Cabin P.S.

It seems appropriate to mention that during the cabin visit, my guests and I went for a short hike on The Yearling Trail. It's a microcosm of the best sort of hiking: nearby, scenic, and historic.   

Yes, it's summer in Florida. Yes, it's H-O-T. 

We were looking forward to an easy 3 miles with plenty of water and sight-seeing, and then happy hour at the cabin, probably including some wading in spring water which is always a superbly refreshing 72 degrees.

Little did we know . . . .

A portion of the surrounding forest burned a few years ago, and I've been there several times since. It's thrilling to see how the robust new greenery surges back from the blackened landscape. Scrub ecosystems in Florida actually depend on fire for their continued life. Without fire, the trees grow too tall and shade out the smaller plants, the habitat becomes inhospitable for the creatures that live there (like scrub jays, who like a short landscape where they can easily dive for cover and where predatory hawks can't spy on them from tall trees), and it all changes. Some pines actually require a fire's heat before they will open their cones and release their seeds! 

All that to say, I wasn't worried about the burned parts adjacent to the trails. What I didn't take into account was how many of the bushes and smaller trees, damaged by fire, were knocked over by some of the violent thunderstorms we've had recently. The trail had not been cleared, so we often had to climb over downed trunks and branches. It slowed our progress considerably, and the day became hotter and hotter as we moved in fits and starts through the landscape.

I've always been able to soldier on, but the heat really got to me this time. When kayaking, I loathe portaging over obstructions or struggling through thick vegetation, and this was much like that -- as one friend remarked, "Deadfall is the land version of water hyacinths." So true!

I kept having to rest, and balance between drinking enough water and saving enough water for the rest of the walk, and navigating the deadfall became more and more daunting as the day wore on. At one point I seriously thought about giving up, concerned for my health and not wanting to risk actual heat stroke. But the practical aspect of calling 9-1-1 convinced me that my better course of action was to make it under my own power. I pictured some helpful and burly rescuers hiking out to our location, strapping me to a backboard, and carrying me at various terrifying angles while they clambered over all the deadfall . . . and that seemed way worse than doing the clambering myself, thanks very much.

Eventually, with lots of encouragement and patience from my companions and the loan of one of those wearable fans, I made it back to the trailhead. Once in the car, air conditioning blasting, I recovered quickly -- thank goodness! After dipping my toes in cool water, clutching a cold Bud Light, I was entirely myself again. 

But you won't catch me hiking in summer anytime soon, and maybe never again!

Home Again for the Fourth

My time at the cabin was lovely, but I am happy to be home again. I like my house enough (and the cats!) that I miss them when I'm away. And with at least two nights of fireworks in the offing (the city did theirs on the 3rd and then the amateurs took over for the 4th), I wanted to be home. 

My fireworks protocol is to bring the outside gentleman cat into the bathroom for the duration of the evening, close all the blinds, and play "spa music" to muffle the noises. When things get really loud, I distribute treats to everyone. No matter how startled they are, they gobble up the treats and I hope that gives the noises a positive association -- or at least provides a few minutes in which the cats have something else to think about! 

Fortunately, the noise and smoke didn't seem as awful this year as in years past. Old-school fireworks celebrations are still hard on veterans, wildlife, pets, sensitive humans, and people who dislike pollution. I've seen pictures of drone displays that are more impressive and quieter. Perhaps that's the wave of the future and it would be okay by me!

Here are a few highlights from the cabin. Hiking, strolling, reading, canoeing, socializing, and plenty of good food were the order of each day.

  

Road Oak

A friend has given me a week at a remote cabin and I will be taking full advantage of the opportunity to rest in beauty like this. 

History Most Interesting

Daniel L. Schafer's splendidly researched book, Anna Madgigine Jai Kingsley: African Princess, Florida Slave, Plantation Slaveowner, surprised me with its specifics and with its sweep. I learned so much about my home state, the terrible institution of slavery, and the apparent adroitness with which the woman known as Anna Jai navigated everything that fate threw at her.  

This is history, not historical fiction, so her story appears via facts and records; we have to try and imagine what she thought and felt. She would be a fitting subject for the "Hamilton" treatment, though. What an incredible life.

I cannot recommend this book highly enough for the portrait it paints of Anna, a woman of beauty, talent, courage, and substance, and of the casual tragedy of slavery. I learned so much, and I am eager to visit the places where Anna lived and honor her memory.

Here are a few of the many things I learned: 

Anna was captured and transported across the Atlantic from Senegal in 1806. She was 13 years old and a princess in a royal household. 

Newly arrived in Cuba, Anna was purchased in September of that year by Zephaniah Kingsley, Jr., a planter and maritime trader who owned property along the Atlantic Ocean and the St. Johns River in northeastern Florida, between Jacksonville and St. Augustine.

We know the details of Anna's transport and sale because meticulous records were kept of her as "cargo."  

In March of 1811, Kingsley emancipated Anna, along with her three children, aged nearly 4, 20 months, and one month. Anna was 18. Kingsley acknowledged the children were his. A fourth child was born later and Anna and Kingsley remained together, though in separate residences (a common West African custom), until Kingsley's death in 1843. 

Kingsley had at least one other "wife" and fathered other children, but Anna was his principal "wife," in charge of the household and the enslaved Africans who worked there. Kingsley Plantation is now a National Park and can still be visited. The plantation house and other structures still exist, including slave cabins modeled on the layout of an African village. Kingsley allowed his Africans to buy freedom for themselves and their families by paying him one-half of their monetary value. They could hire themselves out for wages in order to earn the money to purchase freedom.     

When Florida transitioned from Spanish to English rule in 1839, conditions became more oppressive for free Africans. The English were much less tolerant of the Spanish concept of three social classes (white, free black, and enslaved black) and any misstep -- such as failing to yield the sidewalk when a white person was passing by -- could send a free black back into slavery. Kingsley arranged for Anna and her household to move to Haiti during this especially dangerous time. 

When Kingsley died in 1843, his sister challenged his affairs, attempting to disinherit the heirs who were of African ancestry. Anna returned to Florida and the courts eventually upheld the will. Anna remained in Florida and established a free black community in what is now part of Jacksonville. Many in that community, probably including Anna, sought safety in northern states during the Civil War. 

Anna made a will in 1860, listing assets of $3,000 and four enslaved children, ages 17, 14, 9, and 7, who were probably house servants. The will specifies that the two oldest are to be sold and the money distributed to benefit Anna's grandchildren. 

Anna and her family returned to Florida after the Civil War, but their wealth had largely evaporated. Anna relied on the support of her adult children, who became very successful, during her last years. She died in 1870 with no debts and no assets.  

Anna is buried in a private family cemetery in Jacksonville. Her grave is not marked.  

More than 200 years after Anna was stolen and enslaved, her family in Senegal learned of her fate. 

Excerpt:

Kingsley had become a rich man by 1811. . . . Plantations in Spanish East Florida had experienced unprecedented prosperity in the first decade of the nineteenth century, and Kingsley's mercantile business was thriving. Given Kingsley's affluence and his respect and affection for Anna and the children, it is unlikely that lack of material comforts would have led her to make significant changes in her life. And yet, during the year after she was emancipated, Anna Kingsley moved across the St. Johns River from Laurel Grove to a home and farm of her own located at Mandarin Point.  

Note: This book counts toward the Color Coded Reading Challenge. 

Humble Favorites

One of the plusses of being at home 99% of the time since March 17 has been the opportunity to observe my semi-wild yard at all hours of the day. I keep the front yard quite conventional -- fitting in with the Joneses, so to speak -- but the back yard is landscaped mostly by Mother Nature. The more I see, the more I appreciate.

I have a fresh crop of dandelions every morning, turning their fresh yellow faces to the sky. Soon they're gone to puffballs and the cycle begins again.

The cardinals come first to the feeder, when it's barely light, and are the last to visit at night, as well. Sometimes they stay so late that I wonder how they can see to fly. At more traditional hours I see mourning doves, a couple of grackles, a Carolina wren, chickadees, a red-bellied woodpecker, and a mockingbird or two. Occasionally a tiny gnatcatcher zips through, and sometimes the catbird stops by. I can hear others in the bushes but haven't identified them yet.

The passionvine is still blooming enthusiastically. My friends tell me that its fruits are edible and delicious. I'm hoping I get some!

The mesclun lettuce is still hanging on in the garden, although it's getting a bit warm. I pick it in the morning, wash it, and use it in salad for lunch or dinner. It's incredibly satisfying to eat something I've grown. I definitely will do more of that.

I've already planted crowder peas and started some collards. Both of them like Florida summers, which will be here any day now.

There's nothing particularly noteworthy about any of this. But it's my back yard, a little spot of wild Florida, and I love it. 

Just Lovely

Morning in Florida.

Misty Morning: Hatpin Season from Archbold Biological Station on Vimeo.

Report on a Pandemic

Or, as I'm determined to think of it, a staycation.

Looking at the bright side is one of the things I do best. I'm not a denier. I think I'm more of a realist. Sometimes I'm a bit of a doomsayer. Weird mix, I know. But it works for me.

Going forward, I expect that Florida probably will have lots of cases of Covid-19. In addition to our regular residents, we are a combination of retirees, tourists, snowbirds, and spring breakers. There are plenty of "deniers" in those categories, not concerned for various reasons. Our governor has not moved aggressively to flatten the curve. I think it's going to be bad. My goal is to stay well enough not to have to go to the ER for any reason -- coronavirus, car accident, heart attack, you name it. Right now, it's not where I want to be. Not for myself. Not to take up resources needed by others.   

I've been working from home since last Tuesday. It's not as much of a disruption for me as it is for some people. Most of my workday consists of sitting alone in my office, navigating paperless files, looking up information on the internet, and typing into the computer. Thanks to the ultra-modern approach of the firm's managers, all that can easily be done from home -- minus occasional social interaction with my coworkers, which is something I will miss. I've been emailing them more often, intending to stay connected. It's not unlikely that we will have one of those "virtual happy hours" pretty soon, just to catch up.

My workday is also minus the 3-hour daily commute, which is a mixed blessing. The standard 3 hours includes about 2 hours of solid reading time on the train; missing out on that is the downside. The upside is less exposure. Even when I drive the car, it takes 2 hours and oh, the traffic. Overall, I'd say it's a plus.

One of my tasks this weekend was working up a daily schedule, to make sure I still get everything done. Unstructured time tends to disappear on me, and right now the schedule is pretty much mine for the making. Time for exercise and reading has been scheduled. I hope to rise to this opportunity for a reset.   

My neighbors have had mixed reactions to this threat. My elderly neighbors think it's all a big overreaction. One of them is planning to move and continues to go out every day on various errands associated with packing up her household. I have been cordial but kept my physical distance. My other neighbors are young and have a 2-year-old. They are both bartenders -- and both out of work now, because the bars have been closed. I will be doing what I can to help them. And yet, in our back fence conversation yesterday, guess what they wanted to talk about: How was I doing? Did I need anything? They had plenty of food, if I needed any. Just let them know, okay?       

I also have friends in the medical industry. Two of them are ER nurses, in two separate counties. It is crazy there. Lots of sick people, and not much Covid-19 testing available (there are very specific requirements for who gets tested, and from what I've seen, folks who may have gotten it from community spread won't be tested, so we will never know). There have been few positives among those who are tested -- but supplies are running short. My friends are worried about masks and gloves for themselves and medical supplies, available beds, and equipment for patients.

I haven't been to the grocery store in a week. I wouldn't say that I stocked up last week, but I bought a few extra non-perishables. There were no eggs. There were no plant-based milks, although I managed to get regular milk (which I then gave to a friend who needed it). There was no butter. Canned goods were really picked over and I didn't need any, anyway. I got cornmeal, but flour was pretty much gone. There was plenty of ice cream. I got lentils and some interesting turmeric spaghetti. There was no bagged salad. There were no potatoes or onions. I was able to get apples, oranges, and green, yellow and red peppers. I also splurged on almond-maple nut butter and hooray for that! It is delicious.

Last weekend there was no toilet paper. I just needed it on the regular schedule and was able to get it from Amazon because I didn't want to chase all over town for it. Ditto for a thermometer (I can't believe I didn't have one!). It took Amazon a week to deliver. That made me realize how spoiled I have been by the customary delivery times.

I might have to go to the grocery again eventually -- but it doesn't seem worth risking my life for it or burdening the system anymore than it already is. Friday evening I drove the car around the block to make sure it would still start. Yesterday I went by my local bookstore to pick up a couple of books I'd ordered. Like all small local businesses, they are hurting, so I thought I would support them. They promised curbside service, so I called when I arrived in their parking lot and they brought the books out to me. Then I went to the gas station and filled up the tank. Then I went home and washed the heck out of my hands. The roads were very quiet, compared with the usual Saturday. The grocery store parking lot was full.

As different as things are, I feel I have been prepared by literature for these kinds of changes. I'll save that for another post. 

Meanwhile, spring is happening. I have the windows open (it's warm, but not hot yet). The mockingbirds and cardinals sing enthusiastically, and the cats have plenty to smell and watch. My wild-ish yard is blooming with various volunteer flowers. Life goes on. 

Quirky and Oh, So Florida

Florida has a reputation as a place where the rules don't apply, you know? It's still kind of the Wild West, a thin veneer of civilization spread over a much different reality. If you don't believe me, just Google "Florida man" for a sample of the sort of thing that happens here on a fairly routine basis.

At the same time, Florida is a state rich in history and in natural wonders. We have our small-town theme parks (long predating the arrival of the Mouse), our cultural events, and our special foods. We have the glory of springs, the mystery of swamps, and the amazement of wildlife. Uniqueness is our natural state of being.

Karen Russell's novel Swamplandia! steeps in this wildness and weirdness, carrying the reader forward into uncharted territory where the supernatural is merely unusual and the unusual is customary. Her tale draws you in, urging you to accept and believe in her story, until you find that you've walked so far into the swamp on shaky ground that your fear turns into curiosity and you discover you're determined to see the journey through.

The story is unusual in a way that only Florida can normalize: Ava Bigtree, just entering her teens, discovers that the family business -- and her family itself -- is in trouble. Her mother, who has been the star of the gator-wrestling shows at the family's Everglades theme park, is ill. Her father seems unable to cope. Her sister falls for an eerie fellow, the Dredgeman (is he real? is he a ghost? it's impossible to be sure). Her brother, for reasons of his own, decides to work at a rival theme park that takes its guests on a journey through Hell (they love it!) and has his own figurative demons to face. Determined to set things right, Ava summons her inherited courage and innate smarts and plunges into the swamp. There she meets the Bird Man, another unsettling character, and her real journey begins.

It sounds crazy, right? It's totally believable. Even when you're not sure what's real, you believe it. And Russell's shimmering portrait of natural Florida is tenderly and beautifully rendered. If you want to know something about Florida, something that's not a retirement haven full of concrete and traffic and tourists, this is a good place to begin. 

I loved it. Every word.

Excerpt:

I undid the laces from my left sneaker and tied them to a cypress knee. Water in the limestone depression of the dome only appears to be stagnant, you just have to watch it to give the lie to that. After five minutes of storky balancing on one leg, I had my answer. Bingo! The shoelace pointed southwest, toward the Gulf. I relaced. I had a strong itch to run, which would have been a very stupid relief to seek--already I'd found one sinkhole with my stick. A scarlet king snake slithered over a stump, its fantastic licorice colors glowing against the blacky green resurrection ferns.
. . .
It had been so good for a little bit, to picture my mom out here. To think I was on my way to meet her, in the blue mists of the underworld. Why had I ever believed the book? Quick as fire on peat, my mists were gone. Now instead of adventuring into an underworld I found myself in the most treacherous part of the swamp.

Note: This book counts for the Mount TBR Reading Challenge.   

Jay Walking

Lots of the weekend involved mundane things like laundry and grocery shopping, but part of the weekend was outdoorsy and wonderful!

A naturalist friend and I hosted a few of my students on a field trip to a local sanctuary, home to several families of scrub jays, a bird that only lives in Florida. Its chosen habitat is high and dry, making it a prime target for development in this swampy state. Scrub jays are endangered as a result, because they can only live under those specific conditions. I hope conservation efforts will be enough to save them.

Scrub jays need vegetation that's no more than 4 feet tall. Otherwise the hawks have too much of an advantage, sitting in the tall trees and then swooping down for a kill. These big pines are on the edge of the preserve, but the rest of it is no taller than what you see in the foreground here. 

It has to be managed now, to keep it low, because near houses and businesses, we don't allow fires to sweep through and knock everything back. Controlled burns and a big machine called a chopper maintain the height so the scrub jays can survive. (Not easily visible, thanks to my phone camera, is a scrub jay near the center of this picture.)

Here's a better look! These birds have been studied quite a bit, so they are fairly used to people. They will come and check you out to see if you have any peanuts, which makes for a great photo op! 
 

The native lupines are blooming now. The sandy soil around them reveals that thousands of years ago, when the ocean was much higher, this was the beach. Given that we are about 8 miles inland, that's pretty impressive to think about.

The lyonia, a native shrub, is blooming, too, festooned with little pink bells. Or in some cases, little white bells. Such delicate blossoms on a very hardy plant. It has to be hardy, to survive in this dunelike environment.  

Mr./Ms. Gopher Tortoise was undisturbed by our staring from a distance (this photo is cropped, because we stayed quite far away). He/she looks to be a mature adult and is about the size of a dinner plate. 

Gopher tortoises are also endangered and protected, so you can't mess with them in any way. But a photo doesn't hurt.  

As the saying goes, we took only photos (plus some stray beer cans we found) and left only footprints. 

Today's List

A microcosm of my life these days . . .

1. Buy and load minutes for my best friend's phone, which she uses when she visits Florida from her home in the U.K. She's trying to get her mom into assisted living, so I'm happy to do anything I can to help her.

2. March in our hometown parade honoring Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. We still have a long way to go.

3. About a million things for work, including finishing my work plan for this year -- so I know what I'm doing. The hardest part for me is to stop generating ideas. I want to do everything!

4. Prep for teaching two classes tomorrow. Both classes are small this semester, which adds a little extra pressure to keep things interesting.

5. Stay warm. (I just added that one.) It's 38 degrees this morning -- very cold for us. Especially when it was 80 degrees the day before. Talk about winter weather whiplash!

6. Savor being a speck in the universe. The eclipse last night has me thinking about my To Do list on a celestial scale, which certainly keeps things in perspective.

My friend Mac made a wonderful picture!
MacStonePhoto.com

Back from Reality

Lucky me! I spent Thanksgiving on a houseboat on the St. Johns River!

Sixty-three feet of floating home-away-from-home gave the 8 of us plenty of space (although the sleeping quarters were a tad cozy), including a front deck, a back deck, an upper deck, a bath and half, and a kitchen that was big enough for a lot of cooks and the usual turkey and sides, plus 3 kinds of pie.

We anchored out on the river two nights and spent the other night docked at a state park. Kayaking, hiking, and music jamming kept everyone busy. Only one person did any Black Friday shopping! I got in a lot of reading time, which was like heaven for me.

There was plenty of time for reflection, too.

We saw lots of birds, a few snakes while hiking, and on the last morning we had a very special visitor: a manatee! We think he/she was enjoying the warm water from our generator, because we've had some cool nights and the river water is also cooling. What a treat to see this placid, friendly marine mammal up close! 

Firsts

Things I'd never done until yesterday:

1. Bought 2 pool noodles and promptly destroyed them.

2. Created makeshift roof rack pads to carry my kayak (see Item 1).

3. Loaded my kayak all by myself, using a technique I learned from a YouTube video. It was shockingly easy.

4. Sweated through my clothes 3 times in one day.

5. Had to take a shower in order to be clean enough to go kayaking with friends.

6. Stopped to check the kayak on the side of I-95 and stood in black ants while checking. My kayak was fine and my feet were okay eventually. (Thank goodness they weren't fire ants!)

7. Saw a bright and prolonged shooting star traverse half the sky, while floating under the moon, planets, and stars on a beautiful estuary.

8. Ran off the road on the way home, I guess because of inattention on a dark, sparsely marked remote roadway. The road turned and I didn't. The next thing I knew, I was driving on grass. Fortunately there was no ditch or culvert to fall into. (You can bet I slowed down after that.)

Like the song says, "When was the last time you did something for the first time?"

It feels good And even if it didn't feel good, I survived!

Time Well Spent

I spent a very long day at a county commission hearing yesterday. More than 80 residents and organization representatives spoke in opposition to plans for a mega-development that would fundamentally change the rural lifestyle that area residents love and irreparably alter an environmentally valuable piece of property composed of wetlands, floodplains, and uplands.

One of the most eloquent speeches was made by the president of the historical society for one of the little towns in the vicinity. She showed many pictures of the community engaged in various small-town activities, and ended up by saying it's just fine the way it is.

She wasn't the only speaker who made me get a little teary, listening to her profess her love for the tangible and intangible treasures endangered by "progress" and -- dare I say it -- greed. So much of Florida is under attack for cash and falls without this kind of heartfelt opposition, when only the land and the creatures are there to appreciate the magic and the function of wild places.

When the county commissioners finally voted the development plan down, after 8 hours of considering the matter, there was a huge sigh of relief and some celebration. This fight isn't over -- the developer vowed to appeal -- but it's a victory for now.

I'm glad that the country folks get to keep their farms, their slower pace, their dark nights, and their quiet, and that all these other-than-human beings can remain at peace, too, at least for a while.

Photo: Joanne Bolemon

Photo: Joanne Bolemon

Photo: Joanne Bolemon

Still Summer

Despite what most folks might say about Florida, August 1 ushers in an ever-so-slight shift in the light that means fall is on the way. Our days are definitely growing shorter and the blazing heat of high summer has moderated by a miniscule amount. It's nothing like northern climates, but it's what we have.

This hint of fall's approach isn't enough to make me want to eat anything cooked, however. It's still salads all the way until the heat really breaks. 

Meanwhile, there's gazpacho. I love stacking everything up in the bowl before I mix it together into what one of my school friends calls "If salad was soup."

To complete the effect, after sunset tonight there was a tremendous thunderstorm with pelting rain, a spit of hail, ear-splitting thunder, and lightning directly overhead. Yep, still summer.

No Contest

Much as I enjoy discharging my civic responsibilities, making a dark start to have a scrub jay sit on my head is way better than making a dark start to report for jury duty.

A New Kedge

I've written before about kedging, which is a specifically nautical term that can also be used to mean having a goal to work towards. You set your intention, then use it to pull yourself forward.

My weakness is not progress but focus. It's easy for me to slip into the busy-ness of "to do" list mode, getting a lot of small, unimportant things done while the bigger things are pushed into the indefinite future. I might do a great job at organizing the kitchen cabinets, for example, but never get around to planning that vacation I'd always wanted to take.

Setting a kedge gives me a deadline. And around here, nothing gets done unless it has a due date!

Two years ago, serendipity led me to a wonderful paddle that also accomplished something I'd wanted to do for years: visit the Alligator Lighthouse. It's 4 miles off the coast of Islamorada in the Florida Keys, and it beckons the snorkeler and kayaker in me just as surely as it used to warn ships away from the reef.

Alligator Lighthouse, as just barely seen from the beach. 

My opportunity came when I learned that a timeshare vacation coincided with the annual open water swim that loops around the lighthouse. It's a crazy distance when you think about swimming it, but each swimmer needs a safety kayaker, and kayaking 8 miles under such gorgeous conditions is an irresistible proposition. It was one of the very best experiences of my life.

Alligator Lighthouse

Before you click on the video, check out the "thumbnail" -- for some unknown and assuredly random reason, that's me in the green kayak and white shirt (with a towel over my legs to avoid sunburn)!



Last year the swim was canceled because of Hurricane Irma; lots of swimmers donated their entry fees to help the Keys recover. This year I set my goal of doing that paddle again. I'll be teaming up with the same swimmer and some friends will be supporting his girlfriend, who's also entered in the race.

"My" swimmer, Mike

We saw the light!

Plus I'll be staying at the host resort, far more swanky than my usual accommodations. Two years ago the post-race dinner was also a bucket list item: on the beach, under the retro party lights. 

Post-race party

It's great to have something to look forward to and work forward to. The gym and the weekend kayaking are much more motivating, knowing I'm in training!

In Season

When I stopped for gas early one recent morning and went into the convenience store to pay, I was the only person in there (besides the clerk) who wasn't wearing head-to-toe camo.

Apparently everyone else knew it was turkey season.

There was a whole lot of "Yes, m'am" and "No, m'am" in the air. 

And there was a bit of a crush in front of the donut case.

I'm not a necessarily against hunting -- but I am pretty much on the side of the turkeys.

Funny thing was, I saw about 15 turkeys later that day in 4 different places -- all places where hunters wouldn't be hunting.

Apparently the turkeys knew it was turkey season, too!   

The Best Sort of Serendipity

I set a few goals for this year, mostly based on things that occur in nature.

Seeing the sunflowers on Lake Jesup (if they bloom again after being completely snuffed out by post-hurricane flooding last year) and seeing the swallow-tailed kites gather before they migrate to South America are two things I try to do every year. This year I added seeing the Catesby lily bloom and seeing the coreopsis bloom.

Noting the progress of the seasons in natural phenomena is one way I connect with Mother Nature. It also gets me out into wild places on a regular basis.

When the calendar warned me that it was nearly coreopsis time, I started pinging my network, trying to get in touch with a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend who knows a grower. Growing wildflowers for seed sounds like a fascinating operation and I was hopeful my connection would play out. Sure enough, I received the gentleman's e-mail in pretty short order. But when I tried to use it, it kept getting returned to me -- even though my contact says she uses that e-mail all the time. I shook my head and let the matter drop.

And then, this happened. In a totally unrelated way, on a random drive for another purpose entirely.

Mother Nature is full of beautiful surprises.

Baby Season

It's baby season here in Florida! All the creatures -- especially the birds -- have their young with them these days, and it's wonderful to see.

These long-legged babies are Sandhill Cranes. It's easy to see why they're called "colts." The word "gangly" also comes to mind.

Waking up early in the morning to the sound of the adults calling their pterodactyl calls as they fly over is like hearing the voice of wild Florida . . . . You can imagine it if you listen to their calls here.

Is this heaven? Nope, just spring in Florida.

On Impulse

I belong to a kayaking Facebook group. There are tens of thousands of members all over the world, including one cheery fellow in Australia who's convinced that he and I are cousins because we share the same last name. (Now he has me convinced, too, based on nothing more than his habit of greeting me by saying, "Hi, cuz!")

Anyway, for a Facebook group, we are quite well-behaved. The admins strongly enforce the posting rules, and we DO NOT DISCUSS the two topics we're unable to discuss without getting into arguments: wearing/not wearing a PFD (life jacket) and whether sit-on-top kayaks are/are not superior to sit-inside kayaks. Do not think I'm going to discuss those things here, either. It just leads to fights.

Sooo . . . we're quite the happy community, helpful to each other and chock-full of gorgeous pictures, enough gorgeous pictures that our paddling locations bucket list will never be emptied.

Now that you have the flavor of the group, you'll understand why we all rose to the challenge when one of us asked where she should go paddling in Central Florida while she's here on vacation. Lots of people posted pictures and made recommendations. Here's the picture I posted for her.

She replied that she'd checked it out, but there were no guided tours on the days she's available and she didn't want to paddle alone. Now, I bet she could totally paddle this alone unless she's a complete novice -- it's calm water, there's only a slight current, and the gators are generally placid. But I have to respect her safety concerns. So I did the obvious thing: I offered to go with her.

This may prove to be the easiest favor I've ever done for anyone!