| |
A
WALK IN THE BLACK FOREST, or,
There’s no place like home
by
George Lester |  |
Most
of the trees in Spunky
Flat had long since been cleared to make way for agriculture when we moved
there. About the only ones remaining were in the “bottom land” surrounding Big
Creek. Our farm bordered the stream on the west, but I don’t think we ever knew
who owned the land on the other side. It was the territory to the east that intrigued
Sam and me because it was a virtually wild and unexplored forest. Our father had
warned us not to intrude on that frontier across the way. Each time we ventured
to the creek, we would gaze longingly into that forbidden jungle. Sam was not
one to let an edict from Dad get in the way of a little adventure. I knew from
the look in his eyes that this time he had already made up his mind to stray into
that strange world just beyond our property.
There was an uncanny atmosphere
surrounding us the moment we stepped over. It was almost as if we had been transported
into a time warp. We got the strange feeling that no one had set foot there in
millenniums. I felt the urge to turn around and dash across the barrier, back
into reality. Only the thought of the unmerciful chiding I would receive from
my older brother held me back. We journeyed deeper and deeper into the forest
primeval. I followed Sam’s lead as he winded his way deftly through the ever-thickening
growth. It was like watching a scary movie. We knew we were going to be frightened
by what lay just around the next turn, but the anticipation was addictive. We
couldn’t stop, even if we wanted to.
The predictable thing happened when
we grew tired and decided to return the way we came. After passing the same landmark
several times, it was obvious we were traveling in circles. We were hopelessly
lost. Then Sam remembered something he had read in Boys Life magazine. The sun
could serve as a makeshift compass. All we had to do was look at it, and it would
tell us east from west. That idea was quickly dismissed as it was a gloomy, overcast
day. About this time I started a classic younger sibling whine about how we were
lost and how we would not be found until the buzzards had picked our bleached
bones clean. Sam stoically plodded on and told me to shut up, or he would leave
me alone to fend for myself. I remained quiet after that. For hours we continued
searching for a way out of this foreboding maze. The thought occurred to us that
we would probably have to spend the night sleeping under a canopy of trees.
It was rapidly growing dark when we stepped out into a clearing. A beautiful sight
met our eyes. Civilization! A plowed field appeared before us, and we saw a farmhouse
on top of a hill. It looked slightly familiar as we walked toward it, and we knew
we had seen it before, but not from this angle. Then we caught sight of a road
leading into a little village. “Odds!” we shouted at the same time. Dad had taken
us to Odds many times
to have our cotton ginned. Now we had our bearings and getting back home was just
a matter of a two-mile walk down a gravel road. It was the most enjoyable stroll
we had ever taken. Soon we saw our house in the distance with the lights shining
through the windows, welcoming us back. As Dorothy said years later, “There’s
no place like home.” | | |
