Wednesday, January 18, 2017
Congaree National Park – East of Weston Lake
Lunchtime is on the banks of a swamp, east of Weston Lake. The sun shines and a breeze blows with temperatures in the 70s. Not a bad way to enjoy a January winter’s day. My job here at Congaree rarely feels like work. Most times are a stroll through the woods on a sunny and pleasant day, collecting data as I go.
Often the forest’s peace is broken by fighter jets flying above. Some days, they fly singly, every now and then. Other days are like an airshow with loud engines overhead as planes go this way and that way. I’m not used to such a commotion. I often seek peace while enjoying the woods; unless of course, a woodland creature decides to make its presence known. That obnoxious anthropogenic thunder of horsepower took a while to become a familiar part of my surroundings.
Once considered a nuisance, the jets remind me of my brother. Paul loved the military jets since he was a child. It was a fascination that I didn’t understand in my youth. However, sometimes they fly so low, I couldn’t help but to be intrigued. He would have loved to visit Congaree. Besides the planes, there are plenty of amphibians for him to harass. I remember family fishing trips where I was on a mission to catch the big one and he was content on getting the drop on a bull frog. Again, it was a fascination that I didn’t understand in my youth. However, sometimes he was successful and I couldn’t help but marvel over the creature.
Since his death, I find that I understand my brother more in these years.
In the sunlight, a green and a yellow butterfly dance together in the sudden stillness of the air. With an otherwise constant breeze today, they must have waited a while for that moment. Time passes, in another moment, a lone butterfly.
