I drove east on Highway 80 until, after crossing the Wilmington River Bridge, the road changes its name to Victory Drive. A few blocks later, in the area known as Thunderbolt, I turned onto Skidaway and began looking for the small street that was my objective. This is an old neighborhood of small frame houses and cottages. The dwellings and the streets are shaded by tall palmettos and live oaks, the trees festooned with the long gray beards of Spanish moss.

I found the place I was looking for and turned in to the sand drive that led around back to Danny Ray’s abode. Danny Ray lives in a travel trailer set in the back of an auto repair shop owned by one of his relatives—a brother-in-law, I think. In exchange for rent-free space, Danny keeps an eye on things after business hours. As I parked next to Danny’s old pickup I saw him peek warily around the corner of the trailer. But when he saw who it was, a grin appeared on his face, and he came around to greet me.

“K-K-K-Kennesaw,” he stammered as he stuck out a hand in welcome.

“Danny Ray, how you doing, my friend?” I asked as we shook hands.

“C-c-c-come around back,” he said as he led the way behind the trailer.

I was a step behind my friend when we turned the corner, and I don’t think I could have been more surprised at the sight that presented itself. It seemed as though we had stepped into a photo shoot for a Southern Living magazine spread of the perfect small garden.

A wooden deck at the back door of the trailer was shaded by an arbor over which grew a tangled mass of muscadine grapevines. From a low stone cliff in a corner of the garden, a silvery rivulet of water gurgled and splashed its way to a fern-shaded pond, where brightly colored fish finned lazily beneath blossoming lily pads.

A profusion of flowers and ornamental shrubs grew in large pots and in rock-lined flower beds. A sandstone path winding about in a serpentine fashion managed to touch every part of the luxurious garden. The entire area was bordered on all sides by small palms, bananas, and other exotic plants.

A green steel glider and two matching chairs—the kind of garden furniture so popular in the 1950s and in vogue once again—were tastefully arranged near the cascade and the pond. A flat-topped black limestone rock that must have weighed a ton served as a table.

Covering the entire garden in a roof of green and gray were the outstretched limbs and leaves of one of the most massive and ancient live oak trees I’ve ever seen. It was an oasis of delightful tranquility, planted in the most unexpected of places.