our surrounding area.

Amy has said more than once that she lives in a post card and I love that. It’s a perfect description of Franklin. The entire county down there is picturesque and full of frame-able scenery. The downtown feel of Franklin is like taking a walk into something you know will become a happy memory.

That led me to thinking, if Amy lives in a postcard…where do I live? Mount Juliet is a lovely place but it is NOT a postcard. No downtown square, no historic homes, no statues of warriors on horseback or quaint “hole in the wall” shops with rich and unexpected warmth and whimsy inside. No…Mt. Juliet is much more raw. It has a history, but from what I can tell it is little more than a few families that settled and started churches in the county. It has no historic battlefield or well toured mansion. It has shops, but there are huge contrasts in it’s rudimentary (and somewhat dirty) plazas with old barbers, first name customers and used books, and it’s streamlined centers where new shoppers are pulled from the interstate to sample, taste and glaze over in the collection of commercial wonders.

Mt. Juliet has rolling hills full of horse farms and sheep herds. There are orchards and forests nestled in it’s valleys and artists and entrepreneurs settle on it’s beautiful lake shores both north and south of it’s center. In that center, is a family. A group of familiar faces that greet each other in the coffee shop with smiles and laughter. there are wonderfully well respected senior citizens who have adopted all the new faces with visionary acceptance (Google Jenny Bess Hibbett for a prime example). A crop of young families filling up the schools and overflowing the neighborhoods with a straightforward eagerness to simply be at home. There are obvious visual changes going on and growth that is fascinating to watch, but easily traced to roots of grounded citizens in the community who do not wave a flag that says “I did that!” but rather smile at the comfort what they have done brings to their community.

Mt. Juliet is not a postcard, I think it is more of a song. It has been sung in different styles by different bands and in different venues for a long, long time, but it is a classic that never loses it’s original purpose. It’s a song with solid lyrics and recognizable melody, but has fluid rhythm and many different interpretations. It has a beauty that isn’t completely defined in it’s melodic scenery, but doesn’t stop at it’s lyrical citizenry either. It all works together for me and I like living here. There’s a harmony in this town that hasn’t yet been spoiled by the addition of too many singers. I’m hopeful that a chorus won’t ruin the beauty of the soloists that began something special here and that vision for greater things will not lead to a change in the song completely. It’s a good place to sit quietly and just listen.

I love Amy’s postcard, and I could probably find labels for all the places I have lived. My simple home town was a “b” movie waiting to be made, full of drama that’s been portrayed over, and over, and over. My first apartment and our first house were in Donelson, an engine…always running, always loud, and always productive. Our second house was in Old Hickory a place without clear boundaries and schizophrenic make up. Old Hickory would have to be labeled a flea market (of which it boasts several)…mostly old and common goods, but the occasional treasure keeps you coming back.

I’m glad to be settled where we are. I like living in a song. I think we’ll stay here for a while. At least until we decide to move to a postcard.