Forest Stories Episode One Hundred Forty Four A Single Drop Of Rain

The worst drought in 18 years. Documented in vocal print. Especially on the day when the waves of water return to this tiny forest, with its tiny lake, tiny stream and very big big big poetic dream.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Hey, when it comes to podcast 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 four stories,
be it rock star stories, talking with a chef, whatever
you're looking for. That's what arrow.net is all about. A-R-R-O-E.net.
The searching is over. It's all in one place. Enjoy

(00:22):
the exploration. Hey, thanks for being a part of the conversation.
Welcome to Four Stories. A series of short-winded adventures within
a collection of skyscraping trees stuck feet first in Georgia
clay right here in Carolina. It's been a huge part
of my daily journey for over 33 years. I am
the poet in the forest, a children's series written and
recorded in the 1990s. It's grown into multiple podcasts that

(00:46):
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 Hill sits 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

(01:09):
were families and business owners who are said to have
raced 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. Welcome back to the forest. Could this

(01:33):
be the ending of our worst drought since 2008? It's
presently 2026 where I stand. I don't know where you stand.
I don't even know if this forest stands by the
time you meet the stories that become the forest stories.
But this drought has been the worst in 18 years.
And then today, everything was drawn to a close because

(01:56):
it's like, wait a second. We can't go through the
forest on our daily walk to check in with the
trees to see if the beekeeper is still selling honey,
to look at the ground for the bumbly bees, as
well as to stare into the sky at the wild
Canadian geese, as well as the ducks and the owls
and the blue cranes that... Love to just stand there

(02:19):
and take in life. And I often wonder, what is
that life like when the only thing that you have
to do is show up lakeside and put your feet
first into the mud of a lake that no human
being goes into? Well, because it's protected, this lake, because
of its nature, as well as the human beings around it,

(02:41):
don't want outsiders to come in and fish it up
and bring damage to it. Because, you know, that's just
about part of the ecology of what this place is,
which is a tiny forest with a tiny lake, with
a tiny slow-moving stream. And the thing about it is, though,
is that through a poet's words, it looks bigger than life.

(03:04):
Everything looks bigger in life through the power of the
writing instrument. And yet, what that poet receives, a day
of rain. the drought could be coming to an end
is so empowering that the poet sits here and wants
to watch and document every single drop that not only

(03:26):
falls from the carolina gray sky but that that is
swiftly moving into the drains so that it will end
up in lake ivy so it will make its way
to a nearby stream then it becomes a river to
the ocean boy i'm just taking this too far aren't
i But it always has been a dream for this

(03:47):
poet inside of me to wonder if a single drop
of rain at the beginning of a rain season, ending
an 18-year drought, if that single drop of rain will
make it to an ocean. And can we ever be
there to celebrate it with them? Hey, thanks for being

(04:09):
a part of the conversation.