Читать книгу Longleaf - Roger Reid - Страница 10

My dad doesn’t believe in coincidences. According to the dictionary, a coincidence is an event that looks like it might have been arranged by somebody even though it happened by accident. In other words, a coincidence just happens. According to my dad, a coincidence cannot “just happen” because nothing in nature “just happens.” It’s because he’s an astronomer, a scientist. He sees everything as having a cause. Cause and effect. My dad says if things “just happen” there is no reason for science, because the goal of science is to discover what makes things happen. I don’t know about all of that. What I do know is that I just happened to be looking out the window of an airplane that just happened to be over the Conecuh National Forest when I just happened to see three guys pushing a vehicle of some kind into a lake that just happened to be visible among the longleaf pines. And, oh, by the way, the Conecuh National Forest “just happened” to be where we were going

The Pensacola policewoman contacted the Covington County, Alabama Sheriff’s Department and told them what this kid on an airplane “happened” to see as he flew over their area. She made arrangements for a deputy to meet us out in front of the Best Western motel which she said was in the town of Andalusia, Alabama. “Stay on US Highway 29 going into Andalusia,” she said, “Best Western’ll be on your right.”

We picked up a rental car at the Pensacola airport and headed northeast. Mom was driving, and every now and then I would catch a glimpse of her in the rear view mirror. She did not look happy. Andalusia was on the other side of the national forest, and she was not thrilled about this delay in her expedition. The good news is that US Highway 29 took us straight through parts of the Conecuh National Forest. This seemed to cheer Mom up a bit, although she still didn’t say anything. Most of the time when we enter a new area, Mom likes to tell us all about it. She kept quiet this time. So did Dad. So did I.

Seeing these trees at ground level was kind of strange. A couple of hours before I had been looking down on them; now here I was looking up. That emerald green carpet I had seen from the sky was still in the sky. I mean, these trees had no limbs and no pine needles near the bottom or even the middle of the tree. All of the limbs, all of the needles, all of the green didn’t start until about three fourths of the way up. And every single tree was tall and straight. I had never seen anything like it. Tall. It was as if every tree was the same age, and not one tree was any taller or shorter than any other tree. And straight. I’m used to trees that are bigger at the bottom and smaller at the top. These longleaf pines . . . they started off at one size near the ground and ended up the same size near the sky. And just like they were all the same height, they were all the same size around. I’m not saying that they were all the same. Each tree seemed to have its own personal space a respectful distance from every other tree. Maybe it was this space between them that made each one different from all the rest.

Without warning the trees were gone. Highway 29 had carried us out of the Conecuh and where there once was forest there now was treeless pasture. The shock to my eyes reminded me of how I felt as we flew over the treetops and the trees opened up around that small lake. Wish I’d never seen that lake. We could be setting up camp; instead we were headed to a Best Western to meet a county deputy sheriff so I could tell him a story that even I was beginning to doubt.