Uncharted Territory

The view beneath a tree, courtesy of Hurricane Matthew.

As a conclusion to our Spring Break shenanigans, as described in yesterday’s post, the kids wanted to go into the woods behind our house today. They wanted to get a look at the creek that runs through it. I have lived in this house for six years, and have only seen it once. There is something about the woods back there that is foreboding.

My property is unique. On one side we have huge pine trees planted long ago when this area was timber forest. Beneath them is a thick flooring of palmettos. Anything moving within them sounds enormous. A house-cat can put on the airs of a mountain lion. It is uninviting and not very exciting—I’m just not that keen on meeting the rattlesnakes that may live there. Nearby the pines, is a chunk of relatively young live oaks with palmettos and under-story trees scattered less thickly beneath. This woods is approachable. I plan to pick beauty berries in it. Adjacent to this is the wild part of the woods where the creek runs. Thick palmettos border the edge, as though to wall me out. Tall, skinny tree trunks strain for the sky, all with no branches down low. They are of the same characteristics, so that when the wind is strong they sway and bend together like long blades of grass. There is something about that swaying that unnerves me.

We picked a deer trail through the palmettos. Baby ferns were uncurling themselves all around it, which is a familiar sight. Then things became completely unfamiliar. The ground was not flat because of all the strange roots, fat vines, and holes created by the fluctuations in moisture. We picked our way through, every footstep in a place that looked like excellent water moccasin camouflage. Beautiful plants, leaves like a canna lily, had popped up everywhere. The land was so awkward that I did not see the creek until it was before us. My dogs immediately waded in, sinking deep in black mud. My son waved his net around in disappointment, as the water was so muddled by mud that all its creatures were invisible. The creek was still and silent. There was a calm sort of sense of purpose about the place—a feeling the wild places have, even when adjacent to un-wild places. We picked our way back through the strange damp territory, and back through its borderland. I think maybe we’ve been reading a bit too much Chronicles of Narnia lately, but both my son and I seemed to feel like we’d entered another world.

Borderland ferns.

Now I’ve got to go back through the Wardrobe (or deer path) and identify all the mystery plants.