Thunder on The Sods - Part II

This is the conclusion of Rachael's Thunder on the Sods.

Because the area had been designated a forest area and therefore qualified as “uninhabited “ the U.S. Army decided that the Sods would be a perfect place to run military simulation war drills and to test new weapons during World War II. Land mines and bombs of various sorts were detonated. The land was scarred and pocked with shelling. The native animal life fled the thunder on the Sods. Once again, the life of the creatures on the mountain was disturbed.

Thankfully, the war ended fairly quickly, and after the invention of the atomic bomb such primitive weaponry hardly seemed necessary. Military use of the Sods ceased. To this day, however, signs are posted with illustrations of land mines, all of which were not detonated or removed from the area, and instructions detailing what to do if one should happen upon such an archaic beast.

Yet even its use by the military did not crush the resilient spirit of the Sods. The land began the arduous task of reclaiming itself, once more. The plant life returned, the bogs swelled. Deer, bear, and bobcats roamed freely. Eagles and hawks nest in the rocky cliffs known as Bear Rocks, as well as sparrows and spring warblers.

This is no longer innocent land for it has experienced much: been charred by fire, battered by the elements, and profaned by man. The mountain’s history has altered it forever, left it visibly scarred. Yet, the wounds have healed; life never ends here, but continues to grow- - fuller, richer. The land has adapted arid evolved.

It was my father who taught me to love Dolly Sods. This mountain is his special place. With the waters of Red Creek to wade in and swampy bogs to explore, my father is rejuvenated. The tiredness brought on by his daily struggle with arthritis visibly peels away, and new energy floods his body. Here, he is up for a morning stroll at sunrise then returns, shoes still wet with dew, to make pancakes for everyone before heading up the mountain to pick berries. He and the Sods commune: he returns with hope and restored wonder.

As I sit on a rock covered with prickly, dry lichen, I am struck by how much we as people are like this land: resilient. Like my father, the land has experienced hardship, yet both are all the more beautiful for their scars. We too may suffer great traumas, experience shocking changes, yet the human spirit is never suppressed. There is a will to survive. We adapt, accept, go forward bearing the scars of these experiences forever, and growing from them. Life continues in a way I can only call miraculous.

As I sit and pick blueberries that my family will freeze to eat later in the fall and winter, I look out over the horizon. I think I catch a glimpse of Mr. Rice’s mountain lion padding, silently across the clearing, and I smile.