We've Got The County Covered
We've Got The County Covered
Rev. Sherry Edwards, pastor of Whitlash Presbyterian Church, greets cows from the porch of the parsonage just about sunrise on Easter. The cows, enticed across a cattle guard and from an adjoining pasture to the new grass in the yard by the church, enjoyed a brief Easter morning outing. A couple of buckets of cake and the bawling of their abandoned calves helped lured the cows back to a corral. A potetial crisis when parishioners were to arrive for an Easter breakfast celebration was averted.
The Cross of Peace sits atop Bald Knob, a small peak in the southern Illinois Ozark mountains. An annual Easter sunrise service has been held at Bald Knob since 1937. The 111-foot cross, visible from miles around the area, was completed in 1963 and draws visitors from across the nation and world. Illuminated at night it is said to be visible for 7500 square miles around the peak near Alto Pass, Illinois.
To paraphrase an old nursery rhyme, "The sheep were in the meadow and the cows were in the church yard in Whitlash." These cows escaped their pasture to enjoy some prime, new grass. A sunrise roundup on Easter morning got the errant bovine back home and settled and created a new "memorable Easter sunrise" for this columnist.
South of the Border,
Column No. 13
Columnist's note: This was our first Easter in Whitlash and sunrise on this past Easter Sunday was pretty exciting. That got me thinking about a number of other interesting and stimulating Easter mornings that my wife and I have shared in the 23 prior places we've lived and celebrated the holy day. Before I share the story of Easter sunrise in Whitlash, here's brief account of a couple of other memorable Easter mornings.
A freezing Easter morning on Bald Knob in southern Illinois
Most visitors to Illinois think of the state as one giant prairie, which is mostly true. But at the southern tip of the state are the Illinois Ozarks, where glaciers stopped and left piles of rock and dirt to create a small chain of low mountains. Atop Bald Knob, one of those mountains, stands an 111-foot-high cross of steel clad with a reflective skin that can be seen for "7500 miles after when illuminated with 40,000 watts of lighting."
The idea for the cross was started in 1937 by a rural mail carrier named Wayman Presley. Presley and a local minister got the idea to hold an Easter sunrise service atop the small mountain-a vantage point to see an early sunrise. After the first service an idea developed to buy the land, build a cross and hold services there every Easter. After some years of neglect and deterioration, a new exterior to the cross and improved access was completed in 2011 and the annual event still draws hundreds of participants.
In 1964 my wife and I were in college. We were members of a college choir that was invited to sing at the annual sunrise service at Bald Knob. We left campus at "oh-dark-thirty" to arrive at the mountain before sunup. It was mid -April and spring had already come to campus, but not to Bald Knob. We weren't thinking about dressing for the cold as we'd already enjoyed some summer-like temps back at school. We nearly froze before we sang and the service ended so we could get back to a warm bus. It was one of those learning experiences outside the classroom, "dress appropriately for the weather you'll be facing."
Shoveling snow for an Easter sunrise service in Forest River, North Dakota
The second memorable Easter morning recollection was also about the cold . My wife completed her seminary work in the Atlanta area and took her first call as a minister to three yoked churches in rural eastern North Dakota. We arrived in North Dakota in January, the dead of winter.
We were not total strangers to cold having lived for a few years in Wyoming. But living in North Dakota redefined my idea of cold weather. By the time the Easter rolled around we were sort of expecting/hoping for some let up from winter. The week before the weather turned deceptively pleasant and mild.
On Easter morning the snow hit. I attended the church in Forest River, about 20 miles north of where we lived. Before the sunrise service I met one of the members at the parking lot and we began to shovel the sidewalks to the church. I remember the little kids arriving for church wearing snow pants over their Easter finery. The egg hunt had to be moved inside the church because the snow was so deep. It was an unusual and notable Easter sunrise for a couple of transplanted Georgians.
First Easter sunrise in Whitlash
A few weeks ago our neighbor moved his cows that would be calving to a small lot behind the church and parsonage. From there he could keep an eye on them and it provided a great laboratory for me and my wife to study cow behavior as we observed them from our kitchen window.
Just after daylight on Easter morning I heard a cow bawl. It seemed louder than usual, almost like it was from the side yard between the house and the church. I looked out and sure enough there were cows enjoying the grass on the lawn of the parsonage.
I called the neighbor. One cow behavior we had not yet studied was what cows do once they escape from the pasture and are on their own. I don't think the neighbor was enjoying the sunrise as it took a few rings to get an answer and despite a chipper greeting he sounded like I'd wake him up. I told him the situation and he said, "This is the phone call you don't want to get on Easter morning." Soon he and his wife came to the pasture.
I tried to keep the cows in the church yard fearing they might bolt for the road and head south for Chester. Every time a cow would look up she'd see "even better grass" and move on to that patch to graze. Pretty soon the whole group was constantly moving and then suddenly started galloping down the road toward the Post Office perhaps not aware there is no mail service on Sunday. They made the curve at the Post Office and headed for the grass in the old school yard.
By then my neighbors had collected some buckets of cake (for those of you not privy to watching cows out your kitchen window, cake is a supplement that is fed in the winter and the cows love it. When the neighbor pours out cake pellets the cows begin shoving to get to the cake) and the cows had to decide, "cake or new green grass?" Finally, with some encouragement from me and the neighbor's wife the cows began to follow the cake bucket and proceed to the corral adjacent to where they had escaped. The neighbor commented, "I'm glad I've been feeding cake because that's about the only thing that would get them away from the lure of the new grass."
Another cow crisis was averted and an additional Easter sunrise to think about in the future was created. Who knows, there may be a sunrise experience ahead for us that is even more memorable. I can hardly wait to see.
