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| Dade City rural road |
Yesterday I went to see my father. In the winter he lives about 2 or so hours south of here. The drive between here and there can be harrowing, if I travel the interstates. I am finding less and less inclination to do so. Even my drive to work now does not involve the interstate. I don’t mind interstate travel in other places, and I can drive it here if need be; I just am finding the stress of it begins and ends my work days in ways that I prefer not to put myself through. Tampa as a city has grown and expanded, pretty much reaching its maximum capacity, yet it continues to grow; the surrounding areas are expanding and reaching its edges. In 2010, 9 years ago, the Tampa Bay area had a population of around 3 million people – that was nine years ago. That is a lot of cars going to and from all the outlying areas, because only around 500,000 people live in Tampa itself. There’s a lot of energy packed into a relatively small geographic area. If I know a back way to get anywhere, I am finding more and more pleasure in taking it. Even the little city I live in has grown dramatically since I have lived here. When I moved here in 1981 the population was under 20,000. It is now closer to 40,000.
City growth and expansion, to city council members who control a tax base and continually look for ways to increase their revenue see this continual growth as a positive. Some people say it helps create better services for citizens – hospitals, schools, and so on. I cannot deny that it does. But along with that growth are other more disturbing statistics. More people from areas bring their own ideas and beliefs; it’s America, and we are a melting pot. Personal conflicts and ideas can be good and bad. The school situation has become dramatically bad, but I don’t care to think of or discuss that right now. Traffic is a huge concern. Roads have become far too crowded, despite efforts to build more. When cities like Plant City and Tampa were founded, it was during an era of horses, buggies, train travel, and a minimal population. As Don Henley says, call someplace paradise; kiss it goodbye. As cities grew, houses, businesses, and buildings were constructed alongside narrow roads. Now, to alleviate crowded commutes to everywhere, roads are being built around and linking cities and towns, destroying the habitat of the wildlife who have always lived there, along with so much worse. Florida is basically a sand lot and a swamp all mixed together. Surface water is relatively close to the top of the sandy and limestone soil; 20 million people essentially live at, or just below sea level. More and more people mean more and more demand for water and sewage options. It is still a highly agricultural state, despite the best effort of cities to expand and economically develop natural pastures and farmland. Continual demands for water in a state surrounded by water on all sides from the ever increasing population, the need to meet agricultural needs (and the water is being taken from relatively close to the surface of areas being developed) create huge issues – sinkholes, collapsing roads, flooding of low-lying areas – or of areas that are now low-lying because of the ground being built up for development around areas which used to channel water flow. Water just wants to find the lowest point and it heads straight for areas that were never meant to flood. Growing pains. Any place where people continually want to move is going to experience growing pains and living in such an area is a trial. I work in Tampa proper, but I live in an outlying area that used to be rural. Rather than take the harrowing interstate linking Tampa to Daytona, I choose to drive back roads; rural two-lane roads that are bumpy and curvy, a few miles and a few minutes longer a drive each direction. But I arrive at work without the stress of bumper-to-bumper traffic that fluctuates wildly, and that works for me.
When my father and aunts and uncles first started coming here for the winter many years ago my house was the central location; they mostly lived in Lakeland, east of here. Over time, with moves, my aunts and uncles aging and leaving our world, my house is no longer the central location. It makes me equally sad and grateful. Sad that I am not the host pulling our family together, but also grateful that I was blessed to have so many good years with so many of my aunts, uncles, cousins – my father. He now winters a lot farther south, but I have discovered the joy of driving down the center of the state through isolated, lonely places, rather than passing through the edge of Tampa, Brandon, Sarasota, Port Charlotte and into N. Ft. Myers; those cities which are so close to the allure of coastal living (or, in Brandon’s case, far too close to an expanding Tampa). Taking the rural route, I pass miles and miles of farm and scrubland; most of it owned by Mosaic for mining (and hopefully rejuvenating) purposes. There are absolutely no cities or major towns once I am south of Plant City. That area of Florida is not in so much danger of being developed in the next few years, I don’t believe. It is flat and dry, scrubby, far from any major metropolis so a housing development, right now, is not an appealing prospect for those seeking more housing.
When I moved here in 1981 it was not for the weather. It was never my intention to live in Florida, but here I still am. I wanted to move to Colorado and be a poet. My first summer after graduation I came to Florida to stay with my aunt for the summer, and I met my husband four days after I got here. I did go home for a while but ended up back here within a month. Love is like that. My father-in-law bought this land; the land I still own, back in 1962 for $2500. We bought it in 1987, and he passed away in 1990. In 1997 we built this house, and it became mine in 2004 when Steve decided he did not want to be here anymore. But he also told me he knew I would care for it, and I have. We were the third owners of this property, and I am proud of the fact that it has “stayed in the family”, because it has been for 57 years. I’ve tried to keep my own footprint in the world minimal. I allow the yard to stay mostly natural. I don’t use Round-up or poisons. I don’t waste water with irrigation or landscaping. I don’t personally create a whole lot of waste that goes into our landfills nearby. I recycle everything I can possibly recycle. I am so aware of the waste and expansion because I try hard to do my own personal part. I don’t know the answer to growth and development; to the destruction of natural resources and wildlife. I don’t love Florida like so many others do; I miss the seasons, I miss my family, the friends I grew up with, and I believe one day soon I will not live here anymore. But for now, I do. It breaks my heart to see what is happening in this state, what politicians and government allow to happen. I know people need to live somewhere, and I don’t know the solution to the population boom.
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| Volunteer sunflower in my yard |
There is more to Florida than coastal areas, which were once a true paradise. Everyone wants to live in paradise, and people will continue to move here and believe it is so. There is tremendous growth and growing pains occurring, and it is painful to watch for those who have been here a long time. When I can drive through quiet, undeveloped places as I did yesterday, it is a balm for the soul, and I was grateful for each mile, and each moment.
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| Dew drops in my yard |
Yesterday was a beautiful day for a drive. It was overcast, breezy, and blessedly cool. A little rain spluttered now and then, but minor drops barely causing me to even use the windshield wipers. Florida winters are short and very mild, but we do have a season where the trees and grass are less green, which added to the desolate feel of the drive, but I personally love that quiet surrender of nature. It feels like the earth is sleeping, waiting; holding its breath, and that is one of my favorite feelings of fall and early spring in northern climates. It’s a process important to the earth and it is taking care of itself. One of my least favorite things about living here in Florida is the lack of complete seasons. Obviously, I am in the minority in this feeling, as so many people escape here from cold climates with full seasons. I just think, as a native New Yorker, that my body recognizes when a season should be taking place and it causes me to feel off kilter when changes don’t occur.
Driving always makes my mind wander, and it inspires me to write or to create. I think of stories I have read or storylines I would like to write, photographs I’d like to take, or paintings I’d like to paint. Poetry comes to mind, mile after mile; nature is poetry to me. I watch the flat land pass by, watch for nature and other cars (and motorcycles, because I pass a popular biker destination out in the middle of nowhere; Limestone Country Club – what a great name! It’s at a sweet little crossroads known as Ona). There was an abundance of vultures yesterday in many areas; doing their clean-up work on small creatures hit by passing cars, maybe, but I think probably just due to the cycle of life, too. There were ospreys perched in their treetop or power pole nests. I saw hawks in flight and sitting in the tops of tall trees. There was an eagle swooping down for some unseen-by-me prey. An otter crossed the road in front of me, and his funny little hump-back slither made me smile. A plethora of cows stood patiently in fields, cropping the grass, placidly seeking the next green patch. It is the beginning of calf season and I saw more than a few newly born little sweet faces out in the pastures.
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| View from my porch overlooking protected land |
These are the things that make me smile; the things that make my heart and soul happy. It was a good day for a drive, a good day to spend a few hours with my father, and a good day to be at peace with myself, nature, and the world.
City growth and expansion, to city council members who control a tax base and continually look for ways to increase their revenue see this continual growth as a positive. Some people say it helps create better services for citizens – hospitals, schools, and so on. I cannot deny that it does. But along with that growth are other more disturbing statistics. More people from areas bring their own ideas and beliefs; it’s America, and we are a melting pot. Personal conflicts and ideas can be good and bad. The school situation has become dramatically bad, but I don’t care to think of or discuss that right now. Traffic is a huge concern. Roads have become far too crowded, despite efforts to build more. When cities like Plant City and Tampa were founded, it was during an era of horses, buggies, train travel, and a minimal population. As Don Henley says, call someplace paradise; kiss it goodbye. As cities grew, houses, businesses, and buildings were constructed alongside narrow roads. Now, to alleviate crowded commutes to everywhere, roads are being built around and linking cities and towns, destroying the habitat of the wildlife who have always lived there, along with so much worse. Florida is basically a sand lot and a swamp all mixed together. Surface water is relatively close to the top of the sandy and limestone soil; 20 million people essentially live at, or just below sea level. More and more people mean more and more demand for water and sewage options. It is still a highly agricultural state, despite the best effort of cities to expand and economically develop natural pastures and farmland. Continual demands for water in a state surrounded by water on all sides from the ever increasing population, the need to meet agricultural needs (and the water is being taken from relatively close to the surface of areas being developed) create huge issues – sinkholes, collapsing roads, flooding of low-lying areas – or of areas that are now low-lying because of the ground being built up for development around areas which used to channel water flow. Water just wants to find the lowest point and it heads straight for areas that were never meant to flood. Growing pains. Any place where people continually want to move is going to experience growing pains and living in such an area is a trial. I work in Tampa proper, but I live in an outlying area that used to be rural. Rather than take the harrowing interstate linking Tampa to Daytona, I choose to drive back roads; rural two-lane roads that are bumpy and curvy, a few miles and a few minutes longer a drive each direction. But I arrive at work without the stress of bumper-to-bumper traffic that fluctuates wildly, and that works for me.
Yesterday was a beautiful day for a drive. It was overcast, breezy, and blessedly cool. A little rain spluttered now and then, but minor drops barely causing me to even use the windshield wipers. Florida winters are short and very mild, but we do have a season where the trees and grass are less green, which added to the desolate feel of the drive, but I personally love that quiet surrender of nature. It feels like the earth is sleeping, waiting; holding its breath, and that is one of my favorite feelings of fall and early spring in northern climates. It’s a process important to the earth and it is taking care of itself. One of my least favorite things about living here in Florida is the lack of complete seasons. Obviously, I am in the minority in this feeling, as so many people escape here from cold climates with full seasons. I just think, as a native New Yorker, that my body recognizes when a season should be taking place and it causes me to feel off kilter when changes don’t occur.
Driving always makes my mind wander, and it inspires me to write or to create. I think of stories I have read or storylines I would like to write, photographs I’d like to take, or paintings I’d like to paint. Poetry comes to mind, mile after mile; nature is poetry to me. I watch the flat land pass by, watch for nature and other cars (and motorcycles, because I pass a popular biker destination out in the middle of nowhere; Limestone Country Club – what a great name! It’s at a sweet little crossroads known as Ona). There was an abundance of vultures yesterday in many areas; doing their clean-up work on small creatures hit by passing cars, maybe, but I think probably just due to the cycle of life, too. There were ospreys perched in their treetop or power pole nests. I saw hawks in flight and sitting in the tops of tall trees. There was an eagle swooping down for some unseen-by-me prey. An otter crossed the road in front of me, and his funny little hump-back slither made me smile. A plethora of cows stood patiently in fields, cropping the grass, placidly seeking the next green patch. It is the beginning of calf season and I saw more than a few newly born little sweet faces out in the pastures.
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