Consider the Lilies

for Bran, Cindy, and Smith

a copper angel forged by Ben Potter

A jump start is in order today since it’s been a minute, so please pardon any roughness around the edges. Sometimes when Substackers go quiet for a time, it’s a sign they are writing more than ever before. More to come on that.

Until then, I’ve just spent some rich time in Sewanee, TN, which never disappoints. I took in gorgeous sunsets, a sumptuous rainstorm, two beautiful worship services (one was Taizé), sweet time with my older son (who sang in the Taizé choir), and reunions with old friends; plus pulled pork, local beer, and way too much fried food.

Two people I love dearly are Bran and Cindy Potter. Bran was my geology professor at Sewanee, but I know their family mostly from sharing the stage, along with their (then teenage) son Seth, in plays and Gilbert and Sullivan shows in the late eighties.

Reconnecting with them over the last few years has been a great joy for me. Last year they brought me to a home where friends enjoyed a meal together followed by an hour or so of plucking and singing. It was pure magic. Bran still leads hikes around the Sewanee Domain and sings each fall at a bonfire for incoming freshmen. You can enjoy his songs and stories in this recent interview. He talks about the importance of place, something he and Cindy have helped me to appreciate more deeply.

Cindy is a rare soul who touches hearts with her remarkable kindness and deep joy. Together they spend their summers with family far up in the Adirondacks in a cabin without electricity.

Cindy and Bran Potter

All around their Sewanee home I see reminders of things that matter to me: saved Christmas cards from friends, written expressions of affection, pictures of children jumping in lakes, songbooks and hymnals, all kinds of original art (often depicting the natural world), books of fiction and poetry and prayer, stories for children, posters from plays, musical instruments, and well-worn chairs both inside and on the porch. How many good conversations must have been shared with friends on those chairs over the years? How many songs, how much laughter?

“What counts can’t be counted,” writes our friend Gerald Smith, who taught religion at Sewanee (the least of the countless reasons he is a cherished part). Smith has written one hundred verses on a place meaningful to him, an old “pocket wilderness” in Virginia that exists now through his memory and his poetry. Tsuga Rock: A Hundred Steps should be published soon. For now, it inspires more poems, the first of mine written on Bran and Cindy’s porch Monday morning. They were away, but their presence is always in the air and always full of love.

On Potters Porch

“The road waits in case we come back
When we give up finding ourselves.”
-Gerald Smith, Tsuga Rock 21


On the Potters’ porch
An old magnolia offers shade
One plump blossom, butter cream,
Holds a party for the bees

Smith says don’t walk—sit
My new aim in life:
To be old and immature
And consider the lilies

Down there on the gravel 
An uncertain rabbit deliberates 
Heavy-laden turtle on a quest
Restless nomad, I carry my home

While the crow overhead sneaks a peek
At my writing, caws his critique
A bluebird from Bran’s high feeder startles upward
The bees now drunk at their petalled keg

There’s only so much we can do
Tend our gardens/take our time/and sing
And play/and rest/and listen
Or crawl/hop/fly/get drunk

My most important direction
My destination
My home
Here

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I hope Cindy doesn’t mind my sharing this, but many of us give thanks for what a kind soul she is. We are in good company.

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Thank you for reading today.

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The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry

Ben Potter angels at the Copper Fox Gallery

Gerald Smith’s convocation address, “My Star Thou’lt Be,” upon receiving the Sewanee Medal in September 2025