Cabin P.S.

It seems appropriate to mention that during the cabin visit, my guests and I went for a short hike on The Yearling Trail. It's a microcosm of the best sort of hiking: nearby, scenic, and historic.   

Yes, it's summer in Florida. Yes, it's H-O-T. 

We were looking forward to an easy 3 miles with plenty of water and sight-seeing, and then happy hour at the cabin, probably including some wading in spring water which is always a superbly refreshing 72 degrees.

Little did we know . . . .

A portion of the surrounding forest burned a few years ago, and I've been there several times since. It's thrilling to see how the robust new greenery surges back from the blackened landscape. Scrub ecosystems in Florida actually depend on fire for their continued life. Without fire, the trees grow too tall and shade out the smaller plants, the habitat becomes inhospitable for the creatures that live there (like scrub jays, who like a short landscape where they can easily dive for cover and where predatory hawks can't spy on them from tall trees), and it all changes. Some pines actually require a fire's heat before they will open their cones and release their seeds! 

All that to say, I wasn't worried about the burned parts adjacent to the trails. What I didn't take into account was how many of the bushes and smaller trees, damaged by fire, were knocked over by some of the violent thunderstorms we've had recently. The trail had not been cleared, so we often had to climb over downed trunks and branches. It slowed our progress considerably, and the day became hotter and hotter as we moved in fits and starts through the landscape.

I've always been able to soldier on, but the heat really got to me this time. When kayaking, I loathe portaging over obstructions or struggling through thick vegetation, and this was much like that -- as one friend remarked, "Deadfall is the land version of water hyacinths." So true!

I kept having to rest, and balance between drinking enough water and saving enough water for the rest of the walk, and navigating the deadfall became more and more daunting as the day wore on. At one point I seriously thought about giving up, concerned for my health and not wanting to risk actual heat stroke. But the practical aspect of calling 9-1-1 convinced me that my better course of action was to make it under my own power. I pictured some helpful and burly rescuers hiking out to our location, strapping me to a backboard, and carrying me at various terrifying angles while they clambered over all the deadfall . . . and that seemed way worse than doing the clambering myself, thanks very much.

Eventually, with lots of encouragement and patience from my companions and the loan of one of those wearable fans, I made it back to the trailhead. Once in the car, air conditioning blasting, I recovered quickly -- thank goodness! After dipping my toes in cool water, clutching a cold Bud Light, I was entirely myself again. 

But you won't catch me hiking in summer anytime soon, and maybe never again!

Home Again for the Fourth

My time at the cabin was lovely, but I am happy to be home again. I like my house enough (and the cats!) that I miss them when I'm away. And with at least two nights of fireworks in the offing (the city did theirs on the 3rd and then the amateurs took over for the 4th), I wanted to be home. 

My fireworks protocol is to bring the outside gentleman cat into the bathroom for the duration of the evening, close all the blinds, and play "spa music" to muffle the noises. When things get really loud, I distribute treats to everyone. No matter how startled they are, they gobble up the treats and I hope that gives the noises a positive association -- or at least provides a few minutes in which the cats have something else to think about! 

Fortunately, the noise and smoke didn't seem as awful this year as in years past. Old-school fireworks celebrations are still hard on veterans, wildlife, pets, sensitive humans, and people who dislike pollution. I've seen pictures of drone displays that are more impressive and quieter. Perhaps that's the wave of the future and it would be okay by me!

Here are a few highlights from the cabin. Hiking, strolling, reading, canoeing, socializing, and plenty of good food were the order of each day.

  

Road Oak

A friend has given me a week at a remote cabin and I will be taking full advantage of the opportunity to rest in beauty like this. 

Beyond the Tent

The subtitle of Micah Mortali's Rewilding: Meditations, Practices, and Skills for Awakening in Nature tells you everything you need to know about this book's focus. It's a how-to manual for learning the kind of outdoors skills and techniques that sharpen your senses and translate the story of the natural world. 

If the idea of tracking animals or building a fire as a spiritual practice is new and intriguing -- or if the idea of being alone in a wild place sounds daunting and scary -- this is the perfect beginner's book. There's a whole lot more to "awakening in nature" than buying a tent and sleeping in it. 

Numerous camping and wilderness manuals focus on gear and technique, to the exclusion of much beyond the thought process of "I'm going camping. What should I bring? What should I know how to do?" Mortali blends competent answers to those questions with a deeper look at what you could be open to learning, beyond those basics, and what Nature could say to your spirit while you're out there. 

Having been introduced to the meditative practice of fire-building, I can attest to the restful, restorative effect of gathering and placing wood with intention and appreciation. I've found it to be true that a fire created thoughtfully lights easily and burns more evenly. 

Combine that level of attention with a few breathwork techniques, some yoga-like postures, and prompts for quiet thinking, and your nature walk or camping trip becomes a retreat that places you comfortably within the world, not just on it. 

Excerpt:

Rewilding offers many pathways for connecting with the miraculous life-forms on this good earth, from walking with awareness and sharpening our senses, to becoming intimate with our land and harvesting sustenance from it. Through mindfulness, we come to the living earth as ourselves, as we are in this moment. We come back into relationship with the earth through a renewed relationship with ourselves as sentient, sensitive, and highly adaptable.     

Ten Lessons from Staying Home

1. Nature is everywhere. I am lucky to have a semi-wild backyard that shows me something new every day. We don't have to buy a bunch of special equipment and travel to an exotic location to have "a nature experience." All we have to do is walk outside and look.

2. Relieved of busyness, families spend time together: walking the dog, riding bikes, throwing a baseball, jogging. I've seen people I've never seen before, who live right down the street.

3. The unthinkable can happen. I'm no prepper, but my environmental background has exposed me to some serious ideas and challenges. Like the burden we place on Mother Earth by the things we take for granted. Like the golden veneer of consumption and prosperity that masks a system with serious and fundamental flaws. Like the truth of food insecurity. It wasn't too long ago I asked someone, "What would you do for food if there was no Publix?" (Publix is a major grocery store where I live.) My companion looked at me like I had two heads, clearly considering the question too wacky to deserve an answer. I was really asking, but I was over the line even voicing such a thought. Now that grocery stores are stressed by circumstances and shelves are empty of key items, that question isn't as wacky anymore, huh?

4. Next day delivery was awesome. I'm not sure when it will happen again. Things I've ordered are 2 or 3 weeks out right now.

5. We could have been doing some pretty great things all along. In the past week, I have taken a yoga class, "walked" along the High Line in New York City, heard some wonderful concerts, had long video calls with several dear friends, and joined a reading group with a famous author -- all from the comfort of my living room. I've also cooked and eaten all my meals at home, strolled the yard every evening, and gotten some long-standing chores accomplished. In some ways, I've been busier than ever. I've been having more fun, too. 

6. Leadership takes courage. Sometime it's lacking. And sometimes it appears in unlikely places, from unlikely people.

7. Loquats are delicious. I tried them once, long ago, and they were unripe and inedible. I didn't know that, but I never tried again. However, given the abundance on my backyard tree and some extra time on my hands, I gave it another go -- resulting in a fruit-in-hand epiphany and a successful cobbler. They are more seed than fruit, but well worth the trouble. I will not forget this.

8. Being science-deficient can be fatal, not only to yourself but to others. I have a few friends who still believe this is all a big hoax or an overreaction. They have continued with their normal lives, complaining that "Everything's closed!" They are not convinced by the medical community's concern that if we are unable to "flatten the curve" and spread out the impact of this virus, the care system will be overwhelmed. That means rationed care. That means hard decisions. That means denying life-saving help to the patients who are deemed less worthy of saving. This is a hard truth. Facing it requires a basic understanding of math, and critical thinking, and a willingness to rely on qualified experts when the water gets too deep. I have done enough research to be convinced that "Better sorry than safe" is not a good choice here. Those who lack the ability to form their own opinions, based on their own research, are risking lots of lives, not just their own.   

9. The cats do nothing all day. And they do it very well.

10. I like staying home. I just wish it wasn't for this reason.

Stay safe and be well, everyone! Love and light to you all.

Jay Walking

Lots of the weekend involved mundane things like laundry and grocery shopping, but part of the weekend was outdoorsy and wonderful!

A naturalist friend and I hosted a few of my students on a field trip to a local sanctuary, home to several families of scrub jays, a bird that only lives in Florida. Its chosen habitat is high and dry, making it a prime target for development in this swampy state. Scrub jays are endangered as a result, because they can only live under those specific conditions. I hope conservation efforts will be enough to save them.

Scrub jays need vegetation that's no more than 4 feet tall. Otherwise the hawks have too much of an advantage, sitting in the tall trees and then swooping down for a kill. These big pines are on the edge of the preserve, but the rest of it is no taller than what you see in the foreground here. 

It has to be managed now, to keep it low, because near houses and businesses, we don't allow fires to sweep through and knock everything back. Controlled burns and a big machine called a chopper maintain the height so the scrub jays can survive. (Not easily visible, thanks to my phone camera, is a scrub jay near the center of this picture.)

Here's a better look! These birds have been studied quite a bit, so they are fairly used to people. They will come and check you out to see if you have any peanuts, which makes for a great photo op! 
 

The native lupines are blooming now. The sandy soil around them reveals that thousands of years ago, when the ocean was much higher, this was the beach. Given that we are about 8 miles inland, that's pretty impressive to think about.

The lyonia, a native shrub, is blooming, too, festooned with little pink bells. Or in some cases, little white bells. Such delicate blossoms on a very hardy plant. It has to be hardy, to survive in this dunelike environment.  

Mr./Ms. Gopher Tortoise was undisturbed by our staring from a distance (this photo is cropped, because we stayed quite far away). He/she looks to be a mature adult and is about the size of a dinner plate. 

Gopher tortoises are also endangered and protected, so you can't mess with them in any way. But a photo doesn't hurt.  

As the saying goes, we took only photos (plus some stray beer cans we found) and left only footprints. 

Back from Reality

Lucky me! I spent Thanksgiving on a houseboat on the St. Johns River!

Sixty-three feet of floating home-away-from-home gave the 8 of us plenty of space (although the sleeping quarters were a tad cozy), including a front deck, a back deck, an upper deck, a bath and half, and a kitchen that was big enough for a lot of cooks and the usual turkey and sides, plus 3 kinds of pie.

We anchored out on the river two nights and spent the other night docked at a state park. Kayaking, hiking, and music jamming kept everyone busy. Only one person did any Black Friday shopping! I got in a lot of reading time, which was like heaven for me.

There was plenty of time for reflection, too.

We saw lots of birds, a few snakes while hiking, and on the last morning we had a very special visitor: a manatee! We think he/she was enjoying the warm water from our generator, because we've had some cool nights and the river water is also cooling. What a treat to see this placid, friendly marine mammal up close! 

A Little More About Naturalizing

Anthropocentrism: the belief that human beings are the most important entity in the universe; interpreting the world in terms of human values and experiences; viewing the natural world as having value only in its usefulness to or for humans. 

As I mentioned before, I had a little trouble with the fieldwork in my Master Naturalist class because I was very empathetic toward the creatures we were studying. For me, going out in the woods to look for things is fun. Catching them by their wings and/or putting them into specimen jars, even temporarily, is not.

Case in point: our guide caught some very tiny oak toads and was holding them while talking to us. I know he was being gentle, but they were perched on top of his hands and held by one hind leg. They seemed pretty comfortable -- they weren't struggling or anything -- although I imagine they were scared from all the pairs of eyes focused on them, when their main defense is camouflage.

Photo Credit: University of Florida

While explaining things, our guide was gesturing with his hands. I immediately wondered how it felt to the toads to be zooming around in the air like that. First capture, then a rollercoaster! I certainly wasn't learning anything while focused on what they might be feeling. 

To his credit, when I mentioned it, he immediately held his hands very still for the rest of the talk. I was relieved. I bet the toads were, too.

Photo Credit: Eric Shashoua

(This one is actually bigger than the ones we saw. They are often teeny tiny!)

After he put them down, I stood near them while the class walked away. Otherwise they might have been stepped on. Even among these students of nature, I don't think anyone else gave them much thought after he put them down. It was kind of, "Okay, we're through staring at you for our own reasons. What's next?"

It sure made me think about anthropocentrism.

I know it's just two little toads but still. Every life matters when I can do something about it.

Naturalizing

Things I learned in the Florida Master Naturalist class:

It's fun to spend 6 Fridays in a row learning hands-on about Florida.

In September/October, it's still a little too hot to spend the whole day outdoors, no matter how much water you drink.

When the road gets muddy, sometimes you have to walk.

As long as you're expecting them, you can't see too many snakes on a hike (7 pygmy rattlesnakes in one day!).

Catching and examining insects, amphibians, and reptiles is interesting, but if the little creatures seem stressed I feel too much empathy for them to enjoy learning.

Meeting others who're interested in wild Florida is awesome.

Holding a baby gator is even more fun than you'd imagine.

Firsts

Things I'd never done until yesterday:

1. Bought 2 pool noodles and promptly destroyed them.

2. Created makeshift roof rack pads to carry my kayak (see Item 1).

3. Loaded my kayak all by myself, using a technique I learned from a YouTube video. It was shockingly easy.

4. Sweated through my clothes 3 times in one day.

5. Had to take a shower in order to be clean enough to go kayaking with friends.

6. Stopped to check the kayak on the side of I-95 and stood in black ants while checking. My kayak was fine and my feet were okay eventually. (Thank goodness they weren't fire ants!)

7. Saw a bright and prolonged shooting star traverse half the sky, while floating under the moon, planets, and stars on a beautiful estuary.

8. Ran off the road on the way home, I guess because of inattention on a dark, sparsely marked remote roadway. The road turned and I didn't. The next thing I knew, I was driving on grass. Fortunately there was no ditch or culvert to fall into. (You can bet I slowed down after that.)

Like the song says, "When was the last time you did something for the first time?"

It feels good And even if it didn't feel good, I survived!

One More Thing for the To Do List

Recently I discovered a big gap in my education.

A few friends and I were planning a pontoon boat trip to do some very special birdwatching in a location that can only be reached via water. Our only question was: Who's going to drive the pontoon boat?

Now, we're all adult ladies of varied ages and impressive accomplishments. We collectively found it pretty embarrassing that none of us was confident enough to say we'd drive without a certain degree of hesitation. I finally said I'd drive, just to move the process along. 

I confessed my lack of experience to the young woman who was taking my reservation and she assured me they'd show and tell me everything I needed to know. I mean, I consider myself a decent car driver and I should be able to handle it, right?

I told her the thing that worried me the most was that last 10 feet before you reach the dock. She promised they'd come out and catch me.

She was really nice about it.

What stung was the remark of my friendly handyman, who I'd recruited to find me a boat driver, just in case that was an option. If he can't do the work himself, he always seems to "know a guy" who can do whatever I need done around the house, so I asked him.

And he said, in his distinctively Southern good ol' boy way, "I thought everyone knew how to drive a boat."

Damn.

I never considered it a deficit before, but I do now. 

No Contest

Much as I enjoy discharging my civic responsibilities, making a dark start to have a scrub jay sit on my head is way better than making a dark start to report for jury duty.

A New Kedge

I've written before about kedging, which is a specifically nautical term that can also be used to mean having a goal to work towards. You set your intention, then use it to pull yourself forward.

My weakness is not progress but focus. It's easy for me to slip into the busy-ness of "to do" list mode, getting a lot of small, unimportant things done while the bigger things are pushed into the indefinite future. I might do a great job at organizing the kitchen cabinets, for example, but never get around to planning that vacation I'd always wanted to take.

Setting a kedge gives me a deadline. And around here, nothing gets done unless it has a due date!

Two years ago, serendipity led me to a wonderful paddle that also accomplished something I'd wanted to do for years: visit the Alligator Lighthouse. It's 4 miles off the coast of Islamorada in the Florida Keys, and it beckons the snorkeler and kayaker in me just as surely as it used to warn ships away from the reef.

Alligator Lighthouse, as just barely seen from the beach. 

My opportunity came when I learned that a timeshare vacation coincided with the annual open water swim that loops around the lighthouse. It's a crazy distance when you think about swimming it, but each swimmer needs a safety kayaker, and kayaking 8 miles under such gorgeous conditions is an irresistible proposition. It was one of the very best experiences of my life.

Alligator Lighthouse

Before you click on the video, check out the "thumbnail" -- for some unknown and assuredly random reason, that's me in the green kayak and white shirt (with a towel over my legs to avoid sunburn)!



Last year the swim was canceled because of Hurricane Irma; lots of swimmers donated their entry fees to help the Keys recover. This year I set my goal of doing that paddle again. I'll be teaming up with the same swimmer and some friends will be supporting his girlfriend, who's also entered in the race.

"My" swimmer, Mike

We saw the light!

Plus I'll be staying at the host resort, far more swanky than my usual accommodations. Two years ago the post-race dinner was also a bucket list item: on the beach, under the retro party lights. 

Post-race party

It's great to have something to look forward to and work forward to. The gym and the weekend kayaking are much more motivating, knowing I'm in training!

Nature Weekend

Such a lovely way to spend the weekend!

I had a work event that involved camping with my colleagues and various guests along the banks of my favorite river, the St. Johns. We enjoyed hiking, birding, kayaking, an eco-tour boat ride, a clean-up, communal food, great conversation, and -- of course -- a bonfire.

We saw this plant community on one of our hikes: shoestring fern and various mosses, all thriving together on the trunk of a sabal palm tree.

This beauty was a highlight of the weekend for me: a banded water snake, perfectly balanced on an outstretched branch over an old logging canal that connects to the river. It was a cool afternoon and he/she was quite sluggish, allowing us to look as much as we wanted. I'm usually not very good at spotting snakes, so this was a real treat.

You know you're camping when . . .  you've only been there 10 minutes and you already don't match.

On Impulse

I belong to a kayaking Facebook group. There are tens of thousands of members all over the world, including one cheery fellow in Australia who's convinced that he and I are cousins because we share the same last name. (Now he has me convinced, too, based on nothing more than his habit of greeting me by saying, "Hi, cuz!")

Anyway, for a Facebook group, we are quite well-behaved. The admins strongly enforce the posting rules, and we DO NOT DISCUSS the two topics we're unable to discuss without getting into arguments: wearing/not wearing a PFD (life jacket) and whether sit-on-top kayaks are/are not superior to sit-inside kayaks. Do not think I'm going to discuss those things here, either. It just leads to fights.

Sooo . . . we're quite the happy community, helpful to each other and chock-full of gorgeous pictures, enough gorgeous pictures that our paddling locations bucket list will never be emptied.

Now that you have the flavor of the group, you'll understand why we all rose to the challenge when one of us asked where she should go paddling in Central Florida while she's here on vacation. Lots of people posted pictures and made recommendations. Here's the picture I posted for her.

She replied that she'd checked it out, but there were no guided tours on the days she's available and she didn't want to paddle alone. Now, I bet she could totally paddle this alone unless she's a complete novice -- it's calm water, there's only a slight current, and the gators are generally placid. But I have to respect her safety concerns. So I did the obvious thing: I offered to go with her.

This may prove to be the easiest favor I've ever done for anyone!   

I Have Lived

Photo: Karen Chadwick

This picture was taken two years ago and it still amazes me.

Pictured is Cannon Springs, which is usually covered with Ocklawaha River water, raised behind a dam that no longer serves any purpose. (If you'd like to learn more about the plight of the Ocklawaha, there's a wonderful short film that tells its story, River Be Dammed.)

Ongoing work strives to create the political will needed to remove the dam, free the Ocklawaha, and allow Cannon Springs and others like it to resume their beauty.

For now, they wait.

And I'm reminded that my life has had its transcendent moments.

Goodnight Smokies

Last week we finally made it to Gatlinburg, making up for last year's cancellation. Ah, May in the mountains! The weather was perfect and the hiking was challenging for a flatlands girl like me.

Now I have lots of happy memories and lots and lots of pictures to process.

But not tonight.

Spring, For Sure

Despite the fact that we're getting a whole lot of rain, followed by a return to what passes for winter temperatures around here (lows in the 40's, oh my!), the season has definitely turned a corner. These little guys are everywhere.

And I do mean everywhere. I'm soft-hearted, so before I drive away I do my best to clear them off the sidewalls of my tires. Also off the garbage can before I move it, and off the handle of the spigot before I use the hose. You get the idea.

I came in the other night and sat down to read in my favorite chair, only to discover that I was wearing a little fuzzy epaulette . . . who then had to be returned outside.

I've never been stung, but some folks have a reaction to the fuzzy little white tufts of hair on their backs, so I take care and use a leaf or a stick to send them on their way.

Many moths will appear in the future, after these crawlies have had a chance to pupate.

We have also begun to see the gloriously soaring swallow-tailed kites, which are one of our true harbingers of spring. The northern climes have their robins; we have these beauties, newly returned from South America and ready to set up housekeeping and create some babies.

Photo used with permission from Keith Gardner

I dreamed last night that I could fly just like them, as long as I was wearing my white kayaking shirt. It was an incredible dream that I wanted to continue forever. If I ever get a chance to be reincarnated as a swallow-tailed kite, I'll definitely take that chance.  

We are still seeing goldfinches at the feeder, including two males who look splendid in their summer colors. I could watch them all day as they bustle about. That yellow is simply spectacular.

Meanwhile, here's what spring green looks like. The new cypress needles are practically fluorescent.

And then there are these guys.

Photo by my friend and kayaking buddy Joanne Bolemon

Last time we were kayaking, a very large gator slid into the water to avoid another kayaker, surfaced quite near my kayak, then quickly submerged again and swam directly under me! Thanks to the clear spring water, I could see every detail of his/her head, neck, back, and tail as he/she zoomed below me. The water was fairly shallow so I was prepared to get bumped. But (whew!) there was just enough for the both of us. 

Gators are generally not a bit interested in doing anything aggressive; they just want to get away into deep water where they can safely hide and wait for you to go on past, so they can resume their dozing, either floating on the surface or sunning on a convenient log or riverbank. They are great fun to see from a reasonably close distance, or even a little closer than that--as long as they're heading away from you. 

Ah, springtime.  

Not Blogging

I'm a little behind on the blogging, but I have a good excuse! See you next week!

A Welcome Seasonal Surprise

There's no end to the number of wagons I've fallen off of lately -- the blogging wagon first among them.

However, during my silence I secured a fabulous new part-time job, helped create a joyful holiday experience for family and friends, finished a very difficult Yuletide jigsaw puzzle, completed a couple of household projects, visited with several old and dear friends, bought a new hard drive for the computer and a new battery for the car (both against my will!), acquired a massive amount of new reading material, and enjoyed various outdoor adventures.

So! I'm not a failure . . . even if I don't always achieve all the goals I set for myself.

We celebrated Christmas Day with a morning fire, gifts and breakfast, then a misty-day hike: 4 miles through the Florida woods with only 4 others met along the trail. It was the perfect antidote to the busy-ness of the holidays. And Mother Nature blessed us with some seasonal color along the way.

Now here I am, back on the blogging wagon.

This post began with the idea of facing the fact that I wasn't going to finish either of my reading challenges. But as it turns out, I still have time to complete one of them on time! In some ways, that's a lovely gift of prioritization -- even if I'm not crazy about the book that now requires my renewed attention.

As for assorted other wagons and challenges, well, there's always next year.

Happiest of holidays, everyone!