FLAGOGO V2.0
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HEY GUYS.
I'M BACK.
More to come soon! Got a new job, and once I start getting regular paychecks, adventuring will start again!
Manatees and more!
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Labels:
Blue spring,
grad school,
Homossassa,
state parks,
water,
winter
A Quick Note Regarding Grad School
It's funny how things change and how they basically stay the same too. After much thinking, talking, and budgeting, I decided that now is just not the time for me to go to grad school. There are just too many debts that need to be settled and, as exciting and perfect as grad school would be, it would be terribly unwise of me to uproot the household and move away from well paying jobs in this economy. It's not cancelled, per se, but it is on hiatus. More time for ADVENTURE, right?
In the few months since my last post (sorry!) I have successfully completed the northeast region and most of the central region of my State Parks passport stampie book. I have only dabbled into the panhandle, but in total I have visited over 65 Florida State Parks since April of this year. I never thought I would have gotten this far into it this quickly, but here I am, with a quickly filling stamp book.
The weather has gone from hot to cold here, and my mood about it has done the same. The transition is always tough for me, with one day being in the upper 80s and the next being down in the 50s. It's like summer is in the throes of death, and I am the only one who is really sad about it. However, I have a tendency to focus on what I am losing with the loss of summer rather than what I am gaining with the onset of winter. I need to remember that now I can stop worrying about yellowflies, springwater is warm (relative to the air), and it's easier to see critters through the leafless forest. I love the smell of woodsmoke, the thinness of the air, and that great feeling when you're standing near a fire and it feels like the skin of your face relaxes out of its cold stupor. No, winter isn't as horrible as I make it out to be. Being cold, though, is another matter. I hate being cold more than I hate most things. Good thing I love scarves and big coats!
Onto the parks!
Blue Spring state park is better than I could have imagined it to be. When I tried to go there in the summertime, it was full of nasty people and I purposefully avoided going in. A few weeks ago, we went on a Sunday and it was just plain impressive. The park parallels the spring run and the springhead itself, and there's a large house on a hill nearby. The house is original to the property, which used to be a farm back in the day, and the first floor is open for touring. To our delight, the house also had a wonderful porch with some pretty awesome rocking chairs. Needless to say, we spent a good long time on that porch just enjoying the day.
The park encompasses a relatively small area, but it makes up for itself tenfold by the sheer variety of fauna. I kid you not, there were manatees swimming alongside giant gar underneath sunning alligators while bald eagles and ospreys soared overhead. Throw in some exquisite weather and you have yourself a postcard. We natives have a saying - "It's days like this that make people want to move here."
The spring itself, while visually appealing, is small and rather uninteresting from a swimmer's perspective. Two large trees at some point fell into the spring and crisscross over the mouth, which is a dark almond-shaped cutout in the limestone. It's not very large, and I really have no desire to go poking around submerged objects (it's a phobia of mine).
Blue Spring is really a lovely park, but I would certainly save it for the cooler months. Less people and more manatees... if only the rest of the state could be so.
Speaking of manatees, I recently visited Homosassa Springs. It's certainly like no other state park I've ever visited, and it's a bit too touristy for my tastes. It was unbearably busy and filled with many of my least favorite members of the Florida population ("Nature done best come to us if she knows what's good for 'er!"). I am sure there are plenty o' legitimate park and nature lovers in that throng, but they're hard to detect among the rest.
Memaws-visitors notwithstanding, Homosassa isn't all that bad. The official entrance is a gift shop/ticket sales area. One flash of my parks pass and I was in, moving through the double doors and lining up alongside a covered wooden boat dock. In the water next to me was a large pontoon boat filled with parkgoers packed three to a seat on baseball-park style aluminum benches. After they left, the next boat came by and my portion of the line was allowed to board. The electric-motored boat took us down a little run. The trip wasn't anything to write home about, as there isn't any real wilderness for miles, but I did see quite a few wood ducks and those are always a pretty sight. Also, their peeping is adorable. After about a 10 minute trup, the boat docked, my fellow passengers and I crossed the street into the actual park (not the "official" entrance, but rather a secondary one), walked through YET ANOTHER gift shop, and set out into the park itself.
More like a zoo than anything else, Homosassa houses only Florida native animals (except for an elderly hippo, but he's a throwback from the days it was a private zoo, and has since been declared a Florida citizen by the governor!). As far as zoos go, it's pretty nice. However, as far as state parks go, it's really disappointing. It's catered to those memaw-visitors I spoke of earlier.
The only upside to this carnival is the manatee viewing area. There is an underwater observatory that sits above the mouth of the spring itself, and in the winter the manatees enjoy hanging out there because of the constant water temperature and the feeding of romaine lettuce. I'm not sure where feeding the wildlife comes into the mission statement of the Florida State Park system, but I suppose when the wildlife is as endangered as the manatee, rules will be bent. I am still a bit on the fence about that, but they do a great job on manatee care and research so it may just even out.
I most likely will not return to Homosassa, just because of how un-state-parklike it is compared to the other ones I've been to. It's less natural splendor and more showcase and zoo, which I suppose make a lot of people happy, but not me. I'll stick to my trails through the woods where the animals roam free and the crowds are just a bit thinner.
Some of the other parks I've been to in the past months include Fort Cooper, Lake Griffin, and Crystal River. All three are absolutely lovely, and I have nothing but good things to say about them. They are all in completely different areas and have excellent, walkable, well-tended trails.
On to winter, and on to more ADVENTURE!
It's funny how things change and how they basically stay the same too. After much thinking, talking, and budgeting, I decided that now is just not the time for me to go to grad school. There are just too many debts that need to be settled and, as exciting and perfect as grad school would be, it would be terribly unwise of me to uproot the household and move away from well paying jobs in this economy. It's not cancelled, per se, but it is on hiatus. More time for ADVENTURE, right?
In the few months since my last post (sorry!) I have successfully completed the northeast region and most of the central region of my State Parks passport stampie book. I have only dabbled into the panhandle, but in total I have visited over 65 Florida State Parks since April of this year. I never thought I would have gotten this far into it this quickly, but here I am, with a quickly filling stamp book.
The weather has gone from hot to cold here, and my mood about it has done the same. The transition is always tough for me, with one day being in the upper 80s and the next being down in the 50s. It's like summer is in the throes of death, and I am the only one who is really sad about it. However, I have a tendency to focus on what I am losing with the loss of summer rather than what I am gaining with the onset of winter. I need to remember that now I can stop worrying about yellowflies, springwater is warm (relative to the air), and it's easier to see critters through the leafless forest. I love the smell of woodsmoke, the thinness of the air, and that great feeling when you're standing near a fire and it feels like the skin of your face relaxes out of its cold stupor. No, winter isn't as horrible as I make it out to be. Being cold, though, is another matter. I hate being cold more than I hate most things. Good thing I love scarves and big coats!
Onto the parks!
Blue Spring state park is better than I could have imagined it to be. When I tried to go there in the summertime, it was full of nasty people and I purposefully avoided going in. A few weeks ago, we went on a Sunday and it was just plain impressive. The park parallels the spring run and the springhead itself, and there's a large house on a hill nearby. The house is original to the property, which used to be a farm back in the day, and the first floor is open for touring. To our delight, the house also had a wonderful porch with some pretty awesome rocking chairs. Needless to say, we spent a good long time on that porch just enjoying the day.
The park encompasses a relatively small area, but it makes up for itself tenfold by the sheer variety of fauna. I kid you not, there were manatees swimming alongside giant gar underneath sunning alligators while bald eagles and ospreys soared overhead. Throw in some exquisite weather and you have yourself a postcard. We natives have a saying - "It's days like this that make people want to move here."
The spring itself, while visually appealing, is small and rather uninteresting from a swimmer's perspective. Two large trees at some point fell into the spring and crisscross over the mouth, which is a dark almond-shaped cutout in the limestone. It's not very large, and I really have no desire to go poking around submerged objects (it's a phobia of mine).
Blue Spring is really a lovely park, but I would certainly save it for the cooler months. Less people and more manatees... if only the rest of the state could be so.
Speaking of manatees, I recently visited Homosassa Springs. It's certainly like no other state park I've ever visited, and it's a bit too touristy for my tastes. It was unbearably busy and filled with many of my least favorite members of the Florida population ("Nature done best come to us if she knows what's good for 'er!"). I am sure there are plenty o' legitimate park and nature lovers in that throng, but they're hard to detect among the rest.
Memaws-visitors notwithstanding, Homosassa isn't all that bad. The official entrance is a gift shop/ticket sales area. One flash of my parks pass and I was in, moving through the double doors and lining up alongside a covered wooden boat dock. In the water next to me was a large pontoon boat filled with parkgoers packed three to a seat on baseball-park style aluminum benches. After they left, the next boat came by and my portion of the line was allowed to board. The electric-motored boat took us down a little run. The trip wasn't anything to write home about, as there isn't any real wilderness for miles, but I did see quite a few wood ducks and those are always a pretty sight. Also, their peeping is adorable. After about a 10 minute trup, the boat docked, my fellow passengers and I crossed the street into the actual park (not the "official" entrance, but rather a secondary one), walked through YET ANOTHER gift shop, and set out into the park itself.
More like a zoo than anything else, Homosassa houses only Florida native animals (except for an elderly hippo, but he's a throwback from the days it was a private zoo, and has since been declared a Florida citizen by the governor!). As far as zoos go, it's pretty nice. However, as far as state parks go, it's really disappointing. It's catered to those memaw-visitors I spoke of earlier.
The only upside to this carnival is the manatee viewing area. There is an underwater observatory that sits above the mouth of the spring itself, and in the winter the manatees enjoy hanging out there because of the constant water temperature and the feeding of romaine lettuce. I'm not sure where feeding the wildlife comes into the mission statement of the Florida State Park system, but I suppose when the wildlife is as endangered as the manatee, rules will be bent. I am still a bit on the fence about that, but they do a great job on manatee care and research so it may just even out.
I most likely will not return to Homosassa, just because of how un-state-parklike it is compared to the other ones I've been to. It's less natural splendor and more showcase and zoo, which I suppose make a lot of people happy, but not me. I'll stick to my trails through the woods where the animals roam free and the crowds are just a bit thinner.
Some of the other parks I've been to in the past months include Fort Cooper, Lake Griffin, and Crystal River. All three are absolutely lovely, and I have nothing but good things to say about them. They are all in completely different areas and have excellent, walkable, well-tended trails.
On to winter, and on to more ADVENTURE!
Fabulous News and Silver Glen Springs
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Labels:
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.
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.
***
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
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Labels:
alexander springs,
Big Shoals,
manatee springs,
springs,
water
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"
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
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Labels:
city parks,
cracker,
Morningside,
oppressive heat
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.
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!
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I promise promise promise I'll get something up here soon. Life's a sort of muddle right now. But soon!
Summer thunder
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Labels:
grad school,
hope,
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.
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.
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