Return to an Ancient Place

Okefenokee Cruising

I often visited the Okefenokee Swamp when I was growing up in south Georgia, and I’ve kept vivid memories. When my friend, the environmental photographer Henry Fair, posted a dreamy aerial photo of the Suwannee River (as in “way down upon the SWWWaneee River far, far away…”) I called him and said, “Let’s go. Your photo makes me long to see the place again. I think I was twelve the last time I was there.”

With Johnny and Bill-cool guys!—on a seventh-grade class trip. I jumped from the guide’s boat onto a soggy floating island. Maybe a bit of attitude here…

I’d never traveled then, except in the South. The mystery of that land of water, moss-hung trees, sunning tortoises, swamp fire, the white sand that used to be under the ocean, the creatures, quicksand, all were as thrilling to me then as Uzbekistan would be now. In childhood, certain landscapes have a way of imprinting on the psyche and always will be with you.

At the time I called Henry, there was a serious mining threat that could drain huge areas of the Trail Ridge section of the swamp and generally cause havoc with the ecosystem. Wondering if writing about the place might help, I contacted the wonderful southern magazine Garden & Gun. Would they be interested in an article.? It’s out now in the February/March: Garden & Gun . The presentation is wonderful—an insert with illustrations by Jill DeHaan and, of course, photographs by Henry Fair. He was assisted by my grandson Will, whose eyes were opened to a new kind of travel. He’d never been called upon to pilot a rowboat through entangling water lilies or to launch a drone from a wobbling prow. We were all mesmerized by the alligators. We thought we’d be lucky to spot a few; we saw probably a hundred. They dozed in the winter sun along the banks, annoyed when our slow motor disturbed their dreams that must have been going on for millennia. Most of the time we were with rangers on more stable boats. Although I longed to swim in the mirroring black waters of the St. Marys River and to explore all the divine beaches, it was frigid and we sometimes were bundled in blankets. Another time!!

Henry's shot of our boat cruising the canals, Garden & Gun article, bird on its own reflection, blinding white beaches of St. Marys River, moss, swamp inhabitant dozing

I was fascinated to learn about the “swampers"—people who lived in seclusion and independence until they were driven out. Long an escape for deserters, criminals, escaped enslaved people, the swamp always has been a place of mystery and myth as well. The Creek tribes lived here for decades. Loners established their homes and raised big families. An overgrown cemetery marks graves of some who died of Spanish flu in 1918. One home still is kept up as a testimony. Sheila Carter, a surviving relative, cooked lunch for us on the wood burning stove. Chicken dumplings, mustard greens, cornbread—delicious. She even taught us the primitive mode of communication—the swamp holler, a high tingling yodel that raised buzzards out of the trees.

St. Marys River, Chesser Homestead, a plantation of oaks, cypress knees, waterway at dusk

My thanks to all the editors at Garden & Gun. And the best news is that the titanium dioxide mining threat on Trail Ridge was stopped. The Conservation Fund was able to buy the 7,700 acres slated for the extraction. For now, a big relief. The coveted UNESCO status, if given final approval, will further discourage damage to this, may I say, sacred space. I concluded the article: Public opinion and diligent work played the major role in this hopeful victory. “See,” I write to my grandson, “our voices matter.”

If you have Apple News Plus you can read G & G on My Magazines. It’s, of course, widely available where magazines are sold. But the print edition is quite special and features more of Henry’s work.

Photos, except for the first one by Henry Fair, are FM.