The Fall Line

       On the eastern edge of the Piedmont a great hill stands overlooking the coastal plain. It’s not tall, just a couple hundred feet in places but it’s hundreds of miles long. The fall-line of the Atlantic seaboard passes through 9 states skipping Florida, from New Jersey to Alabama. This landform was created millions of years ago. A rising ocean occasionally washed across the flat sandy lowlands leveling the earth and eroding the higher ground. At its highest level, during an ancient geologic warming, the ice caps melted, the ocean rose past Greenville and Kinston. It covered the Army base at Fort Bragg, and the capitol building in Raleigh. The water rose and fell, and rose again covering Sanford and Aberdeen. It reached a cluster of ancient mountains slung in an arc from Chapel Hill down through Albemarle. These hills once looked out over the Atlantic. Rivers cutting through, moved the mountains, hauling silt, mud, and sand out to sea. The sand, tossed up by winter storms and blown across beaches, gathered in great dunes broad as a city. The remnants, these Sandhills of North Carolina are peculiar terrain, not a part of the rocky Piedmont but adjacent and sited above the coastal plain. They seem pressed against the fall line, a pendant set along this ancient coast.
      The fall line blocks river traffic and it powers mills. Towns become cities. Where sand and clay come together they transform commerce, the red bricks and hand thrown pots of local craft. Unusual natural communities are found in this area and rare animals like our state amphibian the pine barren tree frog. This place feels like the mountains and the beach were smashed together. Plants of disparate provenance grow together. The unique conditions create new species. 
      These unusual plant communities attracted Samuel, as he read aloud the regions geographical features at the park kiosk. “By 1850, North Carolina's pine forests were producing one-third of the world's supply of naval stores. "Wow", Samuel reacts as they walk back to the car,  “this land created history’s largest empire.”
 	Rosalyn is driving the church minivan. Samuel rides shotgun, staring out the window at the low wet piney woods draped with green briar. The higher ground supports intermittent farm fields with old crops, sprayed with herbicide and left in place to hold the soil. 
       Samuel is lost in thought, his voice is trailing silently in his head… What if I'm just a bad person, I’ve made mistakes, misunderstood... I can't  just let it go. What if I get fired? They never listen…and the students... I should quit. Then what, drive a bus?... How long has it been? I wish I was a monk. Samuel is deep in his shit, its a marker of his depression. His thoughts are little waves at high tide in the salt marsh. They come and go, he assumes always will. Social interactions make him vulnerable. His mind is now wet with the tide of emotion but it will ebb and wane, showing ground where life returns. The sea brings nutrients up to the further reaches, the salt marsh requires inundation.
 	“Penny for your thoughts?" Rose asks. She’s been driving in silence for 10 minutes. Since they left the nature preserve, Samuel has not spoken. He’s pressing his lips, and staring out the window at the dense tangled forest under story. There’s an occasional pottery shop or convenience store, boards reading "hot boiled peanuts."
 	“Turn left at the blinking light,” Samuel says.
 	“Sam, I've been wanting to get together with you for weeks, since I first met you. But I held back. I didn't want to push, you clearly need your space.” Rose is speaking slowly, she pauses with a side glance and a smile for Sam, to see if he's listening. She continues, “When you asked me to come along I was delighted. Hiking on the creek with the giant cypress trees was beautiful, and you know so much about the ecology here. Then we got in the car and you disappeared, off in your head. I’m wondering where you went. Wondering if you regret inviting me here?”
        At this last sentence Samuel straightens up in his seat, and he pushes his feet against the floorboard, startled. “Regret? No…No, not at all!" Sam responds, looking over at Rose. She has the window open a bit to let in some fresh air. A wisp of her hair is trying to escape through the cracked window into the cool winter air. He softens. “No... I'm really glad you're here. It's just work... Something happened this week, my boss called me in on Friday and... and... I don't know. I guess I'm still stressed about it.”
 	“Oh, I'm sorry Sam." She says with clear concern in her voice. “You know, you can tell me anything. I'm happy to just listen. I won't judge you. It's just nice to know what's going on, in your head."
 	"Uh, I don't know," he replies in a rapid, misfiring stammer, "I'm not used to this... this… having someone here that…I want...you… I want to impress you. That's all."
 	She lets out a deep breath. “You don't have to impress me, Sam. I already like you. You're kind and smart. But you're more broody than a barred rock. Just let me know what's going on." Rose smiles, her chin down and eyes looking up at Samuel.
 	“Well... I've been frustrated at work for a while,” he begins. “I uh, I usually keep my head down. But this week I just couldn't take it.” Sam chews his lip and stares into the car radio.
        He is silent again and holding his breath.
        “What happened?” Rose whispers
        He gulps, looks straight out on the rural road. “It's midway through the semester, so the new business majors have to watch a documentary, they show it every year. It's a tradition. Some admin, nostalgic about a film they saw 20 years ago. They insist it’s enlightening for all the freshmen. Samuel switches to a mock falsetto “about Milton Friedman, how brilliant, how edgy he is.” Samuel rolls his eyes and continues in his normal voice. “The problem is, the movie's really dull and dated. The film hasn't aged well. It's cringe, the students say, a privileged perspective. Every year we get the same feedback, but admin don’t listen. I hear the students talk as I'm closing up. Ever since Covid their complaints are more cutting. Anyway… I couldn't take it this year. So I... I... " Sam stops talking, his hands are clenched.
 	Rose waits a beat, "What did you do Sam? " Rose holds her breath.
 	"I switched out the movie. "Rose laughs out loud, an infectious giggle. Sam starts to chuckle. Now they're both laughing. Sam, trying to catch his breath, says " I switched it out with a Noam Chomsky interview." Sam says and bursts out laughing again, with tears.
 	"Chomsky? The radical, lefty socialist? " Rose asks incredulously.
        "Yes." Sam manages.
        They're on a small country road now. The fields have remnants of last season's cotton crop, white wisps of fiber cling to the broken stalks, like the ideas left over from an earlier time. Remnants to be turned under, to build better soil.
 	“So, what did they say?" Rose asks
 	“Huh?"
	“At the meeting? You said they called you in to talk about it on Friday "
	“Oh, um… they haven't found out yet. It was something else. They asked me to write up a plan to cut our IT budget by 30 percent. "
        Rose is silent, frozen for a moment."I'm sorry Sam, They sound clueless."
	“Yes.” Sam agrees
 	Rose swerves to miss a pothole. “You know. Angel would be really proud of you." Rose laughs again.
	"Yeah, I know." Samuel shifts in his seat. “I was thinking about her when I did it." He lets out a last low laugh under his breath, his lips pursed. He takes a deep breath and lets out a long sigh.

       Leaving the creeks and woods behind on rising ground, the open fields are dotted with an occasional farmhouse. Sagging windows and old clapboard siding shed peeling lead paint. A few still have their rusty tin roofs, most are replaced with asphalt shingles. An arcade of mature pecan trees fill the space between the house and the road. Next, a square squat 60’s brick rental sits tight against the road, the side yard full of brightly colored plastic, children's toys, and broken trucks.
 	“That's it, turn left here " Sam exclaims suddenly. Rose taps the brakes and turns into the nursery entrance, a line of greenhouses frame the parking lot. A large hand-painted sign with flowers greets the garden clientele.
 	"Granny's Bloomers? "Rose eyes Samuel with one brow raised, "This is where you take me on our first date?” She teases deadpan. Samuel freezes. "I'm kidding Sam, (smiling) this looks wonderful. I can't wait to see what lurks within.”
       Rose parks and they enters the nursery through a wooden gate framed by a trellised evergreen Cross Vine. Vibrant colored glazed pots adorn the entrance, with garden gnomes and miscellaneous yard art. Samuel veers off to look at some native azaleas, smiling dreamily, and muttering to himself, " We're on a date?" 

       
       “Sam, go find your friend and then meet me inside.” Roslyn says, crossing a sunny, sheltered courtyard bordered by raised herb beds. Stock tanks cradle tender gardenias and daphne. Lining the brick path, playful sculptures applaud her approach. Iridescent rainbow patterns flash from cut out sheet metal butterflies. Lizards, fish, and unicorns watch her and whisper together as she passes. At the end of the courtyard a wishing well holds court. A pool with an ornate cast ceramic sculpture, enameled, a lustrous lion fountainhead. In warmer months, water will spout from the mouth of this beautiful Hindu god. But now their gaze seems to burn downward with fierce divine patience.
	Rosalyn sits on the tiled edge of the pool, dragging her fingertips through the cool water and delighting in the cobalt blue mosaic below. Coins on the bottom glint in the rising angle of the late winter sun. A flash of light catches Roslyn's curious eye. Bracing herself, and leaning in, she pulls up her sleeve and reaches to the depths of the pool. Feeling her way among the flat coins she finds a hard raised object between her fingertips and pulls it out of the water into view. A crystal, a rose quartz, the wet facets reflective and beautiful like the woman herself. She closes it tightly in her hand and closes her eyes as she offers a brief prayer; a wish of sorts. She places the crystal lightly on the splash block below the fountain like an altar. At that moment, water spurts from the fountainhead above the pool, startling Rosalyn. An air bubble in the lines expels a hissing burst as the first bead of water lands on the altar, splashing on the crystal before the droplets cascade into the pool. She draws back, eyes wide, and brushes a drop of spray from her cheek. Purged of air, more water flows from the mouth of this mythical beast.
	An old man dressed in work khakis emerges from behind the corner, pauses, and sees Roslyn startled. "Lo siento… uuh... pardon me, no intiendo." He fusses and fawns apologetically, explaining in broken English, "No conosco.” 
       “I'm okay” Roslyn laughs, “It was perfect"
       Still apologizing she notes the fear in his voice. She looks him in the eye and touching his shoulder says “El tiempo de Dios es perfecto.”
       “Senora”
       “Dale a dios”. She puts a finger to her lip. “May I take this cart?” She asks, gesturing to the wagon by the door.
       “Por favor.” He pulls the wagon out, handing her the handle, he opens the door, and steps aside. Rosalyn enters greenhouse #7, tender perennials.

       Across the nursery complex, Samuel turns a key in a deadbolt and pulls on a metal door marked with hazardous chemical storage labels. The door resists, then it lets out a kiss while a stream of air rushes in through the crack. Samuel pulls the heavy door further, stepping into an eerie, unnatural, blue-tinged light. The door closes and locks itself behind. The room is cool and dry with an unpleasant chemical smell. A mix of fertilizer and sulfur. Mechanical sounds, whirling, humming, and bubbling quietly fill the large room. Samuel crosses the floor. On the right, cabinets are marked for various supplies: wood vinegar, urea, vermiculite, potassium hydroxide, cell trays. On the left a lab bench with glassware setup for extractions. Beside that, a pressurized propagation hood. Samuel faces a row of doors. Each one with a half window and blue light streaming out. He goes to the first door, shields his eyes and peers through the glass, then the second door. At the third door Sam looks in and sees a figure covered head to toe in a white sterile suit. He taps lightly on the glass. The figure turns, holds up a finger, shuffling trays on wire racks while Sam waits.
       Speaking loudly and pulling off his mask, "Sammy, I'm so glad to see you! You look great. Still taking karate I guess." The big man gives Samuel a dodge and jab towards the ribs, alongside his boisterous Nordic accent. 
       He unzips the industrial coveralls, his ruddy complexion, purple in this light, reveals decades of work through bright, humid Southern summers. There's long ponytail of red mixed with gray strands. Removing a glove he shakes Samuel's hand vigorously clasping it with both of his own. “Welcome back friend. How long has it been?... two years, since I've seen you, eh? Let's crack a brew.”
       “No beer for me, thanks. I’ve cut back to once a week.” Samuel presses a smile.
       "Sounds like a wasted week to me. The crew you ran with was rowdy, but you showed up for tests on Monday morning. Which class did I TA... Plant Physiology?"
       “Systematics."
       “Ah yes, a big set up... dissecting scopes, specimens. Lots of work but it paid for my PhD.”
       The man, named Bruin, leads Samuel out a long corridor. “I built my own propagation lab here. Covid years were lucrative for the nursery industry. It paid for all this”, he gestures, hands sweeping past more doors emitting eerie light. The end of the corridor widens into a break room. Bruin opens the fridge door and pulls out a green long-neck beer bottle. The church key hangs from a string. He offers it one more time to Samuel who shakes his head, then he takes a big swig.
       "Ah, the first beer of the day is always the best." Samuel agrees but says nothing. “I've got something for you Sam in the hot house right here. I've been breeding this plant for 30 years. I think it's ready for trials. Let me show you.” Bruin opens the door to a lush humid grow room. Natural sunlight diffused through shade cloth is supplemented with lateral mounted grow lights. A warm 80 degrees, the aroma earthy, herbaceous, and dense.

       Rosalyn has been wandering multiple greenhouses, picking through anything that calls to her. It's early in the season, and many of the plants are still dormant. She finds a high tunnel, with lush growth and flowers. It's warm and humid, and connected to a hot house of tropical exotic plants. These plants can’t survive outdoors yet, not until summer, but Rosalind is drawn in. Brugmansia, hibiscus, ginger lily. Loud fans circulating the air occasionally kick in overhead while heating units hum faintly. 
       Thats strange Rosilyn thinks, as she hears faint drumming. Curious, she follows the sound, its getting louder, tribal. She sees a workroom where a young woman fills seed trays. The boombox is blasting Beyoncé. The worker preps the trays moving to the music. Rosalyn watches her take small plugs and place them into pots, repetitive, tamping each firmly. The music swells, singing, "You're a god, you're a hero”
       Roslyn has her eyes closed. Feeling the music. And she hears another, small voice. 
       “Tell him” it says.
       What? Roslyn says silently to herself.
       “Comfortable in my skin”, Beyonce sings.
       “Tell him,” the small voice says again.
       Tell him what? Rosalyn thinks.
       “Tell him this rose.”
       Rosalyn opens her eyes, looking down toward the bench she’s leaning on, and sees a beautiful heirloom Rose. She admires the tight early buds forming and mutters softly “this rose...Sam will love it." The tag reads ‘Apothecary’s Rose’. She adds it to her cart.
       "Excuse me!" The woman potting notices Rosalyn and says firmly, “You cant be back here, this area is off limits.”
       "I'm sorry", Roslyn replies. “I was hoping there was a bathroom back this way." 
        The woman looks at Roslyn’s cart full of plants, "um...OK, I suppose that'd be alright... It's around the corner.” She points. “But be quick. You shouldn’t be back here."
       Rose found the bathroom, a simple utilitarian closet for the workers. Toilet and a sink, not too dirty but not very private either. She sits on the toilet. Through the transom vent Roslyn hears people approaching in the hall .
       “I started this effort in 1980. Remember those EEG studies with crystal photography? I followed the study to a different lab using plants. After recreating those experiments it turns out tropical perennials are more sensitive, some individuals as well… I settled on this salvia and ran it alongside my industry projects, just for kicks. Last season things got weird but these salvias are totally safe. Not toxic. It won’t get you high.” Bruin laughs, “I can attest to that.
       "You know I'm always up for a new plant." Sam responds "And curious about your work."
       Sam? Roslyn is startled to hear his voice. 
       “Sam." The small voice in Roslyn’s head replies. 
       She looks up at the sink and cocks an eyebrow. 
       The conversing men continue down the hallway, their voices growing softer. "...with access to a reactor I was able to bump up the mutation rate... This selection has fixed traits. They want humidity, warmth, and even moisture, let me know if you notice anything… unusual."