“Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.”
Max Ehrmann, Desiderata: A Poem for a Way of Life
Under the shaded canopy, I skipped along on the twisted roots of towering trees. Giant roots, like arthritic fingers, intertwined to hold the forest to the steep bank of boulders, clay, and eons of leaf litter decomposed into a rich and nourishing soil. In time a tree lost the battle and became part of the bewildering litter of rootballs, mossy trunks, and the ideal shelter for creatures in the jumble of limbs. The forest was wide awake, and the sounds of nature were a cacophony of creatures having incessant discussions among their kin.
My focus had drifted. Such a breach in military operations is usually fatal. I reasoned that this trek across the jungle floor was a low risk from hostile persons and more risky traveling across rugged terrain to avoid observation and interception. Moving down the switchbacks of the mountain descent, I’d seen no one nor heard anything suspicious. The forest chatter was a sure hint that everything was peaceful, and my mind drifted away even as my feet moved from root to boulder to log and back to roots.
My early life seems a blessing when I look back on how I went from a child of unquenchable curiosity to slogging through a mountain jungle pretending to be a botanist looking for commercial sustainable crops. A real botanist would out me in thirty seconds. I was unsure how to mask that glaring defect in my cover story. I was no stranger to the world’s flora and fauna. Still, I lacked the vast library of terms to describe all I saw, unlike my two grandfathers, who both had a total recall and named every green thing growing and every animal seen in my Florida habitat. They knew the entire lifecycle of every living thing and went to great pains to teach me. Memory and focus was never my strong trait. I blame all the squirrels that ran across my ever-scanning eyes and flighty attention span.
My paternal grandfather had acquired a nice estate in the center of Tallahassee, Florida, in 1915 and enlarged the grounds and house in 1920 after a break to go off and shoot cannons in the First World War. Grandfather built an English Garden on the estate that was the envy of the Southern aristocracy. He hosted many distinguished visitors and threw elaborate parties in sections of the property surrounded by high Rhododendrons, bamboo, and azaleas in pink, red, and white. He had a maze on one side filled with flowers, Dogwood, and various species of flowering myrtle, wisteria, and yellow jasmine. We had a gardener, and his wife was head of household affairs. They lived on the property in a one-roomed apartment built on the back of the separate garage. I was left to grow up there wandering the grounds, climbing the trees, and studying various strategies to watch the birds surreptitiously.
I had my secret garden that held my attention all the days of my young life. No children my age were in this old neighborhood of Florida’s elite, and I spent my early years with elderly cats, dogs, and my adopted garden. My grandmother was rigorously opposed to any ruffian skills I developed and poured all her life energy into teaching me the art of culture, literature, and gentlemanly manners. I often wonder if my failure to achieve the lofty goals she set for me was the heartbreak that killed her. You would never know she felt disappointment, only the resolute will of a woman born in the last years of the 1800s. Whenever I challenged her, she reminded me that she had a strong right arm, and many a naughty boy’s raucous rumps fell prey to her good aim with a switch. Later, we would share some brownies she made, and I would tell her how much I loved her.
Just down the street, a few blocks from the old Tallahassee Capitol building, my maternal grandfather lived with my multitalented grandmother. He was a famous naturalist with considerable experience in Florida’s natural history and unique environment. He maintained his connections to the Florida Department of Natural History and Florida State University until his death in 2019 at age 103. He was active up until the quiet end. He was the one that took me into the wild country and primitive beaches of Florida and spent his days teaching me to respect and nurture my environment. I would never depart from this path these two gentlemen placed me on and spent their years teaching me things no one could learn in a public school. I had the best start a child could ever hope for.
The rushing water of the mountain stream became louder, and the underbrush and diversity of plants became infinitely more varied. I knew I was in an unspoiled garden of Eden for the southeast. My heart lifted, and my energy soared as I began picking my way through the jumble of boulders to the water that would be my salvation from the heat and humidity. I could already feel the frothy coldness of the water on my skin.
Hyperion Sky 
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