Fabulous News and Silver Glen Springs

As of last Thursday, I am officially accepted into the Florida Studies program at the University of South Florida. I'm still a ways away from actually going to class (fall of next year) but I am still a-twitter nonetheless. I also got the assistantship, so it doesn't look like I'll have to pay tuition, which is doubly cool. However, we still will have bills and bunnies, and money goes to both, so I'll have to find a part-time job down there. DeSoto national memorial is down in that area, and if I could be a student ranger again, that would just be the bee's knees. I mean, that's too perfect.
Anyway, to supplement the paying down of debts before I head down south, I have opened up an Esty store. Nothing's on it quite yet because everything I am going to sell is in the process of being made. It's mostly going to be Florida-centric things, but I am planning on having goofy, googly-eyed things as well. My username is "rangerhat". Go to http://www.etsy.com/people/rangerhat in a week or two to see if I've got anything that tickles your fancy. 

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A few weeks back, my husband, my dad, and I took an early morning trip to Silver Glen Springs Recreation Area. There are few things more exciting than the sun coming up on a muggy summer morning. There is a special smell in the air - sort of like wet dirt, wet vegetation - that simply means ADVENTURE! Once the sun rose, though, the clouds quickly obscured it and made for a gloomy brunchtime. Storms were forecasted for that day, but we remained undaunted (my dad, some of you may know, is the whole reason behind my unadulterated love of Floridiana). The day was almost cool, somewhere in the 80s, and there was a gusty wind coming from the river. As gung-ho as I've become in my later years, I regressed to my 14 year old self when I got in that icy blue spring water. I stood where I was, unsure as to whether or not I would survive the plunge. My dad, as per usual, was happily swimming about near the middle of the swimming area calling to me to just get in and stop being such a weenie. After what most likely felt like hours to my dad, I finally got all the way in and dunked my head under.

There's a special (read:awful) feeling I get when I jump into springwater when my core temperature is already down due to windy and sunless conditions. I can assume it's akin to the feeling gazelles get when being pursued by a cheetah - that is, HOLYCRAPIAMGOINGTODIE! ESCAPE! ESCAPE! It only lasts for a few second, then it's replaced by a general annoyance at being so dang cold. My skin is very sensitive to cold (I can sit comfortably in four thousand degree water, but I can tell when it starts to cool off) and during the winter I am just a giant grumpfest. Every time I get into springwater, my body goes through a tiny winter. But, I digress.

The springhead itself is a large, sloping sand dune. It's actually a gorgeous vista - the clear blue water, the white sand, the MILLIONS of fish - and it makes suffering in sunless, windy cold worthwhile. I am a terrible judge of distance, but I'd say it's just a tad deeper than Alexander Springs, because I seem to run out of air quicker when I am at the bottom. The massive amounts of ancient water billow forth with incredible force, and it's nearly impossible to swim at it. You have to come around to it from the backside if you want to get near it (many people, it seems, can't quite grasp this concept and end up flailing around underwater in a futile attempt to fight the flow from head-on). 

I love how the fish just don't pay you any mind when you're down there. You're on their turf, and they know that unlike you, they were built to swim well. While I count myself among the better swimmers, I am no fish, and the other fish know this. They glance at my idly while I cruise by on the current, my camera poised to take as many freaking pictures as possible. There are a few pictures I managed to get in the shallows that look like a dreamscape (check all the pictures on Flagogo's facebook).

There are a two trails on the grounds that are certainly worth traversing. First, there is the trail to the sand boils. These are little mini-springs that are in the shallows that constantly blorp up sandy water. They're cute, but you are under no circumstances allowed in any of them. (When I was little, I do admit that I climbed into one, but as an adult who now knows it's not allowed, I don't even think about it. Besides, I distinctly recall my feet getting cut on sharp limestone edges down at the bottom. Gives me the jeeblies to this day.) The other path takes you all the way to Lake George, the second largest "lake" in Florida (it's actually just a part of the river). A storm was rolling in from across the way, and it gave a lovely vista. 

Silver Glen Springs Recreation Area is a lovely place to swim, and a great "Junior Spring" for people who have never encountered one before. It's a bit old-hat for me now, but most likely because I've just done so much more in my ADVENTURES. Still, it's a great place to chill - literally - and soak up some general Florida goodness. I would certainly suggest it as an ideal location to take someone who is unfamiliar with the state to show them what Florida can really do.

A Flagogo Special: Water, Water Everywhere

Quick! Watch it before it goes away! (I don't own the music, so it might disappear!)
A home-made music video of my various watery Florida ADVENTURES!


Watch "A Flagogo Special: Water. Water Everywhere"

Friday Me-Time ADVENTURE: Morningside Nature Center

So, my schedule at the new job offers me a Friday off. I've never had weekdays off before, so I'm pretty interested in this world of opportunity that has opened up before me. With weekends off, I am usually with my husband and we go on ADVENTUREs together, but there's nothing quite like the ones you have when you're on your own.
My first Friday Me-Time ADVENTURE: Morningside Nature Center in Gainesville.
The drive out to Gville is always nice. I take 301 most of the way, and it's very easy going. Sure, there are those pesky speed traps in Lawtey and Waldo, but they've never bothered me because I actually drive the speed limit (!). I've got a whole day and satellite radio - why hurry?
Leaving at around 11 got me to Morningside at around 12:30. It's relatively simple to find and the sign is large and obvious. I noticed only a couple of other cars in the parking lot, but the heat index being something like 110 degrees, I understood why only the brave or the odd (yours truly) would choose to show up in the middle of the day.
While the map and information for the facility was a little on the sparse side (only 2 waysides and a small brochure/map), it wasn't complicated and I found what I needed with ease. I was mostly interested in their 1870s Cracker homestead recreation, but they also have some lovely trails that I was planning on traipsing until I found that my bugspray bottle had lost all its propellant - and as I blow up like the Michelin Man when I am bitten by yellowflies, I decided to save the trail system for another day.
The Cracker homestead was lovingly rendered, and everything had a real authentic feel to it. It reminded me a bit of Dudley Farm, but Morningside had a sort of underdog charm that I liked. More than likely, I took a shine to it simply because it was completely deserted. There was nary a visitor or park employee to speak of. However, there was a jersey cow, two pigs, chickens, a couple of sheep, and a rather loud ram who was making all sorts of goat-racket.
I took my time meandering around the homestead. It was relatively small, only about an acre or so, but things were well tended and you could tell that if it weren't 4,098 degrees outside on a Friday in late July it would be a-bustle with visitors and park folk. (They do have living history reenactments on Saturdays September-May.) I was really hoping they would have a turkey that I could stare at, but alas they had none. I was very at home in the heat, but the abundant shade was a welcome respite from the glare of the sun. They've left many trees in and around the homestead I assume for just such a purpose.
There is a little Cracker house on the property, and there are two lovely rocking chairs that sit on its porch. Boy-howdy, once I was done looking around and taking pictures I spent about an hour sitting in one of those chairs, soaking up the peace and the heat. The little house (my dream home) smelled sweetly of pine and it was happily settled in its place. I rocked back and forth on that porch, trying to burn the scene into my memory: Junebugs wailing, chickens bok-bokking, sweet pine smelling, rocking chair creaking, no breeze blowing, sweat tickling my back, and the utter peace of it all. To my left, under a piece of wood on a bench, sat a recreated newspaper from 1870. I was quite pleased to pick it up and thumb through it. I will admit to you that I was in la-la land and was quite content pretending that this was my place, and I was just taking a break from working on it in the middle of the day. I think I ended up spending an hour and a halfvon that porch all by my lonesome, not a visitor to speak of, in utter bliss.
Morningside Nature Center is a lovely place. I'm sure a review of it during the cooler months when the living history reenactments are going on and more people are in attendance would be more useful, but I liked it how it was for me. For a small period of time, I had it all to myself, and that means more to me than any of that.

Apologies!

I promise promise promise I'll get something up here soon. Life's a sort of muddle right now. But soon!

Summer thunder

There's something about summer thunder that entrances me. The storms visit in the afternoon - nearly every afternoon - in my favorite time of year, and the sound of the sky and the smell of the air is like a panacea. It's just so Florida. There's a certain peace that happens during a good strong rain. Everyone's inside and safe, there's nothing to worry about. I've felt that way since I was very small. Everyone around has a reason for where they are, and it's usually all the same, and it brings people together without them really knowing it. It's like the storms, depressions, and hurricanes are nature's way of bringing people together. Nature, not death, is the great equalizer. Nature may indeed bring about death, but it does so without malice, without anger. There is only the will of nature, the proper way of things. A hurricane may destroy, but the people come together - to lament, to mourn, to rebuild. I must add that my life has never really been interrupted by a major storm, save a weeklong blackout when I was in high school, and that was just an adventure. I'm sure I'd see things differently if the wind, rain, and nature's way destroyed something I loved; however, this is not the case. I am moving to the gulf soon, so we'll see how I feel later.
The junebugs are singing hard lately. I drive home with the top down and hear them in every tree I pass under. I take the long way home, past downtown, over the bridge, and through San Marco just so I can enjoy the trees. Sure, it adds 15 minutes to my ride home, but it adds just that much to my lifespan. I know I might look like a fancypants richie in my convertible Toyota, but I really got that car because I'd rather be outside than inside. I need to see it all, and breathe it in. Sure, sometimes it's more foul than fresh, especially when I am putzing through traffic, but when I get that junebug sound and that hot mugginess of the sun it's all worth it.
I can't quite explain why I love the oppressive summer heat. I just do. It's similar to the reason I love the smell of hotel rooms - not because it's particularly pleasant, but because it means something fun is about to happen. All of my childhood happiness can be traced back to the oppressive heat. Adventures and joy are guaranteed.
I've applied to graduate school for the fall of 2011. I am so anxious that I think my blood now contains millions of little exclamation points, bouncing around and causing tiny explosions when mixed with adrenaline. It's so funny -  people keep telling me that I will bettering myself with this. Truth is, I never thought of it like that. I actually love to learn, and I am just over the moon to have the opportunity to apply for something that is complete and total Floridiana based. I don't think of it as bettering myself; rather, I see it as indulging in a lifelong passion. My love for Florida has always been a part of who I am, and what better way to learn about myself than to take it as far as it can go? This isn't an academic pursuit - it's a spiritual one. I hope with every fiber of my being, every exclamation point in my blood, that I am accepted. My hopes build like storm clouds in the afternoon, like summer thunder rumbling in my bones.

Completion!

Took and "passed" the GRE. Expect more regular updates coming soon.

My birthday is tomorrow! Yay!

A Day for Flying Kites

Few things compare, in my book, to that feeling I get when I am in the middle of nowhere and underwater. It's such a complete feeling of freedom and wholeness - like I finally fit in with the universe. I am able to stretch up and out, to not be in the way, to have complete freedom of movement. Alexander springs is my favorite place to experience this. During the summertime, there are typically many people there, but few situated as I wish to be: floating among the deepest of the headsprings. It's like nature tailor-made one special, specific spot on the map where -along with my trusty mask- I may always be happy, free, and at peace. The depth is just under my breath-holding limit, and I am allowed a moment or two to grab on to a knob of limestone and let the cold ancient water billowing up from the heart of my home cascade over me, through me, on its way out to my buddy, the St. Johns.
I must look like a complete crazy person while I am swimming about. My head pops up every minute or so from the center of the swimming area, only to pop back down again after a few heaving breaths. I've never been afraid of drowning in the cool clearness of freshwater, despite that innate panicky feeling that my lungs send to my brain after too long without a breath. My chest heaves as I swim up from the depths, pretending to breathe, and I pop up again with a sound escaping my throat that would usually signal that one is done for the day. But no, not me. A few more breaths, and I go back down into the blueness. Hold still, and you can hear the wee swirling shells and rock bits near one of the boils click around on bare limestone as they turn and turn until they are worn away. It's a close sound, almost coming from inside your body - a bit like pop rocks in your mouth. I see them, and I challenge myself to grab one, to bring it to the surface, and to show it the interest and respect that no one else would give it. So I try; I dive once... no, too short. I dive again... no, ran out of air. But the third time's a charm, and I surface, my hand clutching three small pebbles. I inspect each one, show them to the sun, and after a short rest, I return them.
Now, I know these are just wee bits of rock and shell, but to me, they are like little secrets that Florida likes to tell to anyone who would listen. They are down there, making that clicking noise, eternally swirling their existence away, but I acknowledge them and return them, to live their intended lives. For a split second in eternity, I talk to the aquifer.

* * *

Wekiva Springs State Park is an interesting specimen as far as ADVENTURE goes. Really, it's surprising that something so wild could exist in such a place (just outside jolly ol' Orlando). My dad and I got there early to take a CANOE ADVENTURE, and found it to be a pretty straightforward setup. Concrete pool containing the springs, large grassy knoll containing spring-goers, and a long river that splits off into two rather opposite types of runs. 

Upon setting out, I nearly lived a thousand lives in a few minutes. We were greeted by a Swallowtailed Kite taking his morning skim across the water. I actually got actual footage of an actual kite, and although my dad was rather unsentimental about the situation (we're an amazing team, he and I - we balance where we should and we go overboard where we should) I knew he was slowing the canoe down so I could get a good shot. Once we passed him, the kite noticed I was no longer watching, shrugged his feathered shoulders, and flew off to start the day's business. It was an excellent omen.

The map we had was pretty explanatory, or so we thought. Straight ahead, the Wekiva River oozed out and about with various spots along the way to visit and remember. However, branching to the left off the Wekiva, there was Rock Springs Run. As we made our way to the junction, we noticed that pretty much no one was heading down the latter, so of course, I voted for Rock Springs Run as our path. The committee delegated, and it was decided that it was "not a bad idea". So, turning against the current, we headed upriver upon the road less traveled.

The oddest thing about this whole CANOE ADVENTURE was the lack of wildlife. At all. We were out early, and it was warm but not stifling. No birds, no fish, no nothing. Then again, the water was almost red with tannins and the shores were close - perhaps creatures prefer wider, clearer waters.

Anyway, there were many sticks in our path. While I type "sticks" I really mean "submerged spears set to hinder your advancement, annoy your dad, and also punch your beloved canoe in its underbelly". Going upstream the entire time, with vile "sticks" in the water, and the eeriness of no wildlife made Rock Springs Run a CANOE ADVENTURE that was hard to really define. Sure, it was neat, but it was also unforgiving. We paddled for a good long while, cursing the poorly drawn map ("We must be near the end by now!"), and hoping that our assumptions about the distance key were all wrong.

Alas, we came upon the dreaded Otter Camp, an event of which we had been joking due to the incorrectness of the river map. It was relieving, frustrating, and hilarious all at the same time. And above all, more fun than anyone is ever allowed to have. (Otter Camp, by the way, is a lovely little place and I plan to spend perhaps Christmas there or some other holiday that requires the visiting of people with whom the nature of the holiday compels you.(i.e. I want to stick it to convention while also enjoying a quiet few nights alone in the woods.)

On the way back from the aforementioned camp, we saw birds, turtles, tadpoles (!), and an otter. It was almost like it was challenging us on the way up and rewarding us on the way down. 

When we finally met up with the Wekiva River again, we merged into paddled boat traffic. Few things annoy my dad and I more than a couple of novices in a self-propelled watercraft. We know that they have to learn sometime, but COME ON, IT'S A PADDLE NOT A SOUP LADLE. USE IT ACCORDINGLY. We learned from one of the rivergoers that there was a big bar with a party down the river apiece, and "everyone goes there on weekends". With that, the committee reconvened, took a vote, and unanimously declared that not only was Rock Springs Run "not a bad idea", but as a whole "a much better idea and good lord what a hot crowded mess this river has become in the few hours we were away from it".Thanks, Mr. Kite. You gave us some good juju.