Mysterious and Fascinating Florida

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.

 

 

 

Only in Florida

On our recent five-day adventure in South Florida, we packed all the fun activities we could drive to without being killed or seriously injured on the roads and interstates crisscrossing Broward County and Miami-Dade. And we found ourselves time and time again repeating the phrase, “only in Florida.”

Only in Florida people drive 100 MPH, crossing lanes faster than NASCAR drivers, chasing each other in sleek and expensive cars, like disappearing banshees and people react as if it is the norm.

Only in Florida we see no police officers giving tickets to speeders and bad drivers. Florida car owners, with and without driving licenses, are in a class by themselves when it comes to speeding. Driving rules and road safety are just ordinary and laughable suggestions to them.

Only in Florida highly confident women of all shapes and sizes go out dressed like other people do when doing hot yoga, showing as much skin as possible without being nude – after all, the beach and the ocean are not that far away. A tiny string bikini with a see-through cover or not, is good enough to wear grocery shopping, strolling, or to the mall. The idea that clothes are made to cover the body for reasons of public decency seems to escape them. Fluttering their butterfly or tarantula eyelashes, with perfectly coiffed hair and full makeup at the beach, men adore them for their “easy on the eye” beauty.

In Florida, only foreign visitors and cruise goers speak English. If you speak English, that is too bad because South Floridians are not going to help you. Without Spanish or Spanglish, you must bring a translator in tow.

Only in Florida the culture is so Hispanic-diverse that Broward County and Miami-Dade areas might as well be granted to Cuba, El Salvador, Puerto Rico, Colombia, or Jamaica. Non-Hispanic Americans are only tolerated so long as they spend money on Cuban food and tip generously on top of the automatic 18% service fee.

Only in Florida the sun shines for five straight days, the sky is bright blue, and no airplanes spray the sky with chemicals, turning it into a milky grey mass, covering the sun to mitigate global warming. Those of us unlucky to live elsewhere in America forgot how beautiful the real sky used to be.

Only in Florida can you find Ed’s Castle, an out of this world creation of a Latvian man who built his coral rock castle with primitive tools, imagination, and a labor of unrequited love, in hope that someday the love of his life, who rejected his marriage proposal before he left Latvia, would someday show up and visit his castle.

Only in Florida does a Muscovy duck build her nest next to the entrance of a remarkably busy hotel, unafraid, and incubates seven eggs and guards them like a good and caring momma.

Only in Florida a restaurant takes a yummy red snapper, fries it too long in lard to an unchewable crisp shape which the chef (I use the term loosely) then decorates it (the remaining skeleton) with wilted onion strips, two tomato slices, 2 lemon wedges, and undercooked and inedible rice, all for the price of $67. And tourists pay because other locals recommend the place and the dish as the height of Cuban cuisine.

Only in Florida you find iguanas, an invasive species released into the wild by bored people who dumped their exotic pets outdoors when they tired of them or they grew too big; or possibly proliferated from the Miami Zoo after it was torn up by hurricane Andrew which released all species from its collection into nature where they exploded in population. With their orange, green, and grey skin, iguanas of all sizes appear in the most unlikely places, falling from trees in wintertime in a hibernating and catatonic state.

Only in verdant and colorful south Florida diverse ethnicities have their own delicious cuisines but Cuban food is the king everywhere.

Only in south Florida women of all ages, young and old, dress up like teenagers going to a party.

Only in south Florida air boat tours on the Everglades display as the main attraction a few exemplars of the 200,000 gators, old relatives of dinosaurs who are a nuisance elsewhere in Florida, in swimming pools, in ponds, and on golf courses.

Only in Florida the air wafting from every corner, car, park, boardwalk, and even the beach stinks of marijuana, the unmistakable and unpleasant odor of skunk.

Only in Florida can you drive on the lonely alligator alley and find the occasional gator catching the sun’s rays on the side of the road, unafraid of the cars zipping by.

Only in Florida there is such paradise on earth, the sandy white beaches, the teal blue ocean water, the surfing waves, and the verdant flora and dinosaurian fauna, so amazing and beautiful that you want to go back as soon as you board the plane to go home.

 

Florida, the Verdant Paradise

Florida is a verdant, emerald-blue water paradise and a white sand sink hole, an accident waiting to happen. Thought to be part of northwest Africa ages ago, it was based on the theory that North America was part of the enormous super continent that absorbed Africa.

At the end of the last ice age, 12,000 years ago, Paleo-hunters arrived. The Floridian climate was dry and cold, a kind of artic tundra, as revealed by deep soil samples. Archeologists can make inferences based on dug up layers and layers of soil, strata which can reveal chemical compositions, human habitation, animal remains, plants, rocks, certain chemicals, and other materials. A soil midden holds the domestic refuse, i.e. animal bones and artifacts of prior inhabitants of the land. In south-west Florida, shell middens were preserved at the museum of the Spanish Point.

It is speculated that Florida was fifty miles wider than today due to the frozen surface water into huge glaciers which lowered the sea levels. The remains of the ancient Floridian inhabitants were covered by water when the glaciers melted. Evidence of their existence has been found off the west coast at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico and beneath certain springs.

Communities were found as early as 500 B.C. Early tribes built mounds along rivers and coasts: the Ais, Timucua, Mayaca, Jeaga, Tequesta, Calusa, and Jororo. The Seminoles, part of the Creek Nation, did not arrive in Florida until the early 1700s, after the first Europeans.

Mel Fisher’s discovery of the galleon Nuestra Señora de Atocha (Our Lady of Atocha) which sunk in a hurricane off the Florida Keys in 1622, is evidence of the prior arrival of Europeans before the Seminoles. This sunken galleon was laden with copper, silver, gold, tobacco, gems, and indigo.

The second largest body of water within the borders of the United States, Lake Okeechobee covers 730 square miles of South Florida and parts of five counties. In Seminole, Lake Okeechobee means “big water.” The Calusa Indians called it ‘Mayaimi,” which is probably where the name Miami originated.

Early pioneers of this part of Florida reported finding human skeletons in the shallows of the southern end of the lake and old fishermen stories told that nets caught human skulls from time to time.

Some speculated that they were Indian bones, others that they were victims of an ancient hurricane. The two thousand dead people who perished in the hurricanes of 1926 and 1928 have been recovered and buried in mass graves on mainland. Before 1900, less people lived around Lake Okeechobee, not enough to explain the thousands of skeletons and remains found at the bottom of the lake. Could it have been a place where sacrifices were made, and the bones added up over the millennia?

The Seminoles had only one conflict, the Battle of Okeechobee, in 1837, but only 30 people were killed. The age of the bones predates the first Spanish period by thousands of years. Could it have been an ancient village killed off by some disease? No artifacts or pottery were found though. Is it a mythical lost tribe? To whom did Florida belong?

Myakka River State Park Adventure

After a few beach days with an angry ocean with rip tides and dark colored water, we decided to visit again the beautiful Myakka River State Park, one of Florida’s oldest and most diverse, wonderfully preserved wilderness areas.

Myakka River flows through 58 square miles of prairies, wetlands, hammocks, and pinelands. Hammocks are usually hardwood trees that grow on elevated areas, a few inches higher than the wetlands. Sometimes they grow on slopes between wetlands, mixed with conifer trees.

Myakka River and two shallow lakes attract a rich population of birds, alligators, small deer, and a rich flora. It is a perfect place for bird watching, hiking, gator watching, biking, kayaking, and canoeing. The camping areas are tucked in the safer zones of the park.

The forests appear impenetrable at times but the scenic and meandering 7-mile drive along the Upper Myakka Lake is perfect for those who are afraid of actually venturing through the dense brush with low-lying ground. I was surprised that bicycles were allowed both on paved roads and on dirt roads.

There are over 39 miles of hiking trails and dirt roads leading to the very remote interior. The 1.2-mile loop Boylston Nature Trail and the River Trail north of the main park bridge are potential hiking options. Dry prairies seem to flourish in the park and a couple of small Florida deer met us in such an area.

Hurricane Ian had caused severe damage to the park and to its infrastructure and it has not yet completely recovered. Camping is available but not all areas can be accessed for now.

Rentals, the Outpost, and the Lazy Gator Café were available on this day. While close to the boat launch, I saw a gator floating closely to the asphalt, watching me, then diving quickly. He was definitely stalking me.

By the main bridge, an older gator was resting on the bank at the foot of the bridge, about 12 feet from the sign that read, Beware of Alligators. Of course, my husband had to have his picture taken by the sign, knowing that the enormous gator was resting too close for his comfort. He seems to forget that gators can run much faster than humans. Lucky for him, the gator was not hungry.

To access the Wilderness Preserve one must have a permit. The Canopy Walkway and the Nature Trail were open. Evidence of uprooted large trees was everywhere. One side of the wooden tower built by volunteers is 24 feet tall, while the other tower is 76.1 feet, with a breathtaking view of the entire park as far as the eyes can see. The suspended walkway between the two towers is rocking – it was built so on purpose, to sway with the wind.

I looked forward to the Bird Walk until I realized that the wet terrain was lower than the parking lot but at the same level with the lake water, which was full of gators, eight of which were on a feeding prowl. We walked to the four steps which gave us access to the wooden bridge called the Bird Walk. We did not see many birds from this bridge, but we certainly saw plenty of gators of various sizes, something I have never seen in the wild before. On the way back to the car, I believe I walked the fastest I could across the muddy terrain at the same level with the gator-infested Upper Lake.

To my surprise, three crows landed on the wooden bridge railing, and one decided to be stupidly brave, standing on the sea grass floating on the lake. A gator was gliding fast towards her. A blue heron braved the shallows, further away from the deep water, hopefully safe from the gators. I took her picture quickly and walked fast through the exposed land to the car. At 11 MPH, with some gators sprinting 30 MPH on short distances on land, nobody can possibly think that humans can outrun gators, but the adrenaline rush gave me a renewed desire for speed. A human could zigzag and outrun an alligator for a longer stretch on land. Gators prefer to attack on the edge of the water and drag their prey to the bottom where the death roll ensues.

We left the park and drove back to the beach where the ocean was furiously pounding the shore and the surf created fantastic shapes in white foam which disintegrated on the beach. The riptides were relentless, and the guard towers were still flying double-red flags.

 

 

 

Politics at the Beach

Beach road to the left
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2018

I was hoping that I could get away from politics during our vacation and just enjoy the beach, the white sand, the sea gulls, the dolphins, and the Floridian sunshine. But politics hit me in the face in one form or another in this area overflowing with snow-bird Democrats from New York, New Jersey, and Ohio.

Last year NGOs used young, beautiful, and half-clad women on the beach to advocate for legalizing marijuana.  This year we were assaulted by greens urging naïve pedestrians in affluent areas to fill out questionnaires to save marine life. Tugging at their heart strings, it was an easy sell for donations to various environmental and conservation groups. 

Waiters and restaurant owners had replaced plastic straws with paper straws – glossy and expensive signs “educated” us at each table that drinking without a straw each time saved a turtle.

One day a mature and well-preserved lady with her husband was high-fiving an elderly New Yorker wearing a blue t-shirt with her favorite candidate for Florida governor. They told her, they were very eager to vote early as well for the same candidate.

I muttered under my breath the word “commies;” the couple heard me and replied that they hoped I could not vote. Tangling with total strangers who have no idea what communism is or how awful it was to live under the communism they yearn to bring to this country was not my idea of fun on vacation. But I am not one to back down from an argument with useful idiots who argue and vote for their own demise. The rich ones think that the scourge of communism will somehow bypass them only because they are “enlightened-thinking” Democrats who deplore their opponents with divergent opinions as Neanderthals with pea brains.

As Project Veritas latest video release revealed, there is nothing American about this particular campaign, just a run of the mill progressive (read communist) assault on a “cracker” state as one of the campaign staffers said in the video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=di3WRRHRWlE&feature=player_embedded&fbclid=IwAR20L4DZ4j11AVtvISueOJx6wTl6MONZ5zIum4AAYNjrsNUWNzZPcCvw4-w

Often the longest and most protracted political battles are the local ones. One determined resident managed to get on the ballot the three-year long battle over access to a beach road that had been opened to the public for decades but one hurricane had blocked one small section and that gave the city planners the idea to give that section to a rich developer who was planning on building high-rise condos that could sell for mega-bucks. He mentioned that one nearby condo had sold recently for $4.5 million.

The locals had been up in arms fighting to keep this beach road open to the public. Beach-goers contribute large amounts of revenue to the local economy in the form of tourist taxes, hotels, restaurant meals, and other vacation amenities.

 

Mike's rocky strip where he plans a wooden pier for walkers

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2018

 

A local man, who, by his admission, cannot even afford to live near this beach, had bought a small rocky strip of land jutting out into the ocean. Mike flies the American flag proudly and lowers it every afternoon at sunset in a moving ceremony.  A carpenter by trade, he told me that he had spent close to half a million dollars in legal fees to defend everybody’s right of access to the beach, but especially the handicapped. This particular access is very close to the beach, a few steps to be exact.

 

Mike lowering the flag at sunset with Dave

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2018

 

One single handicapped parking spot is now covered by a mound of sand. That is another minor battle as the mound had been sitting there for a while. The plan was to spread the sand on the eroded beach but turtle nesting season was in full swing and the county was waiting, irritating the nearby condo-owners who wanted an unobstructed view of the ocean.

On October 31, the top layers was spread but the bottom part of the mound would have to be taken away to be used in construction since the scraping of the bucket would contaminate the sand with asphalt thus rendering it unusable for the beach.

In a soft but determined voice, he told me that he used to bring his mother to the beach in a wheelchair every sunset until she passed away. Not having children and a family of his own, he wants to leave this strip of land to the public trust in perpetuity so that people could enjoy the ocean. He plans on building a wooden platform on the rocks to allow wheelchair access to the handicapped and to our veterans. He hopes that on Tuesday, the voters will resolve the fate of the beach road in their favor.

The voters will decide on the charter amendment to preserve county-owned parks, preserves, beach and water access and waterfront vistas (ordinance no. 2018-036). Currently the Board of Commissioners has the authority to sell any county-owned property and to vacate roads and rights of way.

“The amendment would prohibit the county from selling or giving away any county-owned parks and preserves, and prevent the county from vacating any road segments or rights of way along any beach, river, creek, canal, lake, bay, gulf access or waterfront vistas." https://www.scgov.net/government/communications/county-charter-amendment-summary

 

Scooter of the Beach

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2018

 

A local celebrity resident, Scooter of the Beach, has been giving video reports on social media daily for the last three months about the status of the red tide bacteria which killed so much marine life, turning water brown, red, or dark green, and causing respiratory irritation and cough on the beach, affecting tourism this summer on a 100-mile stretch.

“Red tide is a common name for a worldwide phenomenon known as an algae bloom (large concentrations of aquatic microorganisms—protozoans or unicellular algae) when it is caused by species of dinoflagellates and other algae. The upwelling of nutrients from the sea floor from massive storms is most likely the cause of these events.”

But locals blame red tide on individual fertilizer use and others on the discharges into the ocean of byproducts from a sugar plant.

 

Ray's Road Trip in 1942 America

The roads were “grand” for Ray’s traveling trailer. Driving on January 19, 1942 through Ohio, he was fascinated by the abundance of farms and rolling hills, red painted barns, individual hog pens, and husked corn left on the ground uncovered, easy pickings for any critters or humans passing by. His love of animals was only equaled by his love of nature – his oil landscapes were legendary in the family.

When Ray left the Ohio state line, Kentucky revealed numerous drying tobacco barns and tobacco stalks, and large numbers of stock farms with miles and miles of stone fences. Farther into the state, homes were run down and unpainted. He encountered saw mills from where cut timber was shipped on carts pulled by mules. Ever curious, Ray came upon a large stock sale and stopped to check it out.

The soil was red clay interspersed with pine trees. He noticed that filling stations were very far apart. Homes were poorly constructed and never painted. He was shocked to see toilets separate for “colored people.” Going through Look Out Mountain and Rock City, he drove 7 miles to the top on a slow and gradual incline. The shifting foundation had split the large rocks and fashioned rock crevasses 100 ft. or more deep. Large herds of cattle and hogs were wandering all over the highways, no fences anywhere in sight. Large pine forests flanked the highways.

Crossing into Georgia, he noticed that the soil was hued red, blue, and yellow. Miles and miles of peach trees filled the landscape. The southern Georgia countryside was packed for miles and miles with pecan trees. Mules seemed to be the beast of burden just like in Tennessee and Kentucky.

Georgia homes were built on rock piles or posts with no basements. For the “poorer class,” houses had no windows, only “wooden door flaps.” One dead cow had been hit by a car and the carcass was still in the road.

Stopping in the Okefenokee Swamp, Ray walked out into the swamp for about a mile through the quiet and wild surroundings; the silence was only broken by the occasional hammering of a wood pecker and other bird calls. Moss covered trees abundantly and water lilies bloomed gracefully from the swamp; a large percentage of the tall pines were dead, jutting out of the murky black water.

At the Florida line, the landscape changed to acres and acres of slash pines on both sides of the road. Pines were slashed to gather resin from which turpentine was made. The slashes were made by removing the bark on an area of 12 by 36 inches through which a metal rod was driven at a 45 degree angle ending into a funnel shaped catch for the resin draining from the tree.

Arriving in Jacksonville, Ray remarked that the population was mostly “colored people.” The back of the trailer where they parked for the night was a veritable jungle of palm trees and thick pines covered with Spanish moss. Further down the road he encountered palms, citrus trees, flowers, and a Chinese garden with waterfalls and bridges. On both sides of the highway there were cacti growing everywhere.

In St. Augustine, Ray and his family had a drink from the famous well attended by a man dressed in Spanish clothes. “The grave yard of a vanished race of Indians had uncovered graves, showing the skeletons as these burials were made on top of the ground. At one spot, by looking toward the ocean, I could see through a row of palm trees a distance of 3 miles to the open sea; this is believed to be the spot at which Juan Ponce de Leon had landed in 1513 as it was the spot he first sighted upon sailing into the harbor.” A stone monument in his honor is erected to commemorate the location.

Ray and his wife took a sight-seeing tour through St. Augustine on a horse drawn “surrey” at a charge of $1.50 per hour. The drivers were “colored men wearing a long tail coat and a large plug hat.”

The next stop was a fascinating fort with its heavy ramparts. Ft. Marion, the Guardian of the Spanish City of St. Augustine, was built from “coquina, shells taken from the beach on Anastasia Island and mixed with lime,” cementing walls ten to twelve ft. thick. Ft. Marion was surrounded by a moat of water 40 ft. wide.

The interior court, which crammed 2,500 people inside during a 27-day siege, had a dungeon for prisoners, a Catholic church, and a powder magazine. It was so damp that the powder magazine had a hard time keeping its powder dry. The town was burned to the ground several times by the Spanish, the English, and the French, but the fort never fell. The old wall that surrounded the city is still partially standing. The oldest school and oldest house were also located here. The oldest house had been owned and occupied at one time by Napoleon’s nephew. The beautiful Spanish garden in the back had a wishing well.

The old school house boasted eight “pupils” and upstairs quarters for the teacher. A small dungeon served as punishment for students who did not behave properly. Tuition for this school was $12 per year.

After the alligator and ostrich farms, Ray visited Marineland, with its fish, coral, other marine fauna and porpoises, and the portholes through which the movie industry had shot most of their underwater films of that time.

Across from Marineland was a burial mound for various Indian tribes from counties across Florida. Buried in layers, the bottom uncovered were remains of the “Timucua Indians, the forerunners by a good many years of the Seminole. The skeletons were found in shell mounds, mainly oysters. Vines had grown through all openings of the skulls. The people were buried in a hunched or huddled position.”

Ray passed by the famous speedway in Daytona Beach, on his way to comb the fine white sandy beaches for shells. Parking the trailer in Port Orange for a week, three miles south of Daytona Beach on the Halifax River, Ray, his wife, and three-year old blue-eyed Joan enjoyed the Florida sun and the quartz-white beach.

 

The Paul’s River Land Trailer camp allowed them to park 150 ft. away from the crystal clear waters. The trailer park was enjoyable and only cost $3 per week. Pelicans, white herons, seagulls, and ducks landed in the area quite often. A few boys fishing by speared a small sting ray, about a foot long. The drinking water was none too pleasant, it was full of Sulphur and smelled like rotten eggs. “We had to let water set out overnight in order to get the smell and awful taste out of it.”

Driving through West Palm Beach, Ft. Lauderdale, on to Miami, Ray stopped in Jupiter at Shuey’s Trailer Camp for 75 cents per night, parking about 100 ft. from the government lighthouse. They bought milk for 27 cents with a 5 cent deposit for the glass bottle.

“On the drive to Miami, we went along the ocean and saw the fishing fleets out with their motors, sailing in circles; the waves were so high that in between the crest of the waves, the large fishing boats would be out of sight.”

Ray and his family spent three weeks in the Tall Pines Trailer Camp. Three miles south of Miami was the Rare Bird Farm with coral flamingos and other unusual birds. Of the 350 species, five species of blue, green, and white peacocks were fascinating. Twenty-two miles south of Miami was the Monkey Jungle, where “humans were caged in chicken wire walkways and the monkeys ran wild into the tangle of jungle-like trees.” For 35 cents admission price, they saw up close and personal chimpanzees, black spider monkeys, marmosets, mangabeys, capuchin monkeys, and other primates.

Live sand dollars

Photo: Ileana Johnson

 

In South Miami, after visiting the Floridian Coconut Factory, Ray and his family went swimming twice at Matheson Hammock, a beach protected from sharks but not from the man-of-war - “a large jelly-like transparent globe of a wonderful bright shade of blue.”

Next was window shopping in beautiful Coral Gables where jewelry stores sold their wares for upwards of $3,800, a rich sum for those times. Coral Gables was confusing to Ray as the streets were all names and no numbers, especially when the names were all in Spanish.

For $25 a day and fishing gear provided, Ray broke down and rented a boat to go deep sea fishing and caught his very first sail fish which his wife cooked for supper.

Passing by a Seminole village, Ray marveled at the colored patched clothes. An Indian dressed in full Chieftain’s regalia, posed for pictures with visitors for 15 cents each. Parking in the trailer camps in the area was more expensive, $3.25 per week.

Ray crossed the Everglades, driving on Tamiami Trail, the southernmost 275 miles of U.S. Hwy. 41. The Everglades, thousands of square miles, was a vast tract-less wilderness which could only be negotiated by waterways and the Seminoles were the only persons who could do that at the time. The vast tangle of saw grass was sometimes ten ft. high. One could drive for miles through the big cypress swampland.

“Occasionally through the Everglades, there are small villages of Seminoles. They hunt, fish, and only kill what they need for clothes and food. The main Seminole reservation was deep in the Everglades and could only be reached by their waterway canals. Using large and small boats hewn out of large trees, Seminoles numbered 3,000 at one time, dwindled to 200 and are now increased to about 650. They are the only Indians that are still supposed to be at war with the United States.”

 

 

During the rainy season, even the dry spots become swamp land. Of the 16 species of palms in Florida, 13 are found in the Everglades. Forests of bay, live oaks, papayas, and rubber trees grow wild.  In between there are large ferns, gorgeous wild flowers, orchids, air plants, and mosses.

Large burnt out areas could be seen from the road and, as far as the eyes could see there was nothing but swamp and forest, no sign of human life. Houses were miles and miles apart but close to the road. The abundant wild life could be seen from the road – turtles on rocks and logs sunning themselves, turkey vultures, American eagles, wood ibis, blue herons, white herons, egrets, almost extinct sandhill cranes, cougars, alligators, native bears, deer, flamingoes, everglades kite, cape sable, manatees, alligators, snakes, and sea side sparrows. Over 50,000 bird species inhabited the area.

Morning feed

Photo: Ileana Johnson

 

Next stop was beautiful Sanibel Island with its famous sea shell beach. It did not have any camp to park a trailer so Ray drove into Ft. Meyers Beach and stayed there for two days at Don Carlos Trailer and Cottage Court for 75 cents, 300 ft. from the Caloosahatchee River. The wind was blowing fiercely all night, rocking the trailer quite dangerously for comfort.

Next morning they drove across the bridge to the Estero Island where the shells were plentiful on the beach – conchs, whelks (a sea snail), sand dollars (a sea urchin), starfishes (marine invertebrates), sea urchins, and scallops. They had to boil the shells as many were still inhabited by marine mollusks. I cannot imagine anyone today on a road trip disturbing nature in this way. But even collecting an empty shell of a dead marine creature is removing an opportunity for another sea invertebrate to find a home inside.

Last stop of Ray’s road trip was Sarasota with the largest trailer city in the country. The parking fee was $2.25 per week and the camp had everything to keep one occupied and entertained – free movies, dances with attendance of upwards of 300 people, a five-piece orchestra, first aid room, men’s card room, ladies’ card room, its own newspaper, post office, community hall, grocery store, six horse shoe courts, swings, slides, 14 shuffle boards, bingo, a sand box for kids, and a different program every day. The trailer park had 600 trailers laid out in streets, with beautiful landscaped areas. The only charge levied was a government amusement tax of 5 cents.

Sarasota of today, with its Siesta Key, has been voted several times the most beautiful beach in the country. Currently suffering from the worst case of Red Tide in its history, the beach has been less than inviting to tourists for the last three months. Dead fish, brown waters, brown sand, and respiratory distress have dominated reality daily. Mother Nature will take its course and will eventually return the sugar white sands and crystal clear waters to Siesta Key.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Greek Sponge Divers of Florida

“Give me a word and I will show you that it comes from Greek.”

-          Mr. Portokalis, character in “My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding”

 

Sponge diver with sponge in hand
Photo: Wikipedia

Having experienced the excruciating ear pain from failure to equalize the pressure change underwater, I am in awe of any scuba diver who goes underwater to explore the depths of our oceans or, as is the case of pearl divers, to find exquisite pearls that adorn rare and expensive jewels.

There are submersibles that operate at depths of 6,500 feet for scientific reasons, research and discovery.  A previously unknown life form, the sinking of famous ships, submarines, airplanes, ocean acidification from underwater volcanoes, marine life behavior, sharks, whales, and other creatures are explored and studied extensively at depths formerly off-limits to humans.

Pices V is such a submersible that can safely carry three people to depths that man cannot withstand. Even sperm whales’ lungs must collapse at such pressure in order to allow them to survive at 7,000 feet and lower, in their hunt for squid. http://oceanservice.noaa.gov/facts/pressure.html

At sea level, we are comfortable at air pressure of 14.5 pounds per square inch. Our bodies do not react in any way because fluids push outwardly with the same force. But, when diving even a few feet, the pressure starts to be felt by our eardrums. The hydrostatic pressure, the force per unit area exerted by a liquid on a solid mass, grows with every 33 feet by 14.5 psi.

According to NOAA, deep down, the pressure is as much as “the weight of an elephant balanced on a postage stamp, or the equivalent of one person trying to support 50 jumbo jets.”

How do animals survive at such depths? They have more flexible bodies; ribs are connected with “loose, bendable cartilage, which allows the rib cage to collapse at pressures that would easily snap our bones.”

How then can pearl divers learn to cope with the underwater pressure, often without a suit? Some people need ear tubes to be able to withstand even a few feet of water pressure.

Long time ago, in 1932, a movie was made about the “sponge fisherman of the Aegean,” operating in Tarpon Springs, Florida, “a quaint colony” of Greek fishermen who had dived for generations to find the sponges that were used for “washing cars and little Johnny’s back.”



Sponge diving boat
Photo: Wikipedia

The divers were descendants of the Greeks who used to dive naked with a stone under their arms to fight buoyancy. Their group had established in Tarpon Springs eighty years prior to the making of this film. Flying both the American and the Greek flags, the fishermen showed their pride in America and in their own heritage.

The Rock Island sponge bars were the realm of these “fantastic living things we call sponges.” The creatures thrived on graveled ocean floors.

Diving in an air-compressed suit, the master diver required several men to help him suit up properly for the dangerous dive. It was such a treacherous profession; the young did not seek employment in this field. There was such a shortage of divers that old and skilled men were brought from Greece.

By current standards, diving was an infant technology in 1932.  The diver controlled the air pressure in his suit with his head by touching an air valve. He was tethered to the boat by an air hose and a life line and depended on his mates on board to pull him up if he started going down head first and could not right himself up.

At the depth of 100 ft., suited in his 570 lbs. behemoth that kept him alive and conscious, the diver had to walk against the current that was sure to bowl him over otherwise. Dragging his cast iron shoes, the diver filled his basket with live sponges of the sea. When the basket was full, he attached it to the life line, signaled to the surface, and they pull it up.

Photo: Wikipedia

 

The divers sought the sheep’s wool sponge (Spongia equina) found in Florida and in the West Indies. This variety was the more valuable but others were harvested as well.

The diver was not protected in any way from encounters with giant marine life on the floor of the Gulf of Mexico. Barracudas and sharks were a primary danger but giant turtles, in excess of 2,000 lbs., could “bite off a man’s arm.”

After one hour of work, the scuba diver signaled to be pulled up to the surface. While floating helplessly on the surface, bobbing up and down, waiting to be pulled inside the boat, the diver was in danger of being attacked by barracudas.

Pulling his air hose in, the boaters towed the diver into the boat. The diver took his time surfacing, in order to adjust the pressure on his body. If he failed to do so, he suffered from the dreaded “bends.” Many divers became crippled and prematurely old from the “bends.”



Tarpon Springs, Florida
Photo: Wikipedia

Even though hyperbaric oxygenation treatment was tested and developed by the U.S. military after WWI and has been used safely since the 1930s to treat deep sea divers with decompression sickness, these sponge divers did not have such chambers to bring them back slowly and safely to atmospheric pressure.

The marine sponges were “cleared” off the live creature, leaving just its skeleton, the sought-after sponge people used. After a three-month journey, the sponge cargo was auctioned off at the Sponge Exchange after they were dried off on dock. A catch could be worth $90,000, with yearly revenue of one million dollars.

Little creatures that had burrowed themselves inside the sponges were hammered out. The larger sponges were cut into smaller ones while the workers sang the “Song of the Sponge Divers.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bR68ZqgLKzc&feature=youtu.be&app=desktop

And that is how real sponges arrived in fancy bath stores and were sold in beautiful packaging.

October Beach Days

Photo: Ileana Johnson Oct. 2015

I am so enchanted by the sparkling emerald green waters of the Gulf of Mexico and its white quartz sand beaches.  I must have been a mermaid in a previous life, living in the aqua blue crystal clear waters.

Even though I am not the best of swimmers, going into the ocean has been a fascinating dance between excitement, apprehension, velvety sand, and elation driven by charmed curiosity.  I am lured by the crashing waves, the marine life swimming about, and that exquisite sea shell in which a tiny creature finds its temporary home. Sometimes the strong undercurrents try to pull me further out to sea.

The ocean is glassy and fluid – I can see clearly to the bottom floor. Tiny white sand sharks swim slowly around my feet, while an occasional flash of silver streaks fast in front of me, chased by pelicans and sea gulls, eager to dive around me in hopes of catching a tasty meal.

The days are perfect. The sun shines with few white clouds on the horizon. The days are balmy 80s, the water is warm, and the waves are too small for the impatient surfers and occasionally even placid like a stagnant lake.  The undercurrents can be seen in the wavy sandy bottom that resembles little sugary dunes.

Photo: Ileana Johnson Oct. 2015

 

I trudge my chair, towel, and water cooler to the water’s edge to relax in the ocean surf sounds and the salty aroma of the spraying mist.  The sea gulls appear suddenly when I open the cooler top to get a bottle of water. They’ve learned quite fast that those marvelous little boxes contain food. I brought chips in hopes that an injured sea gull I spotted the day before would show up again. He was dragging one foot behind but was still able to fly. I wondered if he could still hunt for fish to survive.

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2015

 

Not even a painful encounter with a small nesting stingray dampened my desire to enjoy the most beautiful beach in the U.S. I stepped on the creature in thigh-deep ocean. I was treading water instead of shuffling through the bottom like the locals have told me to do. Normally shy creatures, the vibrations cause the stingrays to swim away from humans.

Photo: Ileana Johnson Oct. 2015

 

Surprised, the stingray shot its tail with barbs into my right heel. The toxin caused instant excruciating pain and bleeding. The ER doc told me later that I was lucky – it missed my Achilles tendon and the X-rays showed no barbs left inside.

Every so many seconds, toxin-driven pain shot through my entire leg in spite of pain meds and soaking in very hot water.  I did not fuss much – I treaded in their world and disturbed their tranquility. Stingrays bury in the sand 3-10 feet from the water’s edge and usually nest from April to October.

I cannot complain, after 36 years of going to the Gulf’s beaches, this is the first time I was stung. Mims was joking that next time, I might encounter Jaws. Considering all the sandbars so close to the shore, it was a distinct possibility.

Siesta Key

Photo: Ileana Johnson Oct. 2015

 

The edge of the beach was protected habitat where turtles nest and native flowers, bushes, and weeds grow wild and undisturbed. When dark falls, it is really hard to see anything. Ambient light is very low, street lighting is banned, and most homes have no outdoor lights on.



Photo: Ileana Johnson Oct. 2015

Not to be outdone by the atheist crowd that plasters religious COEXIST bumper stickers on their cars, environmentalists have come up with a Coexist t-shirt that sports an endangered animal marine species for each letter. Under a shady grove of palm trees and other tropical plants, a sign sponsored by atheists and secular humanists urged beach goers to protect their environment by adopting a park. Politics is ever present even at the beach.

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2015

 

Many stores are shuttered for the winter season. The local hangouts are busy and the dimly lit Walmart is open 24 hours. We loved it so much, we went four times. It was fantastic to hear nothing but English spoken in every store and to see American waiters, store clerks, and medical personnel trained in the United States.

The bookstore chain did not disappoint with its liberal staff. An elderly employee, with a Brooklyn accent, asked for my “teacherdom I.D.” when I purchased a book on Florida’s history. I had asked him about Donald Trump’s and Michael Savage’s books due out any day. He shrugged his shoulder as if I spoke a foreign language and, with a dumb grin, directed me to a helpful and more professional person.

Even though the beaches and water are perfect for a late October, the town is semi-deserted of tourists, save for small groups from France and Germany.  I could hear their animated conversations around me.

A few string-bikini clad young American women were strutting at the water’s edge, proud of their impropriety. The notoriously nudist European women were surprisingly subdued. But some of their men were letting it all hang out in string-bikini speedos, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Photo: Ileana Johnson Oct. 2015

What a great place to walk on the beach, watch sunrises and sunsets, admire pelicans and seagulls dive for fish, read a book, or fall asleep under an umbrella, lulled by the constant roar of waves crashing against the sugary-white sandy beaches.

Leaving this Floridian paradise, going through two beautiful airports in Tampa and Miami, where TSA agents were actually nicer to us in their freedom-robbing attempt to keep us “safe” from invisible terrorists, and returning home to cold weather and crowding in northern Virginia and to the dingy, smelly, and dilapidated Reagan National Airport, I cannot help but think, what a metaphor this is for all that is corrupt and dirty in Washington, D.C.