Cave Spring

I don't know if you've noticed, but there's a draught going on. The governor of North Carolina tells us we're supposed to SAVE WATER, so I'm doing what I can. The best way I know to do this is to start by simply being mindful. Do I really need to be showering this long? I'm clean now--I could just get out. What if I hand-wash this sinkful of dishes instead of putting them all in the dishwasher? Do I really need to flush? Important questions to ponder. Just being mindful.

In Georgia, the governor's declared a state of emergency for the northern part of the state, and is asking for prayer. When I heard this news, it connected with some deep place in me. My preacher granddaddy would have been bemused by this, I think, but I'm pretty sure he would have encouraged his congregation to add their voices to the growing swell. Fishin's lousy when the lake's low. And he definitely believed in the power of prayer.

North Georgia water has been important to my family for decades. Our special secret lake is in northwest Georgia--our own magical family haven. Our sunshine-filled memories there go back to my mom's childhood--or would, if dementia hadn't stolen them away. I have pictures from back then.

I find myself thinking of Cave Spring, an old Georgia town not far away where we'd often go while we were at The Lake. Less than an hour from our haven, the historic cave in Cave Spring was always mysterious. And nobody in the family will forget the one year they actually had a perky tour guide to show us around the cave's small rooms, educating us knowledgably about the "stactalites and staglamites," now long gone, that had formerly graced its ceiling and floor.

It still only costs a dollar to go in and explore the cave's depths by the light of the bare bulbs hanging from the rough, damp ceiling. I know, because we went this past summer. My beloved, my children, my cousins and I all made our way over there, explored the cave, splurged on ice cream (never did THAT when I was a kid!), and waded in the ever-flowing water emerging from the cave.

It's not just about the cave after all. It's Cave Spring. It's just as much about the water. People, all kinds of people, still bring their jugs from miles around to collect the sparkling water flowing from deep underground. Cold. Clear. Clean. Free. Somehow more honest than the water that comes out of the faucet or comes in little plastic bottles from the store.

I just looked on the internet to see if I could find out, even in this time of Great Draught, if the water is still flowing at Cave Spring. My Google search turned up nothing.

But I don't really need to find out. I think I know. After all, I haven't blogged since March, and yet here I am.

The water still flows. I believe in it.

If I'm thirsty, it's there.