For twenty years I have been telling anyone who will listen that the young people of Alabama need something more to revere than our college football teams. I then submit that one thing that should cause young Alabamians to swagger is the state's scenic beauty and natural heritage. Because when it comes to natural diversity, Alabama takes a back seat to nobody.
A few of the particulars: North Alabama is part of one of the world's richest cave areas. Central and south Alabama feature more species of reptiles and amphibians than any other Temperate Zone area on the planet. And our state has a system of rivers that no other can match.
Every state-by-state survey of species diversity places Alabama in the top two or three. A glance at a geomorphic map explains: We have mountains and foothills, broad plateaus and large river valleys, piedmont, coastal plain and seashore. I once carried with pride a bumper sticker that read ALABAMA HAS IT ALL, but I refuse to affix the ALABAMA THE BEAUTIFUL someone in our state government plagiarized.
A few years ago one of those quality-of-life surveyors - who I'm sure had never been to Alabama - gave Alabama and Kansas both a C on scenic beauty. Now I mean no disrespect to the good people of Kansas. (A pioneer's account of the original prairie described so many bird's-foot violets they seemed to reflect the sky.) But when I'm standing on the rim or in the bottom of one of the magnificent side canyons in the western part of the Little River Canyon National Preserve; transfixed alongside the par excellence of mountain streams, Bryant-Jones Creek in Jackson County's Pisgah Gorge; or awestruck amidst the great boulders and trees in the Dismals Canyon of Franklin County, I often turn to my companions and cry, "Toto! I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."
The Great Smoky Mountains National Park is counted among the world's most prodigious wildflower habitats. A T-shirt sold by the park service, titled Smoky Mountain wildflowers, displays a yellow lady's slipper, a large-flowered trillium, and a showy orchis. All three of those flowers (and many, many other species) can be found in Alabama's Bankhead National Forest.
I waved toodle-oo to the political mainstream in Alabama a long time ago. In fact, I sometimes find myself positively frightened by the direction the cultural institutions of this state seem to be taking. I remain here because I love the land. A love for the land tethers me.
A few years ago my wife and I went to Vermont for one of those guided hiking vacations. We walked to and through some of the best places in that state, including its two highest mountains and the mountains that attracted the real-life Von Trapp family of Austria. On the last day the leader told us, "Today we're going to perhaps the prettiest and most unique place of all."
We gradually ascended one shoulder of a great hollow, overlooking the tops of Canadian hemlocks, birch and sugar maple. The sides of the hollow, draped with mountain laurel, grew steeper as we climbed. Occasionally we caught glimpses of a stream in the hollow bottom, concealed in places by great boulders. At the head of the hollow we were treated to a two-tiered waterfall that tumbled over great rock shelves.
"What does this remind you of?" I asked my wife.
"The Sipsey (Wilderness)," she replied at once.
"It's time to go home."