When I was very young, I never gave my surname, Loud, a second thought. That’s probably because I had never met or heard of any other Louds, other than the Louds in my small immediate family and in my small extended family. It was a small Loud world, after all.
I’d like to thank everyone for their encouraging comments and support, here and on my personal FB page, about expanding what I post. Many of you stressed the importance of being true to myself, the need for community during these troubling days, and an appreciation that my words could very well have been their own.
That last item truly means a lot to me, because it’s a reminder that we are not in this alone. So, we will be strong and carry on… and let this post be the first stepping stone on a new garden path.
June 2, 2024.
That’s the last day I posted anything on this blog. I know this, because I only recently signed into it and saw the comments that have been sitting there for more than a year. I was mortified, to say the least, since I have responded to nearly each and every comment since I started this blog 14 years ago.
So, where have I been and what have I been doing? For starters, I’ve been here, in South Florida, where I’ve been pondering two issues for way too long – and I guess now is a good time to lay it all out, and add some photos from the past year, too.
It’s taken five years to write this post.
Five years since Joe and I first started planning a trip to the Pacific Northwest — and learning that the International Rose Test Garden is a short light rail ride away from downtown Portland, OR. Five years since we purchased our plane tickets for a May 2020 trip – and four years since the world canceled it because of COVID.
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.
Nitty Gritty Dirt Man 