I seen somebody riding a horse off Glenwood the other day. That ain’t nun but a Tuesday tho.

One time, I was down the street from Towers High School when an owl pulled up on me. We locked eyes under moonlit waves of greenery until I looked away, breaking the spell. The owl departed soundlessly, and I returned to wandering the woods alone.

Sublime scenery pervades the A, from towering canopies in the West End (where my momma dem grew up), to the vibrant foliage of Kirkwood (where I got 300 cousins). In January alone, I done seen foxes, possums, turtles, frogs, geese … even bats. No cap.

Within this vast jungle, there’s an even deeper wilderness: the Eastside. 

For some, those words evoke the lyrics of artists like Gucci Mane, Future, Trouble, and Young Nudy claiming Candler, Flat Shoals, Edgewood, and Bouldercrest in their songs. As a native ATLien, I sholl be on that wave too sometimes. (Shout out Golden Glide.)

But the Eastside also makes me think of deer dashing across Columbia and into the brush; turkey vultures nesting in the mangled interior of a 50-year-old Cedar Grove home; or a great blue heron, motionless in the misty wetlands of Panthersville.

I glimpsed that last scene while walking South River Trail with Mark Anthony Brown Jr., the inimitable photographer responsible for these images. Our regal friend eluded Mark’s camera, though, so we let it ride. Recognizing that the water offered a peaceful place for the heron to dream and rest, I reflected on the wisdom of writer and activist Alexis Pauline Gumbs: “I celebrate your right to evade and avoid me.” 

Nature be setting boundaries for real. Nature gon’ tell you when enough is enough. And Earth been tryna tell us sum’n for a minute. 

Nature be setting boundaries for real. Nature gon’ tell you when enough is enough. And Earth been tryna tell us sum’n for a minute. 

I credit my home for inspiring me to listen. Yet in a county known for Arabia Mountain, Lullwater Park, and Stone Mountain (shout out St. Beauty), greenspaces in South DeKalb like Doll’s Head, N.H. Scott, and Glen Emerald are often an afterthought. To fully appreciate them, it’s important to understand their history. 

Long before the descendants of my African ancestors were proclaiming “Zone 6” and “Decatur where it’s greater,” my indigenous ancestors adored this land too.

Long before the descendants of my African ancestors were proclaiming “Zone 6” and “Decatur where it’s greater,” my indigenous ancestors adored this land too. Then in 1821, the Muscogee people were violently removed by the American government, and DeKalb County was established a year later. Lush forests soon became farmland, where Black people labored on plantations and later prison fields for over a century. In the 1960s, rapid urbanization began, and Atlanta’s metro area sprawled exponentially. 

Significant loss of rural land to decades of development led to a renewed focus on greenspace. In 2000, DeKalb County set out to preserve 37,775 acres over 10 years, securing $6.4 million in funding from the Georgia Greenspace Program. Between 2001 and 2006, the Board of Commissioners issued over $225 million in park bonds. By 2013, DeKalb County had nearly doubled its park acreage, adding over 3,500 acres. The county anticipates spending nearly $100 million from 2022 to 2026 on future projects, including renovations at Exchange, Gresham, and Glen Emerald parks.

All those millions don’t just increase property values. They improve quality of life for folks like the young woman whom we saw playing gleefully with her daughter at Exchange Park. They also provide residents with improved air/water quality and recreational opportunities. 

“Being able to get out in nature and take it all in can be even healthier than going to the gym,” said one such resident, a fitness instructor and YouTuber (HangTightwMarcie). She regularly walks the Michelle Obama Trail, where it’s “not as crowded as the BeltLine, and it’s lovely to see the foliage change over the seasons.” 

Equally lovely is the sense of wonder and nostalgia that nature invites.

Equally lovely is the sense of wonder and nostalgia that nature invites. Seconds after we passed a father-son duo strolling quietly through Fork Creek Mountain Park, a helicopter leaf floated down and landed near me. When I showed it to Mark, a childlike grin appeared on his face; he had been transported to memories of gathering helicopter leaves into a pile and tossing them in the air, creating a shower of spirals. We searched for the tree that gifted this memory, but to no avail. 

So we thanked the wind, and let it ride. 

So we thanked the wind, and let it ride. 

On the surface, DeKalb appears to be a paragon of sustainability, but the water gets murkier when you peer a lil deeper. And I’m not just talmbout ongoing efforts to defend Weelaunee Forest from the development of Shadowbox Studios and the $90 million police facility known as “Cop City.” (That debacle has been thoroughly documented, with ongoing, state-sanctioned violence recently resulting in preventable tragedy.) 

The county is also under fire for a lack of investment in sewer infrastructure, allowing untreated sewage and industrial waste to spill unfettered into the South River watershed. In 2010, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency declared this to be a violation of the Clean Water Act and demanded action, but only in “priority” areas around predominantly white northern DeKalb. The unincorporated southern region that comprises the majority of the county—where around 75 percent of residents are Black—continues to experience disproportionate pollution, which imperils health outcomes and increases vulnerability to storm damage. 

Indeed, the pristine solitude of a trail walk is often accompanied by eerie concrete hatches, which might feel almost mystical if they weren’t filled with wastewater. Every time I see one, I’m reminded that the county’s optics of valuing greenspaces contrast sharply with the toxic realities wrought by its negligence. 

Yet even as I simmer at all the ugliness, I can’t help but marvel at all the beauty. 

And all the birds.

Yet even as I simmer at all the ugliness, I can’t help but marvel at all the beauty. 

And all the birds.

When Mark and I arrived at Gresham Park, a massive flock of blackbirds, grackles, and starlings greeted us. In one swift motion, they flashed into the trees, giving way to a tranquil journey through labyrinthine paths. Later, we would encounter a hawk, who waited for us to approach as if to say, “Wuh going on folk? Y’all tryna take a pic?”

While walking, we discussed how nature invites people to unplug from the colonial mindsets of excess and selfishness that contribute to inequality, violence, and increasing desocialization.

While walking, we discussed how nature invites people to unplug from the colonial mindsets of excess and selfishness that contribute to inequality, violence, and increasing desocialization. Restoring our broken relationship with the land can help mend our relationships to each other and reestablish connections to the collectivist mentality of our rural roots. Community gardens, for example, show the liberatory potential of greenspaces to provide healthy, sustainable food while cultivating a more interconnected, altruistic society. Parks and trails can be places of respite, revolution and refuge—whether that be for elders seeking companionship, youth seeking guidance, or unhoused folks seeking … well, everything.

When we came across a lighter and half-smoked ‘rillo, Mark observed that it reminded him of an altar. Black people still practice rituals, he said, because we are the physical embodiment of our ancestors’ cultural and genetic memories. And while some of us reconnect to those memories through ceremonies and herbalism, Mark reminded me that there is also immense spiritual power in a smoke sesh, pouring one out, or dancing en masse to a beat.

I got stories for days … more than I could ever fit in a single piece. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from nature, it’s that you won’t always be able to capture everything. No matter how much I might want to, I’m not gon’ be able to listen to every great song that exists, or learn every language in the world. I’m not gon’ be able to look out for every family member and friend, or make the best decision every time. I’m human. I’m fallible.

Despite this, Earth has the grace to care for me daily, so the least I can do is forgive myself. And if this planet is going to continue blessing us deeply flawed humans with sunlight, water, air, food, and splendor—even after all that has happened, and continues to happen—then the least we can do is show a lil more compassion and gratitude.  

Despite this, Earth has the grace to care for me daily, so the least I can do is forgive myself. And if this planet is going to continue blessing us deeply flawed humans with sunlight, water, air, food, and splendor—even after all that has happened, and continues to happen—then the least we can do is show a lil more compassion and gratitude.  

I’mma be back out there showing love again tomorrow fasho. 

Yeen comin’ through? 

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