During stressful times – and I certainly think these days can be considered stressful times – I think of my friend, Sue. Not that she’s a stressful person – far from it, as a matter of fact — but I always remember how she coped with stressful days when she taught second grade in the classroom next to Joe. That’s when I first met her.
It’s a millennia-old story… flowing water meets soil, flowing water erodes soil, flowing water cuts through the strata of time, and modern day visitors stare in awe and wonder.
Naturally, many would think this post is about Arizona’s Grand Canyon, but it’s not. It is, though, about Florida’s very own Grand Canyon, which is actually a grand ravine. Located in the small town of Palatka, which sits between Gainesville and St. Augustine, is Ravine Gardens State Park. Joe and I recently visited this park on a road trip to north Florida.
Leaving Weeki Wachee, Joe and I drove on a four-lane divided highway that cuts through or comes very close to some of Central Florida’s smaller towns. Our goal was to reach an entrance to Florida’s Turnpike, near Orlando, so we could head southeast and then eventually get onto I-95 southbound.
As we reached the far western fringe of the Orlando area, we saw a sign for Ocoee. I had become obsessed with the town ever since seeing a video a few months earlier (more on that as the story unfolds). We decided to make a detour – which is something I’m going to do right now. Although this blog is devoted to gardening and flower photos, this post is a detour to 1920…
Driving from the southeast corner of Florida northward, there comes a point in the north-central portion of the peninsula where hills appear. For most people, hills probably aren’t that big of a deal – but for a couple of south Floridians, they are.
I’ve spent the last few days thinking back on the year that was, which is, I think, a normal thing to do – but the more I think about what was, the more I remember what wasn’t. Just look at the date of the previous post – April 28, 2023!
Rome has its Forum and Colosseum; Athens, its Acropolis; and Egypt, its Pyramids. Oakland Park, FL, on the other hand, has its tree.
In a place where history is relatively recent — unless one considers the discoveries of native settlements that have been buried by centuries of swampy muck and development — to have something called the city’s oldest tree is a pretty big deal. That was my thought, at least, when I first heard of the tree while attending Oakland Park’s Local Government Academy, a 10-week course that educated about 15 students on, well, local government.
The cold snap from the previous post lasted that entire weekend. Out of an abundance of caution, I kept the outdoor orchids wrapped under towels and shirts, while the potted orchids were kept inside. On Monday, winds died down and temperatures became more seasonal.
I’m not saying I know everything about coconut palms and coconuts, but I do feel I have a decent working knowledge. This all comes courtesy of being with Joe, a palm enthusiast, for 35 years and gardening with him in South Florida for 8 of those years. Imagine my surprise when I was on a late-night, channel-surfing expedition and discovered “Les Stroud’s Wild Harvest” on my local PBS station and something entirely new about coconuts — at least to Joe and me.
Before I get into the heart of this post, I’d like to take a few moments to write about Hurricane Ian. Joe and I live in southeast Florida, where we were placed in a tropical storm warning.
As I write this, I’m sitting on the patio by the pool, enjoying one of the last cold fronts to reach all the way down the Florida peninsula. The temperature is hovering around 80 degrees and there’s a coolness on the breeze.
It’s delightful! It’s the most perfect spring day in May — make that the most perfect northern spring day in May, because this is March in Florida.
Nitty Gritty Dirt Man 