The Great Outdoors

At the beginning of April, Banks and I planted red potatoes and onions in the garden. I can’t remember the exact kind of red potato, but I do remember the onions—Vidalias. Sweet and mild, they’re the marquee name in onions. We planted those potatoes and onions in the same garden spot our family has always used. Every homestead in the countryside has one. It might not get used every year, but the dirt always waits in the same place because it’s good dirt. Fertile ground.

That morning was crisp, maybe 50 degrees. Banks and I both wore long sleeves against the early spring chill. But as the sun climbed and warmed the day, we both started thinking about shedding layers. The garden rows were long and straight- maybe 100 feet- and they would produce more than we could eat on our own. I showed Banks how to plant a potato: stick two fingers down into the soil, drop the potato piece in, and cover it back up. But her fingers weren’t quite big enough. “Daddy, the hole is too small for the potato to fit in,” she said. I grinned and went looking for a stick. “A good stick will fix almost any problem,” I said, handing one to her. She raised an eyebrow and said, “I can’t get this stick to fix your bad jokes.” Her grin was contagious. I playfully shoved her shoulder and sent her rolling into the soft dirt. Laughter broke out, and so did a brief tickle fight, until she yelled, “I’m France!”- our house code for “I surrender.” That dirt was soft and rich. I grabbed a handful, letting it trickle through my fingers. “Isn’t it interesting that God chose dirt to grow things?” I asked. “It’s not pretty or flashy. But it’s where life starts.” Banks pondered it. “I guess He can do whatever He wants.” I responded, “Yes, He can. But why dirt?” She shrugged. I continued, “Maybe it’s because everything has a purpose. Can trees do this? Can concrete? What about sand?” She shook her head each time. Then I asked, “What is it that God wants you to do, that only you can do?” Without missing a beat, she smiled and said, “Plant potatoes.” I laughed out loud.

After the potatoes, we moved on to onions. She gently pulled the thread-like sprouts apart and dropped each into a finger-deep hole, green end up. Over the next few weeks, we returned a few times to fertilize. One day, Banks asked, “If God made the dirt so good, why do we have to add fertilizer?” Her question made me pause. “The fertilizer isn’t for the dirt. It’s for the plants. The dirt is doing its job. The plants just need a little help. Like us- we have the Bible, our ‘good dirt.’ But we still go to church. Not because the Bible needs help, but because we do.” She thought for a second. “So, prayers are like rain?” I smiled. “Answered prayers are like rain,” I said. This past weekend, we began digging the potatoes. She marveled at how potatoes grow underground, not on the stalk. It reminded me of an old story Hannah’s Uncle Pickens loved to tell about a Yankee farmer who didn’t think his peanut plants had produced. He was ready to sue the seed dealer until Pickens pulled a plant from the ground, revealing peanuts hanging from the roots like ornaments. The man had just never looked beneath the dirt. Banks loved that story. As she pulled up another potato, she said, “I guess that man just didn’t know what was under all that good dirt.” “I guess not,” I replied. As she scooped up another handful and let the soil run between her fingers, she smiled and said, “It’s good dirt, isn’t it?” “Yes, it is, baby girl. Yes, it is.” And the soil- like the lessons buried within it- was rich indeed. “Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, some multiplying thirty, some sixty, some a hundred times.” Mark 4:8 

-Walt Merrell

A Christian Outdoorsman who writes of his adventures with his family, with the hope that others might be inspired and encouraged to embrace God’s tapestry, otherwise known as the great outdoors, as a means of finding Common Ground. You can follow him at Shepherding Outdoors on FB, YT and IG and at shepherdingoutdoors.com. His most recent book is available at shepherdingbook.com. Read his faith story at www.BirminghamChristian.com.

The Great Outdoors

Looking for that perfect Father’s Day gift? The staff at Mark’s Outdoors is ready to assist you in finding a gift Dad will love and use. Besides being a one stop shop for hunting and fishing needs, Mark’s also carries a wide variety of lifestyle products for the husband or father in your life. Here are just a few ideas for Father’s Day.

Protect in Style. Give Dad the shades he needs for all of his outdoor activities, including Costa, Bajio and Ombraz brands. Lots of great styles to choose from with lenses that offer 100% UVA and UVB protection.

Play it Safe. Shirts with sun protection are a great gift for the dad who spends anytime outdoors. Mark’s has sizes ranging from small to 3x in great colors and styles from the top men’s sportswear brands including Coastal Cotton, Simms, and AFTCO. Along with a sun protection shirt, gift dad with a sun protection hat. Mark’s has a variety of Tilley Hats- perfect for people susceptible to sunburns.

Besides remembering your Dad with a gift this Father’s Day, most importantly, we hope you will have the opportunity to spend some time with your Dad- if at all possible, in God’s great outdoors.

Mark’s Outdoors 

1400-B Montgomery Highway, Vestavia 35216

205-822-2010, www.marksoutdoors.com

Don’t’ Miss Take a Kid Fishing Day!

On Saturday June 14, 2025, Mark’s Outdoors will be giving the first 150 kids that come into the store a free rod and reel. The doors open at 9 a.m.  The only “catch” is that the parent must take their kid fishing asap. “It is our way of giving back to the community and getting parents involved with their kids and interested in the outdoors,” explains Mark Whitlock, Jr. “The objective is to make memories. With the rise of cell phones in the hands of children they miss out on nature and we want people to get involved.” Mark’s will also have sales throughout the store on fishing reels and rods, clothing, fishing accessories and much more!

Great Outdoors 

It was hard not to think of snow days as I read James Spann’s latest update that morning. Snow blanketed much of North Alabama. Everything from Montgomery to Birmingham was covered in ice or sleet and as is so often the case, down in South Alabama, we were cold and wet. The house was cool, though the heater worked overtime to combat the draft of our 100-year-old windows. I glanced at the thermometer hanging just outside the kitchen window and it read 26 degrees. The skies were grey in the dusk of the morning, and I understood from James that the sun would not be joining us any time soon.

Banks, our 15-year-old, descended the stairs in the still twilight of the morning. I was amused, and even a bit befuddled as to why she was up so early. She didn’t say anything. She seemed to feel her way across the living room, eyes squinted, and with fingers slightly extended, she stepped gingerly to avoid the agony of a stubbed toe. I sat silently by the fire. It radiated warmth. I had even scooted my chair a bit closer. The steam from my cup of coffee wafted at my nose as I held the cup close to my lips. I tracked Banks with my eyes and slowly, methodically, she made her way across the room and grunted. I laughed silently as I knew she intended for me to put my coffee cup down. I did not hesitate. Climbing into my lap, I snuggled her close and wrapped her in the blanket that was once draped over the back of my chair. She sat motionless as she nestled her chin into my collarbone, and all seemed well in the moment’s silence.

Slowly, she drifted back to sleep. And as she did, my thoughts drifted back to snow days of old. I recalled 1987 when temperatures plummeted so low that Mobile Bay iced up around its edges. I recalled 1993 and our co-ed efforts to use cafeteria trays as rudimentary sleds at the University of Montevallo. I reminisced about 2003 when we built snowmen with the two older girls and then snow angels and snow tubing just a few years later after Banks was born. Amid all those memories, I longed for snow that morning- wishing for something more than what I had. I strolled a bit more down memory lane before Banks shifted a little in my lap, raised her head, grunted, as only a teenager can do, climbed up out of the chair, and went back to her room. And just like that, the moment was over. I spent some of that “moment” wishing for something more. I was reminded of my grandfather’s sage advice, warning me not to live life with a mind toward yesterday. He was right, for the present is much more valuable. In that present, I realized the value more than most, for I realized just how precious it was to have my “most of the time I don’t like you, Dad” 15-year-old teenager climb in my lap and go to sleep.   

Exodus 20:17 reminds us not to covet those things we do not have. Simple enough, it is to guard against coveting your neighbors’ house, boat, or hunting land. But it is much more difficult to not covet time. That morning in my wandering mind, I coveted snow days of old, with a longing for one more day, so that I might make one last snowman while all my girls were home for Christmas break. In my coveting of that day gone by, I simply failed to appreciate what was. And now, I must guard against coveting one more moment when my 15-year-old climbs into my lap.

-Walt Merrell

A Christian Outdoorsman who writes of his adventures with his family, with the hope that others might be inspired and encouraged to embrace God’s tapestry, otherwise known as the great outdoors, as a means of finding Common Ground. You can follow him at Shepherding Outdoors on FB, YT and IG and at shepherdingoutdoors.com. His most recent book is available at shepherdingbook.com. Read his faith story at www.BirminghamChristian.com. 

Great Outdoors

Thunderfoot. That was my daughter Bay’s nickname because of how heavy her foot planted with each step across the hardwood floors of our old house. One day, those steps came pounding down the hall toward our bedroom. My dad sonar also picked up the familiar, yet much more subtle, pinging of her little sister’s steps. Both were running, as if the bass drum chased the cymbals- one after another. They rounded the corner, stopped suddenly, and then both looked surprised to see Hannah and I standing there like a catcher waiting at home plate for a runner who should have stayed on third base.

Cape was five years old. She started with a whaling “Bay hit me!” Her face was fire ant red, but no tears rolled. Bay was eight years old. She batted her eyes a few times at me and shrugged her shoulders, with a Julia Child’s look of “I’m offended at the notion.” The truth was, Bay had been going through a bullying phase. I had already warned her that Cape was growing and catching up with her, but that didn’t deter Bay. So, without giving it much thought- and probably in a state of frustration- my response was quick and decisive. “Hit her back.” I was sure Cape would ask for clarification or at least ask “Are you sure?” Certainly, she would glance in my direction like the RCA dog seeking affirmation. Instead of a momentary pause or hesitation, Cape reached back as far as she could and brought a haymaker she found somewhere in the neighbor’s backyard and clobbered Bay far worse than anything Jake Paul could ever muster. Before I could crack a grin or act shocked, Hannah yelled “What are you doing?” Her venom was directed at me so now I had become a menace to society. Bay lay on the floor in a puddle of her tears and humility. Cape seemed to be dusting her hands off and grinned like the cat that ate the canary. Hannah was picking Bay up, yelling at me, and scolding Cape all at the same time. I was secretly impressed with Cape’s roundhouse, yet frustrated by her lack of diplomacy, sympathetic to Bay’s hurt and scared of Hannah’s wrath- and randomly, I craved a Little Debbie.

Twenty minutes later, we all sat on our big green sofa in the living room, snacking on Cosmic Brownies, and watching Auburn football. Bay’s face was still flushed from tears, and she was folded up in Hannah’s lap. Cape’s face was littered with brownie crumbles as she and I jockeyed for the last Little Debbie. I let her win of course. She devoured one half in a single bite, then gave the other half to Bay. Bay smiled, and Cape crawled over and into her arms. Their relationship had matured. From that day forward, Bay never bullied Cape again and Cape never hit Bay again. 

I wish I could claim some sort of fatherly insight and say “I told you so” to Hannah, but the truth is, it was not my doing, but His. “Every branch in me that does not bear fruit He takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit” (John 15:2).  As parents, we sometimes foster the pruning process that He does in our children. That is… if we will. Not that I necessarily made the right decision that day- but I decided, nonetheless. And He did His work with my decision. Be present and decisive, parents.  Our children need us to hold them accountable so that He can prune.           

-Walt Merrell

A Christian Outdoorsman who writes of his adventures with his family, with the hope that others might be inspired and encouraged to embrace God’s tapestry, otherwise known as the great outdoors, as a means of finding Common Ground. You can follow him at Shepherding Outdoors on FB, YT and IG and at shepherdingoutdoors.com. His most recent book is available at shepherdingbook.com. Read his faith story here. 

The Great Outdoors

presented by: Mark’s Outdoors

Struggling with what to buy for your friend or family member that loves the outdoors? The staff at Mark’s Outdoors is ready to help! Here’s a look at items on their Top Ten List, specially priced for the Christmas season.

1. Survival Backpack $40

2. Fenix Flashlight $90

3. Tactacam Security Camera $150

4. Benchmade Bugout Knife $160

5. Warthog Knife Sharpener $90

6. Orca Cup $30

7. Filson Briefcase $240

8. Costa Sunglasses $180+

9. Shimano Curado DC Reel $270

10. Marks Gift Certificate $20-$5,000

As a thank you to the readers of Birmingham Christian Family, Mark’s Outdoors invites you to clip or screen shot this article and bring it into the store for $10 off of a purchase of $20 or more. Valid December 1-31, 2024. Limit one per customer, one time use only.

– Mark’s Outdoors 

1400-B Montgomery Highway, Vestavia 35216

205-822- 2010, www.marksoutdoors.com

The Great Outdoors

Our daughter Banks and I had been on the road for six days. She was 12 years old at the time, and she endured the doldrums of long driving spells like a seasoned long-haul driver. That’s not to say our journey had been without excitement. Quite the opposite. We tried to summit Mount Rogers, the highest peak in Va. We conquered Mount Mitchell and Sassafras Mountain, the highest peaks in N.C. and S.C., respectively. And we hiked headlong up the steepest trail we had ever been on at Bald Mountain, Ga. which is the Peach State’s highest mountain.

We spent two days in Va. in a treehouse equipped only with a propane heater. It snowed two inches while we slumbered on the first night. The white blanket seemed cozy and inviting as we peeked out the windows, shivering at the thought of dancing through the undisturbed quilt of snow. We gently stepped, side by side, across the virgin snowfall so we could look back over our shoulders to see where our feet had fallen. “Some people spend their whole life looking back from where they came,” I remarked. “What do you mean?” the inquisitive 12-year-old asked.  “I mean they live with regret. Regret for the mistakes they think they made or regret because things aren’t like they used to be.” I made air quotation gestures with my fingers. She nodded her head with understanding. “It’s hard, though, to keep your eyes on Jesus if you are always looking back, isn’t it?” I didn’t necessarily expect an answer to my rhetorical question, so I was somewhat surprised when she said “yes” in response. “Is that why we’re climbing all these mountains?” she continued. Puzzled at her remark, I ask for a more detailed explanation. She stopped kicking the snow with her toes and looked up at me.  “I mean, are we going to the highest mountain in each state so we can be closer to Jesus?” Her blue eyes peered straight into the hazel of my own as she dropped the tips of my fingers from the palm of her hand. “Sort of,” I responded. “We are not climbing them to get physically closer. Yes, heaven is up, but He is all around us already. We are climbing them because I know that from the top of these mountains, you will be much better able to see all that He created—and that will bring us closer to Him.”  She paused for a moment and then quipped, “Seems like it might be easier to just look at pictures,” and then she laughed as she pulled away and scooped up a snowball.

A few days later, we stood atop Mount Sassafras in the middle of nowhere S.C. as the sun melted into the Great Smoky Mountains. The stars rose to our east, and the western sky shone orange across the haze of the blue Smoky. Banks leaned into my arm with her head and shoulder and wrapped her arm around my waist. She broke the silence of the sunset and said, “I get it, Dad. I get it.”  “See what He did?” I asked. I felt her nod her head in my rib cage and thought the sunset was beautiful, but the moment was more so. And that’s why we go Shepherding Outdoors.  

“For His invisible attributes, namely, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So, they are without excuse.” Romans 1:20

-Walt Merrell

A Christian Outdoorsman who writes of his adventures with his family, with the hope that others might be inspired and encouraged to embrace God’s tapestry, otherwise known as the great outdoors, as a means of finding Common Ground. You can follow him at Shepherding Outdoors on FB, YT and IG and at shepherdingoutdoors.com. His most recent book is available at shepherdingbook.com. Read his faith story at www.BirminghamChristian.com.