At the end of city parking lots, where vines and scraggly trees have taken over a fence, there’s a narrow no man’s land. But poke around, bushwhack in, and there’s a hidden place: a tangled forest sprouting from the ground below the fence. It happens on farm fences, too. On our little farm, that tangle runs the entire fence line. It’s about 8 feet wide. Pasture on one side of the fence, tangle on the other. It often seems endless as it wraps all the fields. It’s a fringe forest. A place I’ve learned a lot about life. Entering it is like going into a tunnel of crooked pecan trees, smooth China berry trunks, barbed cat briar, and memories.
Wonderful story! Merry Christmas!