Since 1979 when I first set foot in Florida, I have been in love with its beaches and historical sites. To say that Florida is mysterious, fascinating, weird, intriguing, historical, beautiful, dangerous, colorful, sunny, and magnetic, is an understatement.
One of my
favorite comedic reel digital creators is “#OnlyInFlorida.” He finds hilarious
videos highlighting Florida’s fauna and flora and sometimes the bizarre quirks
of the human species. He is “Floridaing” every day and is glad that “I’ve
got it on my flip phone.” The said phone often matches the color of his
t-shirt.
Florida’s
fun in the sun residents do not stop at displaying trash cans and mailboxes
that are elaborate and beautiful works of art; they decorate with giant concrete
or fiberglass creatures of the sea, dotting the landscape in the most unusual
places.
Where else
can you find more gators and pythons than you can shake a stick at while stepping
on shifting wet grass and trying to capture that perfect photo of a white crane
balancing on top of a dead tree, surrounded by murky water?
There are
1.3 million gators in all 67 counties in Florida. The estimated population of
Burmese pythons across more than 1,000 square miles of the Everglades is 30,000-300,000.
The invasive species of snakes have caused significant ecological destruction.
Driving on
the Tamiami Trail across the Everglades, a sign pops up now and then indicating
a panther crossing. I have never seen such a creature cross the highway
but its existence in the surrounding swamps with thick and lush vegetation and
palm tree forests is fascinating.
Florida may
hide the famous fountain of youth and its burial grounds in St. Augustine. La
Florida was the magical land where Ponce de Leon and his Spanish conquistadors
landed in their search for eternal youth. The place where Ponce de Leon and his
crew first arrived a thousand years ago is now the Fountain of Youth Park.
There is a coral
rock castle and garden in Homestead, Florida, built out of 1,100 tons of rock
for a mysterious purpose that only the Latvian American eccentric builder, Edward
Leedskalnin, understood. He had hoped that his labor of love work of oolite
limestone would eventually attract his beloved who had spurned his marriage
proposal previously in Latvia. Sadly, he died alone in his castle.
Where else
can you come in contact with invisible and stingy no-see-ums, with sharks,
manatees, sting rays, man-o-war jelly fishes, see-through moon jellies the size
of UFOs that sting even when dead, and other dangerous creatures right at the
water’s edge?
Where else
can you visit the opulent mansion of the Barnum and Bailey Circus Museum with
its gorgeous grounds, flora, and statuary, but in Sarasota, Florida?
Only in
Florida, between Arcadia and Bradenton, you find in the middle of nowhere, passing
by swamps, more swamps, and pastures, Howard Solomon’s medieval residence. The sculptor
built a 12,000 square foot castle from refuse. Resplendent with a moat, towers,
and eighty stained-glass windows, his castle is silver in color because it is
covered with aluminum printing plates from a local newspaper.
His shiny castle,
which has a real, full-sized Spanish galleon, was built by necessity as his
property flooded during the rainy season and he did not factor that in when he
bought the land. A real gator is “guarding” the tenth century galleon.
Sadly, Floridian
Horse Creek would never rise high enough to float the galleon out to the emerald,
green ocean. Howard not only turned recyclable trash into a local curiosity,
but he also became the “Rembrandt of Reclamation.” Nobody knows the effect that so much aluminum
has on the surrounding swampy environment.
Only in
Florida can you sit on the sugary white sand, watching the green waves crash
against the pristine shore and suddenly you start coughing with hundreds of
other beach goers surrounding you in a giant coughing unison.
It is the
unpleasant and dangerous side-effect of red tide, an algae bloom, being blown
from far out at sea. This toxic red tide bloom constantly affects Tampa Bay and
its vicinity, and it is caused by poor water quality and pollution from
fertilizer plants and other sources. It increases if the Gulf water happens to
be warmer than usual. The east coast has an equally toxic algae bloom called
the blue-green algae, sometimes affecting the St. Lucie River estuary.
Caren Schnur
Neile wrote about the online headline of February 14, 2019, news story from
WBGO public radio from Newark, “After 16 months of Dead Fish, Manatees and
Dolphins, Florida’s Red Tide Ebbs.” How much it ebbed is revealed in the photo
underneath with a row of dead fish on the pristine white beach.
Only in
Florida you can find an apple tree that can kill you and gators love its fruits
when they fall in the swamp. The Tree of Death, Hippomane mancinella or
manchineel grows in South Florida’s coastal areas, South America, and the
Caribbean.
Growing in
brackish water, the manchineel thrive in mangroves. The name comes from
the Spanish word manzanilla, “little apple” or manzanilla de la muerte,
“little apple of death.” Touching it causes severe blistering and allergic
reactions that could lead to death in some people.
There are
many areas in Florida that claim the existence of ghosts, no one more famous
than Henry Flagler, the tycoon who built the railroad between Jacksonville and
Key West. Although he died in 1913 in Palm Beach, his body was shipped to St.
Augustine by train and laid out in the rotunda of his beloved Ponce de Leon
hotel. He vowed never to leave his hotel. A janitor found a mysterious tile with
his portrait on it. To this day tourists are enthralled to search for this tiny
tile that is alleged to have Henry Flagler’s face on it.
People would
be surprised to know that Florida has an 800-year-old building, built 300 years
before Columbus discovered the New World. Located on the Dixie Highway in North
Miami, known as the “Old Spanish Monastery,” this building is part of St.
Bernard de Clairvaux Episcopal Church. How did it make its way to Florida?
William
Randolph Hearst purchased the monastery in 1925 and had it dismantled and
packaged with hay in 11,000 shipping crates, carefully numbered. Two sawmills
were built to make the crates.
Because of
the outbreak in Spain of the hoof-and-mouth disease which could have been
spread by hay, the shipment was quarantined by Customs. The crates were opened,
the hay was burned, and the blocks were repackaged randomly. The crates were
stored for 26 years in a warehouse in New York. Hearst sold the shipment of crates,
and two men moved it in 1952 to Florida with the idea to make it a tourist
attraction. Unfortunately, the entire now misnumbered shipment became a giant
and expensive jigsaw puzzle.
According to
the Archives, twenty-three men spent 90 days to open all the heavy crates, some
weighing more than a ton. The wooden crates were then burned, and 7 tons of
nails were salvaged from the ashes.
The
800-years old monastery was reconstructed in 19 months at a cost of $1.5
million. The bankrupt investors sold the building to the St. Bernard de
Clairvaux Church. The baptismal font and the original iron bell are still part
of the former monastery. Each stone block has the mark of the stonemason who
cut it 8 centuries ago.
Florida has a
true medieval structure which the Spanish began building in 1672. It is the Castillo
de San Marcos in St. Augustine, a fort built out of coquina, a bonded
composition with seashells that can resist cannon balls. It took 23 years to
complete.
La
Florida is beautiful
beyond description, a remarkable place to explore.