I met Kelly Stewart and his younger son Harry at the Granny White parking lot at Radnor Lake around 2pm on Sunday, Feb. 3. Even though the sky was overcast, the temp was in the 50s and made for a very comfortable hike. I inadvertently made them wait, though. Anticipating a mob scene of nature lovers – Radnor Lake is almost always overflowing on Sundays — I parked at the nearby church. I second guessed my brilliant foresight as I approached on foot: there stood Kelly and Harry, checking their watches and tapping their feet amidst a plethora of empty parking spaces. D’OH!
At the very moment I type this, our great country is rife with beerful men and women enjoying Alicia Keys at the Super Bowl XLII pregame show. At the same time, many stone cold sober Democrats and Independents – and some incognito Republicans, no doubt — are gleefully cheering at a Barack Obama rally. Maria Shriver, who’d previously said she would not be endorsing any candidate, is speaking to them with a great big grin on her face! Yep, another powerful political family is split Republican vs. Democrat: California’s first family.
The standard etiquette of avoiding a couple of the more interesting conversational themes, religion and politics, is properly poo-pooed on our hikes.
Politics was certainly discussed on the hike, but not until we approached the spillway toward the end of our walk in the woods.
Religion reared its ugly head much earlier, atop Albert Ganier Ridge. The large, snow-white branches of the sycamore trees are readily visible even from the highest points on the trail. For the first time in thirty years, I began to sing about how Zaccheus was a wee little man, and a wee little man was he; and how he climbed up in a sycamore tree, something something something to see.**
Hearing neither laughter nor singalong behind me, I turned around and noted their blank stares. Who is Zaccheus?
A wee little man, I just said. A wee little man was he.
Now, I grew up in the Church of Christ. Our family darkened the doors of God’s house whenever it was not locked. I went to David Lipscomb elementary, middle, and high school. Translation: no one I knew did not know of Zaccheus! A brief, inconclusive argument ensued over which of us had been more properly sheltered growing up.
** By now, I hope the reader will realize that this was an attempt at humor on my part; launching into song is not my bag. If you did not grow up in Sunday school, this attempt is likely a miss.
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