Admission to Eden

Thus was he fair in his greatness... for his root was by great waters. I have made him fair by the multitude of his branches: so that all the trees of Eden, that were in the garden of God, envied him.  (Ezekiel 31:7,9)

I've heard Thelma talk about comfort foods or love languages.  What is the geographical equivalent?

One of the Deep Places for me is Cascade Park (view map).  If you grew up a Mormon in the Everett area, you probably know it better simply as the Church Property or the River.

It encompasses a series of terrace meadows and dense forest on the south fork of the Stilliguamish River northwest of Granite Falls.  It is a great place for camping and swimming.  As a child, I spent numerous nights each year camping at Cascade Park.  It might have been a family outing or priesthood commemoration or father/son night or a ward activity or a scout camp-out.  Other times my mom would just take us kids swimming for the day.  My sister, Megan, was even baptized there.  When I was old enough to drive, I spent one or two days a week at the river—sometimes alone and sometimes with my siblings or friends.  

I took Thelma swimming at the river when she came to visit me the summer we were engaged.  I remember holding hands and laying on our backs on the warm grass.  The sky looked like the eternity we had agreed to conquer together.  A month or so later I returned with Bryan and Matt for the world's tamest bachelor camping party.  We were all getting married at the end of the summer.

A few years passed after getting married before I was able to return to Cascade Park.  The pull to return was strong.  Something had changed, though.  It was subtle at first.  Something about the way the fields had been mowed.  The caretakers were improving the property.

The danger in setting out to improve something, though, is that there is no logical place to stop. In the past 8 years, Cascade Park has been improved to the point where it no longer feels like a Deep Place.  It's just another place.  A great place, to be sure, but not the same.  Emptier somehow, even with all of the improvements. 

I have to register when I enter.  I have to pay to spend the night, to spend the day or even just to get out of the river if I happen to float there by inner tube.  When I was there last weekend the caretaker told the scouts they needed to pay an additional 50 cents per person if they wanted to take a shower, even though the scouts had been doing service projects for the park.  The showers were built largely on donated materials and labor.

Something about having to pay a fee bothers me.  My membership in the church is insufficient.  It's a sacred place in my mind and my memories.  It's almost as if someone were to charge me to enter the chapel on Sunday or attend the temple.  I'll toil any number of days to take care of the park, but don't construct a gate and treat me like a stranger.

The Lord God sent our first parents forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground, from whence they were taken—yea, he drew out the man, and he placed at the east end of the garden of Eden, cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the tree of life.  (Alma 42:2)