The Swamps of Madison County

While determining how well a cheap RC model airplane flies under my control, my wife and I enjoyed an evening by the river. I tested the plane's turning radius on the ground, practicing my flying skills on the concrete greenway path with the throttle setting giving the plane forward momentum without enough air under the wings to lift up to the sky. With confidence under my wings, my wife hand-launched the plane for me after I upped the throttle. Then the little bird gained speed over the tops of a field of soybean plants and soared for the stratosphere, a lofty goal but one every pilot, our species onboard or not, seeks for itself.

First flight - okay. A somersault landing but only a bruised body.
Second flight - very short. Not enough throttle and too short a throw by my wife. Soybeans gladly served as a cushion.
Third flight - well...remember that line about "what difference does a lesson make but what the hours and minutes take"? The first two flights bent the tail feathers, making an elevator change during the third flight questionable because the horizontal stabilizer was turned in toward the elevator. Lo and behold, the plane gained altitude and gained altitude and gained altitude, climbing and stalling, climbing and stalling, with my only controls available the throttle and rudder. Being the noobie RC pilot that I am, battling the elements, I thrust with the throttle rather than gently stabbed the air with the rudder.

Next thing my wife and I see is the plane, out of my control, throttling in a spiral downward into a grove of trees bordering the wild growth along the river behind us. Kerplunk! Or was the sound more of a kasplash? In either case, no more sailing off into the wild blue yonder.

I like to hike and explore woods and forests, veering off the main path in order to get lost, finding myself, instead. Last night, in shorts and sneakers, I marched through tall grass, concerned about snakes and ticks or hidden holes, but more concerned about a foam toy taking a break from my bad driving to hide 'midst toadstools, dragonflies, frogs and flutterbys.

I should have worried more about thorns and bloodsuckers.

Nevertheless, I crossed a small fence and entered the drying inlet of a land of overflow, flooding along the river having receded with the mid-summer low-rain weather patterns.

Around me lay piles of corncobs, liquor bottles, plastic jugs, rotting twigs and dead limbs. From out of these piles, frogs fled from me and mosquitoes bled me. I was the giant their ancestors had told them about, crushing everything in my path and cursing the thorned vines in pursuit of nothing vital, the evidence of my existence in the moment a pasttime toying around.

After horseflies made meals of my flesh, I decided that another time, in other clothes, would suit my pursuit. Upon arriving back at our auto empty-handed, my spouse convinced me two pairs of eyes are better than one for finding a needled aeromobile in the nettles.

We traipsed back into the magic riverside forest, two bipeds sending insects hither and thither.

I believe only what I see but what if what I see is hard to believe? If primarily your eyes and ears, and secondly your nose and mouth, provide input that makes no sense, do you process that input and make conclusions or let the information remain indescribable?

Today, the remains of the plane sit nearby, the engine black from sparks and smoke...and a wee fire.

Can a forest protect itself using fire? With conviction, I'd say no. Or I would have before yesterday evening. Now...?

Hmm...I don't know everything. I learn by observing. The universe is full of stuff that makes no sense to me and stuff that would astound me.

My wife and I are alive, no worse for our trip into the backwaters of a northern Alabama river basin. However...

To be honest, I don't know if I can go on talking. My observation skills have let me down. I know that every situation has an explanation no matter how incredible the results may look to others. I want to tell you what I saw last night as the sun set over the other side of the river, golden fingers playing with the sycamore leaves above my head.

A butterfly caught in a spider's web fluttered for its life. An otter hesitated before leaping for the river. And...

My wife is very rational, quite logical and not prone to buyer's remorse. She takes days to reach any major decision, after mulling over the consequences of one's future actions for at least 24 hours. Her assessment of the woody situation, in this case, lines up pretty close to mine.

Okay, I'll tell you what I saw and then let you draw your own picture of what happened.

As daylight began to fade, the forest came alive. The grandfather of the grove, the majestic sycamore, its bark peeling off like a snake shedding its skin, stuck its foot out and tripped me. Before I hit the ground, a vine of a type I'd never seen before grabbed the remote control from my hand and pushed the throttle all the way up. At the same time, my wife got caught in the branches of a privet bush. Neither one of us able to move easily from our positions, the plane, audibly close but out of sight, spun its propellor until smoke started pouring out of a nearby thicket. Frogs and cicadas began a chorus of mirth and celebration as if they knew the burning underbrush would soon consume the lives of the two interlopers.

My wife and I sensed the danger and worked our way free. We retrieved the plane just before it burst into flames, but after having already turned a small mound of dry leaves into smouldering embers.

We sighed in relief and carefully chose our footfalls to avoid pratfalls while exiting the forest.

Back on the concrete pathway we ran into another couple of bipeds like us who were enjoying a quiet walk along the river. One of them noticed a cricket in my wife's hair.

At least she thought it was a cricket. I took a closer look and saw it for what it was, the infamous Flint River Leaping Spider, whose legendary venom is purported to send one into a delirium from which few recover unchanged. Some have died immediately. Many have wandered the woods until starvation took them away. My wife and I were lucky. The acrid smoke from the tiny airplane engine kept us sane.

At least I think we're sane. I'm sure I did not see a sycamore intentionally trip me. But then again...well...never mind. Okay, let me ask you this. Have you ever seen a beaver climb a tree and use a rope swing to jump into a river? No, I didn't think so. In that case, neither did I.