Human Signs
While walking many
of Sugar Hill's trails, I find myself
transported back to the eighteenth century or even earlier. I can
almost imagine that I will see Baron Tubeuf striding
around the bend of the trail, on his way to harry his snake-handling
neighbors. Maybe I have stepped even further back in time and
will be treated to acres of canebrake and a glimpse
of yellow and olive on the now-extinct Bachman's Warbler.
Along the Cliff Trail, I can
imagine a forest untouched by human hands, where trees are just
reaching their prime at two centuries old, towering over the rotting
carcasses of their parents.
But down on the
Oxbow Lake Loop Trail,
I am jolted back to the present. Along the paved walkway,
introduced plants like periwinkles and forsythia remind me that folks
have cut, burned, grazed, and planted these hills into
submission. A coal train rattles by above tree trunks engraved
with love notes from previous generations. Under the roar of the
train, the highway forms a humming backdrop, and I am reminded that my
drive to Sugar Hill spewed carbon dioxide into the air and promoted
global warming.
Our very
existence changes the world around us, but we can choose what kind of
signs we leave for future generations. Rather than wounding a
tree by carving our names into its bark, we can plant a riparian
buffer, garden with native species, and maybe even drive a little less
often. Imagine hillsides coated with ginseng and turtles happily
sunning themselves above water so clean that mussel populations have
rebounded. What a legacy to leave our grandchildren!
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