N E W T H I S M O N T H
Afternoon on a Florida River - By Bill Dudley
Many thanks to Bill Dudley for sharing his tranquil water wanderings!
Want more? Visit Bill at www.BillDudley.com
tamiami trail
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Eighty years ago a Sunday drive in the family automobile was a special event. A typical motoring might have been to a friend’s home or to the beach. John Lodwick’s daylong journey in a Packard touring car was maybe a little more special. |
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chillura park
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During my workout phase, tailored for basketball and a tug of war with the refrigerator door, Sam hung out in the gym nursery. In retrospect, his foam block party was a better mind and body workout than my strength and conditioning routine. He seemed rested and ready to go. So I took his lead: now I do yoga on a foam mat. There’s a reason yoga has a pose called child’s play.
How does working out correlate to exploring wildlife in urban areas? Just as lifting weights is counterintuitive to my body, so is searching for wildlife in a city’s downtown. But I had to try. Realizing a rigid workout wasn’t for me led to yoga. So what would Sam and I find exploring the urban beast’s green underbelly? We’d find out at Joe Chillura Courthouse Square in Tampa’s urban core. But first, next to our car, Sam had to explore a rock-filled We walked past Fred B. Karl County Center to Chillura Square where organizers prepared a Veteran’s Day program. But Sam was more interested in the park’s benches and short ledges, his Pavlovian reflex to climb. I’ve learned to allot time for spontaneous climbs during walks. The Tasmanian Devil’s tornadic tantrum is a graceful pirouette compared to Sam’s meltdown when he’s interrupted. As Sam played, I watched for wildlife, my Pavlovian reflex to trees. About two dozen oak trees buffer the park. In our backyard I’ll find blue jays, definitely squirrels, or at least their markings on the compost bin, the back porch, the sand box, the bird feeder, but I digress. The oak trees near me we’re quiet, no signs of rustling or scampering; very odd to see trees without movement. There had to be wildlife somewhere. So I scanned the skyline of nearby buildings. And never have I been happier to see vultures! Beautiful, ominous, soaring black vultures (click here for an explanation of why they’re in downtown Tampa)! I’d found Chillura Square’s yoga moment. Since it’s void of other wildlife, you can focus on vultures and explain how every animal, even the ugly ol’ vulture plays an important role in our world. Next time your question mark asks who cleans up the pancaked squirrel in the middle of the road, pounce on the virtues of talons, sharp beaks and a strong stomach. Better that than claiming the squirrel’s really relaxed and the road’s a mat, okay sweetie? Kids can handle carrion, so tell them the truth. Anybody can watch pelicans, or alligators, or wading birds, or any other animal on Florida’s exhaustive list – a gift – of wildlife you might see going to the mall or crossing Gandy Bridge (remember, people pay to vacation here and see our everyday wonders). But why not try vulture gazing at Chillura Square? Stretch out, relax and soar. Not convinced? Then think of it of this way: tangentially, vulture gazing helps the manatees. And everybody wants to help the manatees. How? By vulture gazing, you’re one less cooing face annoying the manatee. You are manatee crowd control. A real friend of the manatee. That cuddly gray grin? It’s a grimace, an expressive plea for space. It’s a little (very little) known fact that McDonald’s Grimace was a walking manatee, purple sunshine for manatee fans to get their fix elsewhere. With billions served every day, it seemed like a foolproof campaign. Collectively, manatees cut their lettuce budget to pay for the campaign, which led to a low-cost catalyst for the McDLT. I don’t miss the McDLT, do you? Please watch vultures. |
square with a tree stump carved out of the concrete sidewalk. He dug, scattering rocks to his side. I crossed Zen garden off my toddler’s gift list. Craving satisfied, Sam stood on the stump, king of the concrete square.
ichetucknee: sacred waters
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ICHETUCKNEE: Sacred Waters By Steven Earl University Press of Florida Publication Date: May 3, 2009 160 pages/10x7/126 color illustrations by Steve Earl The first-magnitude flow from Ichetucknee Springs pours forth into the pristine Itchetucknee River in Suwannee County northwest of Gainesville. The run from the springs to the Sante Fe River is probably the most popular for Florida tubing during our summer months. A floating people parade of all ethnic backgrounds travels downstream, usually in virtual harmony; any place that accomplishes this miracle is worthy of the description in the title of this book – "Sacred Waters." If you have experienced the "Itch," chances are good you will never forget the stunning natural beauty that the land and water combine to create. It is especially magnificent when the spring wildflowers begin the annual pageant. If you have not experienced the "Itch," please go, as you will be thankful you did. Generally naturalists prefer savoring the springs and river during those cooler months of the year when the tubing minions are elsewhere. Nonetheless, the flotillas are something to witness. Many photographers have taken pictures of the river, springs, and surrounding area. Some of these photographers are well-known Florida masters. None, however, have captured the feel of the place like Steve Earl. It is highly unlikely they could, for no one knows the area about the "Itch" better than this dedicated state park ranger and very talented photographer. I have frequently pondered whether there is an essence that humans can feel when confronted with a natural wonder. I do not mean a living thing, or an aura, but an evoked sensation that some visitors commonly experience. If so, perhaps this is what the Native Americas mean when they call a place sacred land. It is the kind of feeling one gets not only in places like the Okefenokee, Swamp or the Everglades, but when standing in the erupting geyser field of Yellowstone, or atop glaciers in the Tetons, or sitting in Corkscrew Swamp while the rising sun sends shafts through the ancient cypress. Many portions of Florida, so lovely that your heart aches when you see them, can inspire this sensation also. Maybe, though, this sense of a place having a special spirit of its own is wishful thinking, a whimsical notion on the part of a puny human creature. Maybe it is. But Steve Earl’s book makes one reconsider the issue. After looking at Steve’s wonderful photographs of the Ichetucknee, one concludes that there is certainly something extraordinarily wonderful about the Ichetucknee; and it is captured magnificently in the artistic work within Steven Earl’s great book, ICHETUCKNEE: Sacred Waters. TIM OHR is the author of four books on Florida, including "Florida’s Fabulous Natural Places." His first novel was published in 2008. He can be contacted through www.timohr.com |
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picinic island park
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Picnic Island Park is a Richard Scarry book come to life. Standing on the park shoreline overlooking Old Tampa Bay, Sam and I watched boats, coasting pelicans, and cars and trucks on Gandy Bridge. “Whoa,” he said seeing airplanes bank towards Tampa International Airport. Across the bay, downtown St. Petersburg resembled a Little People metro playset. Dome baseball stadium shown, but not included. Wide open spaces like Picnic Island quiet the voices of the-sky-is-falling talk Underfoot on the shore Sam found pink and white rocks and shells that he hurled into the bay as boys with objects near water will do. If our e-mail updates about developmental stages were baseball specific, Sam’s might read: “By now your 22th month old might paint the outside corner with low heat. Duck at close range.” We try to throw soft objects inside, but Sam mixes in the misplaced golf ball or hard toy. If you’re within a few feet and see his arm retract, you’ve got about a second to stop him. Otherwise, his quick release tests your agility and threshold for pain; it takes Matrix skills to escape. Sam could have stayed on the shoreline the whole time. And I could have written a column on the nuances or randomness of objects found and hurled by a toddler, but there’s more to Picnic Island than its Zen-like training ground for major league pitchers. So I scooped Sam up and took the mangrove trail bordering the bay that winds north east to a quiet inlet. The canopied mangroves intertwine, their limbs filtering the sunlight so shadows dance on the sand. It’s a mysterious tropical Sherwood Forest. And since mysterious forests house literary legends, this one is home to a modern day Robin Hood, Florida style. Here, the stealth Hawaiian-shirt-clad hero pilfers gas from Port Tampa tankers to relieve recreational boaters in need. And since many Florida literary characters require quirks and kickbacks, our Robin Hood, torn by a fear of water yet an insatiable appetite for mullet, demands food for gas; preferably fried and served with cheese grits. Out of the woods and back to reality, Sam and I watched a large jet land at neighboring MacDill Air Force Base. If your little one’s an airplane aficionado, Picnic Island joins Ballast Point Park, and Weedon Island Preserve’s 45 foot tall observation tower as easy-to-reach places to watch noisy metal objects improbably stay afloat in the sky. As the MacDill plane landed, its tail remained visible, a shark’s fin slicing through mangrove tops. The setting reminded me of “Airplane,” the movie, where a jet’s tail mimicking Jaws’ fin ominously tracks through clouds. If you’re a 1980s movie buff, here’s your chance to tangentially shape your younger set’s cinematic tastes and relive a fine decade for film. You could segue from “Airplane” to more family friendly movies such as “The Goonies,” “E.T: The Extra Terrestrial” and “A Christmas Story.” You deserve a break from fairies, rainbows, and giggling shag-carpet puppets. If you need to meet in the middle, I recommend “The Backyardigans: Tale of the Mighty Knights,” with its wicked guitar riffs, radio pop-worthy melodies, and quirky characters. My favorite? A kleptomaniac goblin with a soft spot for manners: he repents when he hears “please.” As we reentered the mangrove forest, Sam squatted, grabbed a shell, and intently drew lines in wet sand. Reflecting on that moment now, sitting in my office overlooking our Sanford and Son version of a toy junk yard, I’m baffled by the amount of plastic manufactured for play. I don’t want to live in a mud hut and wear palm frond pants, but seeing Sam play with found objects reminds me that an ever changing, undiscovered world is literally at hand. And fascinating, judging by Sam’s concentration. If our economy implodes, at least we’ll still have free public parks with sticks, rocks and other makeshift toys. Let the kids run wild and we’ll gather around our portable DVD players for a 80s flick marathon. I’m bringing “Real Genius,” so bring something else. |
radio with its rants about the stock market’s demise and the ills of socialism. When you marvel that you couldn’t feel a cloud you could touch were you tall enough, people on the world’s stage seem comical. And being with a toddler reminds me to play.____________________________________
build outdoor memories
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"Being an outdoor writer is great," says Paddle & Path contributor Johnny Molloy, "as long as you don't mind being lost, cold, wet, broke and dirty." That was the tongue-in-cheek answer the author of 32 camping, hiking and canoeing books, gave a questioning Boy Scout while speaking to an audience at the Warren County Public Library in Bowling Green, KY. Taking a break from a six-day, six-river canoe trip in his nearby home state of Tennessee, Molloy spoke in August to a group of about fifty, ranging in age from 10 year olds to 60s+ seniors. He pointed out that Kentucky—like most other states—has great outdoor attractions "right in your back yard" that are often overlooked simply because they’re close by. He said the concern over high gas prices was actually a great opportunity for folks to explore rivers, lakes and trails close to home. No matter where you go, Molloy’s message is a simple one, "get outside." It does the brain good, he explained. Nature comes at you slowly and doesn’t bombard you like television and computers do. And he said getting outdoors builds lasting memories. "You can spend an evening with your kid or a buddy watching TV and I guarantee you a couple of years from now you won’t say, ‘hey, remember that night we watched TV?’" "But go fishing or camping and you’ll remember those bear tracks or that small mouth bass you caught." Hiking and camping are also good for the body and Johnny is quick to note that with the development of easy-access campgrounds and established trails, "even your dear old Aunt Martha" can enjoy the sounds, sights and smells of the outdoors. "You don’t have to take her back packing up a mountain, huffing and puffing, to enjoy getting out into nature." Johnny admits to being compulsive about getting his factual information correct and meeting deadlines. "That’s what my publisher and readers expect," he said, as he described how he dictates into a digital recorder while on the trail. Then, while still outdoors, he downloads that information to a voice recognition program on his laptop. A far cry from his first book that was written in pencil on a yellow legal pad. In addition to a new guide on Tennessee canoeing sites, Johnny has several other book projects in the works, including a possible "How To" volume on tent camping. Plus, he generously promised another contribution to Paddle and Path, "as soon as I can work it in." |
