I stood on the deck behind our new home
surveying the overgrown jungle that claimed co-occupancy of the
property. The sun was just coming up but it would be some time before
it cleared the tops of the towering trees to share its warmth.
Under more favorable circumstances this
would have been a garden. The real estate agent had with a perfectly
straight face referred to this region as a naturalized area and once
I even thought I heard her mention the word forest. It is certainly
true that there were trees, and lots of them, but a forest it was
most definitely not.
My idea of a forest is one of flat or
gently rolling terrain with a lush carpet of pine needles or soft
exotic grasses inviting the weary traveler to rest beneath a shady
hardwood while he observes the local wildlife. This would be the kind
of idyllic setting where one might expect to see squirrels frolicking
in the trees as chipmunk and deer scamper around in a playful and
joyous manner. It would be like a scene from a Disney cartoon where
weary traveler would drift off into a gentle slumber, soothed by the
tranquil sounds of a babbling stream.
It is important to understand that in
the northern Atlanta suburbs, a level building lot is something of a
rarity and, unfortunately, one which we did not enjoy the benefit of.
The sight before me did not, by any extended employment of the
imagination, suggest gently rolling terrain. There was only a slope
that pitched away from the back wall of the house at a treacherous
angle, sliding off into the ‘naturalized area. It was not easy to
assess the degree to which the ground sloped away nor was I able to
determine how far it went because of the impenetrable foliage that
blocked my view.
Before me was a tick tangle of vines,
weeds, brambles, fallen trees and overgrown bushes that prevented me
from discerning anything about the geography of the back yard, and
made the idea of a hidden glade of pine needles and charming woodland
creatures extremely unlikely. Huge trees emerged from this tight
undergrowth and stretched upward to meet the sky, gently swaying in
the light morning breeze and for the first time I noticed that some
of the trees were uncharacteristically devoid of leaves. I had to
conclude that they may not be particularly healthy.
As I watched and listened I would
occasionally hear a loud rustling, accompanied by the sound of
breaking branches. Unable to detect the origin of the noise, I feared
the worst – my imagination running to imagery of a pack of hungry
and ferocious mountain lion, herds of wild bear, and perhaps even a
savage hog or two. Making a mental note to clean my gun I went inside
for another cup of coffee
I should explain that until moving to
Atlanta my wife and I had lived in Florida for over a decade. We had
occupied a variety of houses situated in the densely populated urban
sprawl of various concrete and stucco cities, consequently the
postage stamp sized building plots were just large enough to build a
house and park a car, so naturalized areas were a new and daunting
experience for us.
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Stephen R. Drage
Author: MUD LANE
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