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In the summer of 1962 I had a job on a “spray train” killing weeds along the nation’s railroads. Vegetation on railroad right of way can get out of control with summer growth; covering the tracks, rotting the crossties, breeding snakes, and generally creating an unsightly hazard for the crews working next to the trains. * In the years before the creation of the EPA, all sorts of chemicals were applied to the weeds. Although we all assured each other that the stuff was safe, I sometimes wonder how many species were made extinct by our defoliating rambles.
One sultry southern morning, down in the low country of South Carolina on the old Atlantic Coast Line Railroad, we pulled onto a siding to await the passage of a local freight, heading our way from up ahead. With a half hour or so to kill, I walked back to the caboose to shoot the breeze with the crew.
It was steam room hot. The thermometer was pushing 97 degrees and a thick mist from early morning rains still hung in the day. Talk was slow and very small. The siding was next to a pigsty and the jungle air was heavy with the pungent aroma of its occupants. After a few minutes the fragrance was overwhelming. An old brakeman named Skeeter described it just right. “Gits in yer eyes, don’t it,” he said.
We kicked back in silence, hoping to hear the whistle from the local up the way. Only then did I notice that we were beneath a lush green shaded canopy, an area of several acres created by the unbounded energy of the Kudzu vine.
The Kudzu had grown over all the surrounding trees and tele
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