Communing With the Plant and Frog World
Nov. 22
It’s a little bit different here. I looked it up and Atlanta is
about seven degrees of latitude south of home. It’s late November, and half the
trees are losing their leaves. Even so, the pansies are still in bloom.
Inspired by my insights into the wonders of Nature, I headed for
the Atlanta Botanical Gardens in Piedmont Park, one of the city’s principal
public spaces. When I got there it was sunny, and it looked like a regular
park.
But that’s not the case all over town. I passed Mayor’s Park, a
triangle on Peachtree Street, a block from the Folk Art Park, at dusk a couple
of days ago and people were bedding down there in sleeping bags.
On the way to Piedmont Park, I passed an ancient (or
ancient-looking) brick building labeled “Atlanta Chapter, D.A.R.” It was clear
that the ladies hadn’t been there for a while. I can’t imaging the Daughters of
the American Revolution letting the paint peel that much. Or living with a
window out.
I learned many things at the gardens. Camellias bloom in the
winter here. Some vegetables—collards and spinach, for instance—are also in
season all winter long. I found a recipe for kale chips.
The Canopy Walk is an elevated walkway a few hundred feet long
that lets you get above the shrubs and walk among the upper limbs of the trees.
This trip has not been hard traveling. I haven’t been lost once.
But I did have some trouble finding my way out of the Conservatory (Yes, as in
“Colonel Mustard with the lead pipe.”) but that was only for a few
seconds.
The Conservatory is one of several climate-making enclosures in
a complex at the Botanical Gardens. There is an orchid house. That was almost
spooky. Orchids take many shapes and come in a wide variety of colors. Some are
huge, like the Flower that Ate Cleveland, and others are tiny. They’re
beautiful, but somehow they all manage to look dangerous. Some samples were n
pots and others were growing out of the bark of trees.
To give the orchids and the jungle the moist climate they need,
a misting system spreads a fine artificial rain from time to time. It kicked in
while I was in the orchid house, so I had to get out before the mist took the
creases out of my suit.
The same complex also houses a desert exhibit of plants from
Africa and Madagascar. The sign says none of the plants is a cactus. Cacti are
American. But like cacti, the plants are frequently covered with spines and
thorns. This is to keep animals from eating them for their stored water. Some
have developed toxins for the same purpose.
The most striking thing of all was the exhibit of frogs. They
live in miniature rainforest habitats, and it’s sort of like those puzzle
illustrations where you have to find the hidden animals. The something or other
terribilis is a yellow Colombian frog
about an inch long. It carries enough toxins to kill six people—that is, if the
poison gets into the blood stream by eating it or through the skin. At least,
that’s what the sign says.
There’s another variety of frog that is almost transparent, as
some tropical fish are.
But the photo of the day is of the blue frogs. They are just
about that blue. Some fish and birds are blue, but this is the first time I
have seen a four-legged animal this color.
There is an extensive “edible garden” outside. That’s where I
learned about winter vegetables in Georgia. Kale chips is one of several
recipes on signs designed to be photographed. A striking feature is a wall of
herbs trained to grow in horizontal flats.
One of the real reasons that I wound up at the Botanical Gardens
is that it is in Midtown. I have learned since Sunday that Buckhead has lost
its position as Atlanta’s top party spot. Now it’s Midtown.
It seems most of the beer I have been writing about was
unavailable only a few years ago. Nobody in town was allowed to sell a
beer with more than 5 percent alcohol by volume. An ordinance changed that in
the middle of the last decade and the craft beers started to flow in.
Most of them are available in Midtown.
After the Botanical Gardens, it was past three o’clock. So I
strolled back to Peachtree and 10th Streets, near the Midtown MARTA station. A
chain of bars down here under the unlikely name of Taco Mac sells a selection
of literally hundreds of beers. Most are craft beers from the United States. I
stayed with Georgia beers to maintain some focus. There were only one or two
dozen of those.
The food menu didn’t look great, but I had had a sandwich at the
cafe in the Botanical Gardens, so I wasn’t looking for food. Red Brick Laughing
Skull Amber is nutty with a bitter finish. Terrapin Golden Ale is flowery.
Joanna would say “like drinking perfume”—but in a good way.
O’Dempsey’s Big Red, at 6 percent, was the strongest of the
three. After all it was still mid-afternoon, and I didn’t want to incapacitate
myself that early. This one tasted a little more like an IPA than an Irish red.
It was less nutty and more hoppy.
I went back to the hotel to rest, and to call Maryellen about
arrangements for Thanksgiving Day.
Later, I went to Maxwell’s Tavern, also in Midtown, for dinner.
They served up steak frites with a filet mignon and a salad for twenty bucks.
The bartender, Matt, introduced himself and asked me if this was my first time
there. A few minutes later, the manager came up to me, called me by name, and
set down an appetizer of nachos, because this was my first time at Maxwell’s
and they wanted to make sure I had a good time.
With the filet, the bacon in the nachos, and fried potatoes, I
didn’t even try to finish it all. It would be enough to stop my heart. And if
my vices are going to take me out, then dear God, please don’t let it be
something as boring as eating too much red meat.
By the end of the evening, I was feelng my age and took a cab
back to the Hilton.
To Kate
Another note to Brian
If you blow up the photo and read the
signs on the windows, you'll see that Brian doesn't have to go to Pattaya,
after all, to find an establishment that needs a sign specifically prohibiting weapons.
This is Gladys Knight's Chicken and
Waffles on Peachtree Street in Midtown Atlanta.
Love ya, Darlin.
Dad
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