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by Megan R. Bartlett, contributing writer
It’s the 4th of July and I’m headed to my parents’ house in Bally for the afternoon. But I’m on a mission before I get there: visit five parks in the Boyertown area and notice how the Divine speaks to me in those spaces. If you read the first article in this series, you know that I feel deeply connected to God through the natural world. Wonder, delight, and even a little magic seem to arise easily when I’m outdoors. This day was no exception. Wander with me through my travels, if you will…
My first stop is Douglas Park in Gilbertsville. I turn off of Route 100 onto Jackson Road, which is nearly empty at this early hour. As I round the corner, I come to a quick stop when I see a box turtle meandering across the road. Without a thought, my flashers are blinking and I’m out of the car to help her, hoping I don’t have to pick her up. She quickens her pace as I approach, so I stand behind her and offer encouragement as I look warily for cars: “Come on, darling. That’s good. Keep moving!” When she’s safely in the grass, I hop back in my car and drive off, watching her grow smaller in the side mirror. Just as my heart is resuming its normal pace, a young groundhog darts out into the road, but thinks twice and scurries back to where he came from. “I will not kill anything today,” I tell the Universe, as much a reminder to It as to myself to stay alert.
When I pull into the empty lot of Douglas Park, I feel a bit deflated. “Is it just a baseball diamond?”, I ask myself. The Spirit gently reminds me to be open and curious. A few things catch my eye: the tree lined paved path around the park, the plumes from Limerick Generating Station in the distance, and the gazebo next to two giant maples. The maples call to me, so I sit in their shade for a while and wonder about the people who have played baseball here.
On my return to the parking lot, something glitters in the dirt by my feet. Crouching down, I see a small iridescent heart. It shouts, “You are loved! It is good for you to be here.” My heart swells with this message from Beyond and I carry it with me throughout the day, leaving the trinket behind for others to discover.
On my way to Boyertown Community Park, I pass a rainbow of hanging baskets at Wendy’s Flowers, spreading cheer just through their existence. When I arrive at the park, it is bustling with dogwalkers and picnickers and people playing frisbee golf. A path through the woods draws me in and I hear the piercing cry of a hawk from the top of an oak tree in this mixed deciduous and evergreen forest. I marvel at the landscape here; how did I not remember there are woods right here in Boyertown? Looking up, I see rain clouds gathering and decide to move on as I have three more parks to see.
Winding my way down Main Street, I miss the gravel driveway of Bechtelsville Recreation Park and have to back up a few yards. This is the smallest of the parks I’ve seen, but I’ve come here for a reason. My map tells me that a portion of Swamp Creek runs through the park; I’ve always found flowing water peaceful. I walk past the sand-filled volleyball court toward a wooden bridge painted red and can hear the creek before I see it. There is a narrow footpath down to the water’s edge.
The trees close me in and a tiny lavender butterfly flits past my face and settles on a rock in the creek. I’m delighted by the sight of her. I drink in the sound of the water as I watch her resting. When she flies off, I follow as she leads me to a bench by another part of the creek. My eyes take in the wildflowers and the rocks smoothed by pressure and time. Here I feel invited to sit and rest, but I ignore that wisdom. The rain is holding, but I suspect it will fall soon.
Back in the car, I set my GPS to Barto Community Park. The morning so far has taken me from grassy lawn to shaded forest to babbling creek. Here in Barto I see expansive fields.
The blue jays squawk at each other in the grass as I walk past the baseball diamond. Two trees – a hickory and a pin oak – beckon me to come near and I soon see why.
Dozens of grackles rest in the top of a bare-branched tree at the park’s edge. They are unusually quiet for grackles who are known to make a commotion. Then, three at a time, these birds fly away, as if called by some mysterious voice only they can hear. Their departure in groups of three has me thinking about the mystery of trinities: body, mind, and spirit; earth, sun, and moon. I am roused from my reverie by a man and his dog walking past. I have time for one last stop before I’m due at my parents’ house.
I turn onto Niantic Road and pull into Washington Township Park across from the elementary school which I attended for the last six weeks of sixth grade when my family and I moved to Bally in 1989. I open my car door and feel a sense of being at home, despite having never been here before. To my west is a lovely view of the tree covered hills behind Bally. To my east are the golden pastures and farmlands that were the backdrop of my adolescence.
The sky is darkening by the minute, so I hurry through the soccer field to a fence on the east side. I squeal with glee as I see that the farmer next door has just let the sheep out into the field. Laughter bubbles up in me as I watch their fuzzy white backs roam through the tall grasses. A thorny berry bush grabs hold of my jean shorts when I try to leave, so I take it as a sign I’m meant to linger a bit longer. I close my eyes and breathe in and out, in and out.
A few minutes later, I head back to my car, but stop by the playground first. My inner child is jumping up and down at the sight of an empty swing set, so I indulge her for a moment. Facing the field, I slip into a gentle rhythm of swinging up and back, up and back. The rain that has been threatening finally begins to fall, gentle and refreshing. I leave the swings behind and duck under the picnic pavilion, pausing to listen to the rain pinging against the roof. Here, just a few minutes from the place I used to call home and where my parents still live, I feel a deep peace. I’m grateful for the unexpected delights and magical discoveries of my wanderings.
You who still live in the Boyertown area are lucky to have so much diversity of nature – grassy fields, forests, creeks, hills, and pastures. Take some time to enjoy them. Bring your curiosity, your openness to wonder and notice what delights speak to you. You might just meet the Divine as you wander.
Megan R. Bartlett is a ’95 BASH alum who now lives in the Philadelphia area. She is a licensed professional counselor and certified spiritual director who enjoys crafting, writing, and communing with Nature, especially her beloved cats.
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