By: Jennifer Richardson Holt
The concept of freedom has been on my mind as of late. Yes, my nation just celebrated its Independence Day—that’s part of it, I suppose—but it isn’t merely a dose of patriotism that has stirred these thoughts. Honestly, my mind went a million different places, many of which I didn’t expect. After hearing a cacophony of both praise for the country and loathing of it, I think my thoughts chose a road less traveled, leading to a time and space long ago. In considering freedom, I allowed myself to wander to before this nation was a nation—and interestingly enough, I think it helped me see things more clearly.
Imagine, if you will, this land before there were great buildings and roads. It certainly wasn’t empty; there were countless groups of people who lived here and had their own towns and societies. But the Indigenous peoples seemed to have an uncanny ability—unlike other settlers—not to leave so great a mark upon the land. They lived in and among the rivers and trees and became a part of them. So when those first people came from other continents, especially those who stumbled upon this land with no clue what they were in for, they saw an untamed, perhaps even unoccupied, wilderness. They were coming from crowded cities and grand buildings. I’m not sure they could have truly fathomed the natural kingdom they were about to behold.
You really get a grasp of the physical sensation of freedom I speak of when you are at higher altitudes—not from a tall building over a busy tourist area. No, that will not do. May I recommend the views from the Tennessee and North Carolina line at Newfound Gap? Though you may have driven there in a car and are parked in a paved lot, the view changes things. When you look out over ridges of forested mountains that roll continually, one after the other, in ever-lightening shades of blue, it seems as though there is nowhere else in the world but these tree-covered hills. The elevation allows you to take in the vastness of the wild. If there are people in those forests, you do not see them. If there are houses in those woods, they are invisible. The air is clearer, and whatever others may be nearby vanish as you feel you must be witnessing a view so grand, so enormous, that it seems you must be seeing to the end of the world.
Looking out at the sprawling miles of pristine wilderness, I can’t help but feel true freedom. It’s one of those moments when it feels like a bald eagle might soar by, crying out in an exemplary display practically oozing liberty. But truly, to have the wide world in front of me—it makes me feel as though the possibilities are endless. I could go anywhere and do anything. Perhaps when people first came to this continent, they felt the same. This was a whole new world they could build to suit them. And while I understand the sentiment, the ironic part is that there were already people living here who, for the most part, had left this landscape in its pristine nature—and it suited them, their hopes, and their dreams beautifully. The liberation that coursed through the European arrivals’ veins was already pumping in Indigenous hearts.
I do not wish to compare and contrast these groups to criticize. According to my DNA, I am actually a part of both. The Europeans who sought a new, free life in the land I now call home are my ancestors. So too are the people who had already successfully made their lives here. I wonder: if placed on the same vista, could those who arrived and those long established stand side by side, look out, and feel something similar? They both would see home—the former seeing potential waiting to be realized and put to good use; the latter seeing a land generations had handed down, already rich with resources that allowed them to thrive. They would see the same thing but through different eyes. The light and colors would vary for each. And yet, both visions would look like freedom.
There are passages in the Bible that tell us we are free to do anything, yet go on to impart the wisdom that we should use our freedom to do what is right and good. Though I’m not standing at Newfound Gap right now, in my mind’s eye, the image—in all its immensity—is proclaiming that freedom to me. And I feel more impressed now than ever, in this nation full of people who can accomplish all types of things, that we must use the glorious freedom we have here—whether we received it from ancestors who have called this home for millennia or from those who saw this land with incredulous eyes—to do what is good and righteous. To use our liberty for anything else would be a disgrace to this amazing privilege. May we all show how grateful we are for the priceless gift we’ve been graciously given.
Prose and Possibilities 