Fall came to town rather late this year. We had a lot of leaves fall from the
trees before any color set in, but a couple of weeks ago, the colors all burst, and they've been generally resilient. For both Ms. B. and me, fall is our
favorite season—mainly because of Halloween, but the colorful leaves come in
second place. Our part of Martinsville—which includes the Druid Hills, Forest
Park, Mulberry, and Lake Lanier neighborhoods—is beautiful and has some
intriguing history. A couple of my favorite stories are about Sam Lion, a
slave who, in pre-Civil War days, escaped from the massive Hairston
plantation, of which this area was a part, and found shelter in the nearby
woods and caves until he was caught and executed (some time ago, I posted a
brief summary of this legend
here). Another is the legend of Frankie, a horse that lived back in the days when
the Hairston family owned this land. His barn, and the bridge from which he
fell, was literally across the street from us even when I was a kid (that
story can be found
here).
There are a few crude, natural trails in the woods around here, as well as the remains of
a roadbed that hearkens back to the Hairston Plantation days. These woods are among the last remnants of old growth in the city, and I hope
that they'll be preserved at least for the rest of my lifetime (and better if
far longer). The scenery in the image above is just down the street from us,
and one of those old trails is reputed to be one that Sam Lion himself cut
through the valley way back when. It's one of my favorite places to go
walkies, especially since I have so many fond memories of wandering as well as
riding my bike (and friends' motorcyles) on the trails back there. (I'm sure the
neighbors back then didn't much appreciate the racket we made.) The trail goes
through the woods behind the house where my best friend, Frank, lived in our
adolescence, and I have particularly fond memories of those times—largely
because Frank and I frequently watched Dark Shadows together, and we loved to fantasize about the ghosts, vampires,
werewolves, etc., that might actually inhabit these woods....
Since the weather was beautiful today, I took a nice walk through that valley,
which runs between Sam Lions and Cherokee Trails, a couple of our nicest residential streets. I didn't run into any ghosts, vampires, or werewolves
(well, it was daytime), but I suspect they're still out there. There
is still a lovely creek, or at least there is when we've had enough
rain to keep it flowing. Right now, there's a bit of water in it, but the
little stairstep waterfalls along its course are sadly dry. Below are a few of
the photos I took on my trek. Of course, my phone camera doesn't quite capture the depth of the colors, but maybe you can get an idea from these.
It's not out of the question that the golf ball in the right-hand photo is
one that I hit down there from friend Frank's backyard way back when. Many,
many years ago, when my brother and I smoked cigarettes, the hole in the
tree served as an ashtray (I know, I know, how degenerate). Anyway, I do
have to wonder how many hundreds of cigarette butts went down that
hole...
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| This creekbank is pure clay, and when Frank and I were kids, we'd dig it out and sculpt kaiju figures. |
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| Have a frightening fall season! |
