Speaker 1: Hey, when it comes to podcasts listening, are you like me?
I mean, it's like television surfing. You're like all over
the place looking for that one thing that you can
add to your moment of now. Be it forest stories,
be it rockstar stories, talking with a chef, whatever you're
looking for. That's what ero dot net is all about.
Arrooe dot net. The searching is over. It's all in
one place. Enjoy the exploration. Hey, thanks for being a
part of the conversation. Welcome to Forest Stories, a series
of short winded adventures within a collection of skyscraping trees,
stuck feet first and Georgia Clay right here in Carolina.
It's been a huge part of my daily journey for
over thirty three years. I Am the Poet in the Forest,
a children's series written and recorded in the nineteen nineties.
It's grown into multiple podcasts that now reach around the world,
and none of it would be possible without this forest
right here in South Charlotte, North Carolina, at the base
of Heartbreak Hills. It's a sign that reads Rainbow Forest. Well,
it's time you get to meet what's inspired several generations
long before the paved paths decorated with colorful homes colonized
around this beautiful lake, slow moving stream, flatland swamps, and
array of natural animals. There were families and business owners
who are said to have raised into this area for
the beauty of the land, wild roses, migratory birds, and
wild grapevines. Those before me either forgot to write about
it or it's buried somewhere inside their family tree. Hey,
thanks for being a part of the conversation.
Speaker 2: Welcome back to the forest. It is so cold, so
snowylike inside this collection of trees that you just wish
it would start snowing. It's almost like I feel a
headache coming on, but it won't take over. Or when
someone says I think I'm coming down with a cold,
and then a week or two later you're still in
that mode of I feel like I'm in the mode
of a cold, but I don't have a cold. That's
how it feels inside this forest today. The sky is
a snowy gray, the air is a frigid snowy day.
Even the lake isn't waving at me today. It's just
sitting there still, as if to be saying you don't
see me human. I am invisible. I want you to
think about what could be a snowy day inside this forest.
And I'll tell you what. In my thirty three years
and being in this forest, we have seen our fair
share of southern snowstorms. I think one of the biggest
ones we got fourteen to seventeen inches of snow. We
literally stopped. But do you think that we did stop
not our lifestyle, No no, no, no, because we both
serve the community. We both do things that are all
about serving people. And I remember being with this major
broadcast company. They sent the US Army to my house
in a humbie to pick me up in those four
thirteen inches of snow. I was sitting there very patiently
waiting for them, and down the road comes the US
Army coming to get me to take me to the
radio station. Because listen, when you're in the broadcast industry,
when it comes to fourteen to seventeen inches of snow,
a tornado, or airplanes hitting buildings, when you're called to
the front line to be a broadcaster, to be a journalist,
to be whatever, when it comes to the realms of
what radio and broadcasting really are, and something like a cold,
frigid day doesn't get in the way, but it's cold.
And with this cold today comes a lot of memories
of all the times that I walked through the snow
with my fuzzy little Maltese. We had five Maltese at
one time, those fuzzy little white monkeys running all over
the place with their cute little barks, and that would
go to the Chinese crusted. We had two Sammy Sophia
and with no hair on their bodies, being out here
in the snow. Oh my god, I felt so guilty.
I felt like I was abusing them. But yet Sammy
just loved it. Sammy was just always one hundred and
four plus degrees and he loved it. And then now
with Jazzy May out here inside this forest, she and
I have gotten deeper into these trees. And I think
that right there in itself says a lot about the
true spirituality of this forest. It's almost as if the trees,
the tall grass, the slow moving stream, even Heartbreak Hill
as well as as well as Ivy Lake are just
softly whispering today, almost like my blue crown conyer Ernie.
When he is very content, he doesn't make loud noises.
He just has this humming in his voice, and that's
what I feel today. The ground is damp. I'm not
saying there's not moisture here, but it's not coming across
as snow like my mind is saying it should snowing.
It feels, it smells. Everything about this moment of now
says snow, But it's not glowing that unbelievable color of white,
the innocence before the human and this dog named Jazzy
walked through that snow with dirty ass feet. Thanks for
being a part of the conversation.