South Ellerbe Creek Trail

The American city leaves much to be desired. Left to evolve in an unorganized, ad-hoc fashion, the Detroits and Dallases and, yes, Durhams of our country have no center--commercial, cultural, or otherwise--and no integrity of design, guided by no urban aesthetic or sense of proportion and beauty. Miraculously, there are streets and street lights that work, and clean, running water can be found in nearly every home; the citizens are by and large orderly; and the trash gets picked up, faithfully, every week.

Miraculously, too, there are "amenities" in every city, usually a park that is extraordinarily well maintained. In recent years, linear or "rails to trails" parks have been popular--even in New York City, whose High Line has been a success, and even in my historically regressive hometown, Memphis, where a long-defunct east-west railroad line has just now been turned into a paved trail.

Durham, of course, has its own linear parks. The biggest one is the American Tobacco Trail. But recently I have found myself walking along the South Ellerbe Creek Trail, which runs from West Trinity, near the intersection of Washington and Trinity, to West Club and Washington and then beyond. The first time I walked along the trail was two weeks ago on a drizzly Sunday afternoon. The trees whose branches form a canopy over most of the trail had that early autumn look--yellow leaves mixed with green leaves, trunks black from the wet. "Look," I said to Rebecca, spotting the red leaves of a sassafras tree. She broke off a small branch and held it up to her nose. "Does it smell like root beer?"

The blacktop trail twists and turns past a transformer station and then along the creek itself and at one point over a charming little bridge that spans the creek. Along the way one passes a large, rectangular, fenced-in meadow and a power-line tower that is also enclosed by a high fence and around which grass and vines have grown wild and tall. From time to time a cyclist scoots by, and a few people may be seen walking their dogs. But at several points one could just as well be in a vast forest. There are only the trees and the underbrush and the inaudible murmur of the barely moving creek.