Turn onto the half-mile, dirt drive and follow it to its logical conclusion. Beech Tree Lane. Let’s go to the end, if you dare – the end of the road.
If you choose, don’t take the last curve to the left so you end at the house at the edge of the woods. Park, step out into the tall grass, fade right under the beech trees, and merge with the woods where they enter the swamp.
From there, you can push off in the ever-ready canoe into the slough and meet the river. The Lynches, named many years before a declaration of independence could be conceived, is a name for the water that connected the people.
Let’s discuss the beeches that live among the pines, oaks and river birches. They are neighbors of the cypress. The beeches transcend the seasons and traverse the years. They are not the oldest tree in the woods, but they persevere, replicate and are among the tallest.
They bloom in spring, give shade in summer, offer fruit in the fall, and provide copper penny leaves on which to walk in winter. The lane ends at Beech Tree Landing, where the water pauses before moving on down and out to sea.
Beech Tree Lane brings you past the remnant of an older farmstead and a barn, right past the place in the road where the old barn used to be, where the cows grazed and doves still congregate. Pass the fields that once produced corn, tobacco, beans and such. Beech Tree Lane takes you back, from the highway to the river … from the fast to the slow.
The lane also takes you past my front porch, where – most days – folks are welcome to sit and rock. Some days I want to rock alone, no intruders. Today, I’m inviting you onto the porch. From here you will meet communities of people and places, and the community of nature through which you see the nature of community.
Let's sit a spell and see where our rocking takes us.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish