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The haunt of Sunday motorists and thoughtless picnickers. 
HE most magnificent view in the neighborhood was from a hillside road. 
Close by was a delightful woods with an abundance of Oak, Walnut, 
Hickory, Chinquapin, Laurel, Holly, Blueberry, Dogwood, Azalea, and a 
host of Ferns and Wild Flowers—a natural paradise until the highway was 
improved and the motorists found it an ideal picnic grove close by the road. 
Then the wreckage began. Small trees and bushes were broken for firewood, 
In the spring, large branches massed with glorious blooms were torn from 
the flowering, woody plants, and later in the season, many shrubs were 
ripped off at the ground for their fall foilage. Wild flowers and ferns were 
ruthlessly pulled up by their roots. Splendid tree trunks were hopelessly 
scarred by camp fires, and tin cans and picnic litter distributed everywhere. 
The kind mulch of dried leaves was burned and wasted. The majesty and 
beauty of the woodland paradise was utterly destroyed. 
A lover of beauty, looking for a home site, became entranced with the 
view, and hoping something could be done to save the dying trees, pur- 
chased the mistreated woodland, then called in Vick’s Wildgardens to solve 
the problem. We were actually shocked at the barrenness of the soil and 
the nakedness of the woods. Several years have passed. Each year the 
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