Nature's Treasures

By Michelle R. Davis

Yancey McLeod stares up at a 700-year-old cypress tree, his neck craned back to glimpse its leaves. Gnarled cypress knees spread out from its base, poking up through a carpet of leaves. The trunk is more than 18 feet around at chest level. McLeod asks for a moment of silence in his secret corner of the forest.

In those seconds, a visitor can hear the hush before raindrops begin to fall, the rustlings of animals in the leaves, the gulping cry of wild turkeys about to roost. No car horns, no rumble of trucks, no conversation, no telephones ringing. McLeod brings groups of city schoolchildren here to show them the natural world of leaves, lakes, animals and trees.

"It's just a real magic place that even children who have never been exposed to the natural world can appreciate the beauty and the majesty, and how special the spot is," McLeod says. "When we're here, I ask them to think about what is really important in life."

McLeod, 53, is a lawyer who left the business world of banks and finances behind over ten years ago and now makes the land his career, leading hundreds of children and adults each year through the 1,100 acres of wilderness he calls home. McLeod moved to Cook's Mountain in Richland County SC, with his wife and three children after a land swap with the Union Camp paper company. He has several partners in the ownership who help pay for the property's upkeep --- an estimated $50,000 a year.

With some help, he built a four-bedroom log cabin with a wide screened-in porch. The pecky cypress walls, white-ash cabinets and heart-pine floors give the house a warm, buttery glow in the afternoons. McLeod knows the knots and texture of each board personally. He hand-sanded every one.

McLeod's official job is wildlife consultant. He shows people how to manage their land, works on projects, such as lake draining and park planning, and acts as a mediator between developers and property owners. But what he does most and loves best is guiding people across his land, rattling off names of plants and animals, and weaving wildlife tales into spiritual and moral messages. For animals and for people, McLeod is like the Pied Piper of the natural world.

Yancey McLeod grew up in an old S.C. family. His father, who died over 25 years ago, was a respected attorney and former state senator. His father often took young Yancey to their country farm to ride mules bareback, stalk quail and doves, and prowl the land. The outdoors called, but McLeod followed family tradition and went to Wofford College, married his high school sweetheart and then, like his father, got a law degree at the University of South Carolina. "It never occurred to me that I could do anything else."

But Yancey worried about living up to the example set by his much-admired father. McLeod was adopted as an infant, and he wondered if his genes would permit him to meet expectations. He knew little about his biological parents, but one night eleven years ago, after both his parents had died, he stood on the porch of his log cabin and looked out at the few specks of light in the darkness. He felt it was time to find his biological mother.

Within three weeks, through a search agency, he had her name and address. He wrote her a letter and days later she wrote back. She said she had wondered about him all his life.

"That night, I called her," he said. McLeod was told his biological father was dead, but he discovered a whole new family.

He realized later that from his porch at night, he could see the lights of his mother's town.

On a recent fall day, two groups of third-graders brush the soil from chufa nuts and take bites. They laugh and make faces, but keep their eyes on McLeod. It's their third visit to Cook's Mountain as part of a science and nature program.

It is an unusual pairing: one class from a suburban school; the other from an inner-city school. The suburban teacher requested the visits, but McLeod insisted she pair her students with those from a less-affluent school. He wanted the children to see that rich or poor, popular or not, they were alike.

"These are children who would have never known each other," McLeod said. "As soon as they got down here in this pretty place, they were instant friends. In a place of beauty, people act differently."

The children hold hands or cluster together as McLeod leads them to the edge of the pond and drags a fine net through the water. He brings up a dragonfly nymph, freshwater jellyfish and a slime of frog eggs on a plant stem.

The children look worried as McLeod pours oil and bluish dish detergent into the pond, to show how pollution spreads through the waterways. They are fascinated when he talks about day-old wood ducks that learn to swim by leaping from nests into the water several feet below.

McLeod weaves facts into stories like a spider spinning a web among tree branches. Every lesson leads into another, beautiful and intricate, finally revealing a pattern of interdependence between nature and its creatures. A pine seedling seeking the sun among its 130-year old elders is nature replenishing itself.

After the students play a game in which they can progress from an egg to a chicken to a monster to "too cool," he tells them why social status doesn't matter at Cook's Mountain. "Somehow we get the notion that if we have the right clothes and act a certain way, we can be too cool," he said. "But everybody gets the same opportunity in the outdoors. The wonderful creatures and plants out here don't care what you're wearing or how your shoes look one bit."

"I think it's really important to do a better job of reaching out to all people," he said. "We can continue to debate racial prejudice as adults, but until we learn that the answer is in kindergarten, we'll never solve the problems."

As McLeod walks and talks, the children scramble after him like baby ducks following their mother. They all want to touch him, grabbing for his hand, plucking at his flannel shirt, tugging on his elbow.

"These kids live in the city, and they just don't see woods and trees very often," said one teacher. "He's very patient and dedicated and impassioned about the environment. Anybody who is around him picks up on that depth of feeling."

Life, McLeod believes, is a series of small moments piled one on top of another. They can be bad or good, but they make up our existence in this world. As he stands in the field, breath fogging the cold air, watching the ducks splash and flutter, McLeod knows this is one of his moments.

Michelle R. Davis was a Staff Writer for The State (newspaper) until she moved from Richland County SC to become a Washington (DC) correspondent for her newspaper.