The gamut
July 16, 2013

Tender to the touch describes my emotions today.  We bade farewell to oldest child last night; we had not seen him for more than three years and had a mere three days with him: wholly inadequate but I am grateful for that bit at least.

Willliston Crossings, in Williston, Florida, where we stayed is a lovely resort-type RV park, far different than most of what we’ve utilized this trip.  It has level concrete pads and patio slabs, manicured landscaping and grass, lots of trees, swimming pool, great bathrooms and showers and a feature that evidently was not available when we stayed here before: two excellent large quarry fishing lakes.  Many parks have private so-called lakes, usually smallish ponds, but these qualify as lakes even by Florida standards and because they are private, do not require a fishing license.  We three dipped a few lines there but only for a short while after a long day and before a nice Italian dinner out hosted by Darren.  When we heard there was a lake in an abandoned quarry, I did not visualize the beauty of the reality.  Lots more interesting in the area to explore next time; we seem to find more to do each time we come here.

What's a Florida day without another storm . . .

Cedar Key, auto parts, convoluted connections . . .

 

I thought about getting my hair cut at Island Hair, but Darren said I already had island hair.

The obligatory try-to-sneak-up-on-the pelican maneuver.

That is true of Cedar Key, also.  This was the third time we've gone there, and find that we’ve still missed lots of fascinating sights.  We swam, ate, walked, birded (a magnificent frigatebird - stupendous - flew low right over us! We’d only seen that once before: in San Carlos, Mexico) and were happy to find the island has an auto parts store.

As exciting as the frigatebird was, the auto parts store is a much longer story.  After a dip in the gulf, we checked out some of the shops and galleries, and met a woman whose daughter lives in Chino Valley (we seem to find these Yavapai County connections absolutely everywhere we go), a lunch at one of the fun eateries Cedar Key offers, we gathered ourselves and jumped in the truck to leave. Whir, click went the engine, then nothing but click, click click.  To make a long story only slightly shorter, a dry cell in the battery had killed it dead, never the most welcome of events and certainly not when one is on vacay far from home in an isolated tiny Gulf town.

The people parked to the left of us couldn’t give us a jump because they were catching the tour boat in five minutes and explained they didn’t have jumper cables anyway (as they were tripping on our jumper cables spread out on the grass).

The people parked to the right of us couldn’t (see above) but she wanted to know if we needed a vocalist for Goat Hill Music when she saw our sign identifying us as such.  Before they left for the boat, I heard quite a lot about their time as missionaries in Africa, the fact that their children still spend a lot of time there and in the midst of it, I somehow ended up with her email as I promised to send her some of Chris’ original choral music for her to perform at her church.

Abandoned to the right and to the left, our angel by the name of Austin suddenly appeared, asking if we wanted a jump.  About 17 years of age, he was not only willing but nearly insistent that since we were Toyota people, he could pull his pickup around onto the sidewalk and grass and help us.

Cables attached: more of that dreaded click, click, click. There was plenty of time for conversation with Austin who works at nearby Tidal Tours and his friend, an employee of kayak tours, about Cedar Key’s rather fascinating history and more.

As the menfolk switched batteries to get our engine to do something useful without that heart-dropping sound, I perched on a nearby picnic table with camera and binoculars to peruse the area.
 
The battery switch did the trick; the Toter roared to life once again; we gave Austin his battery back, got directions to Napa and off we went to buy a battery with gratitude the small place had one in stock for us.

Whew - what a relief!  On the road again, we hearkened back to an earlier-in-the-day connection.  Two women now living elsewhere but originally from Cedar Key had just happened to stop and ask us about a good place to eat.  They were on a trip down memory lane.  In the excitement of returning to their hometown, one woman explained that her great, great, great grandfather had founded the church in Elzey, a tiny burg on the road  between Cedar Key and Williston.  Fascinating, I thought, and wished I had more time to talk to her about that history.

As we returned inland from our island jaunt, we decided to stop at the old church for a look-see.  Elzey is about halfway back to Williston, pulling up to the lovely country church, my brain abruptly awoke from its reverie as I realized I had left my camera and binoculars back on the picnic table in Cedar Key.

Alarm bells began clanging around in my cranium: time to beat myself up for such carelessness, sadness to lose all my pictures from our time with Darren and all the photos yet to come, guilt at such wastefulness: you name a negative emotion - it was running around up there.  Nothing for it but to turn around and hope to retrieve the abandoned equipment that I use daily almost constantly.  That was a really long drive and at the end, we pulled up in the exact same parking space in front of an empty table - heart sink - oh, woe is me - no equipment in sight.

Not one to admit defeat easily, I walked over to the kayak rental place where Austin’s friend works.  Yes indeedy, he explained that a man (thank you - whoever you are!) brought the camera and binoculars to him.  He still had the spy glasses which he handed over (my first and only ever good pair of binoculars!); his boss was off somewhere with the camera, intending to take it to the police department’s lost & found.  A quick phone call diverted the drop-off and 15 minutes later, both items were back in my very grateful hands.

In the meantime, the clement weather succumbed to a frightful rain squall that we watched barreling toward us across the water accompanied by ample lightning and thunder.  While we waited for my camera to return, Darren and Chris were able to help the young man get his shop’s umbrellas down in the strong gusts and I got to hear about him as he worked and I waited.

Traversing the Cedar Key to Elzey stretch of road for the fourth time in a day, we again stopped at the church, Methodist, founded in 1850, this time in a more peaceful frame of mind.  It was as nice an old church as I’ve ever seen, still in use and meticulously maintained.  The attendance board for the service the previous day counted 28 present; they are a prayerful bunch, though: the bulletin listed a slew of folks on the prayer list. 

In the sanctuary, there was a shelf unit stocked with various foodstuffs and a sign that invited anyone in need to help themselves.  I was so touched by the energy of the place that I left an offering while Chris happily played away with great abandon on the nicely tuned piano.

I signed the guest book and saw that the woman I had spoken to earlier on Cedar Key, the founder's descendant, had signed just ahead of me.  I love thinking about the interwoven energies of all the folks we encountered during the day.  The church would have been an interesting historical place but when I saw the portrait on the wall of the founder and his wife, I could put a face to his descendant who enjoyed that I was fascinated with her story.

In extending his helping hand to us, Austin missed the boat tour he was supposed to be working on (he texted to let them know) but felt good about being of service and liked that I was interested in the local history he shared with me.  The other young man was very helpful in waylaying the camera and getting it returned to us.  Austin’s boss was happy he was able to return the camera to its distraught owner.  Even the fellow who turned it in to them surely felt good about doing so.  All wonderful connections: I wonder where each thread will lead.  For me, I intend to contact them all for another “thank you”.

Sinks, hammocks, tortoises . . .

We managed to stay on the run throughout the visit and managed to get drenched when we could not resist a hike into marshy land with a climb up to a lookout tower despite clearly impending rain.

Devil's Millhopper, San Felipe hammock, pileated woodpecker . . .

We climbed down into the so-called Devil’s Millhopper sinkhole via the provided wooden steps, and hiked the trail up top, a planned stop. 

Next was a spontaneous “Let’s see what’s here” at a sign for San Felipe hammock, primarily because I was still questioning just what a hammock is.

The answer finally discerned is a dense stand of hardwood trees on a slight rise of a few inches, just about the highest anything rises in these parts (to find a change in elevation, one must go down into one of the many sinks). 

To call this area “dense” does not begin to convey the dim dank direction-confusing tropical jungle atmosphere.  It is so damp in these backwoods that plants grow upon plants upon plants upon other plants.  Roots dangle in the air, having no need to be buried to receive moisture.  Insects are a mass of movement at every glance.  Standing water, bogs, ponds and sloughs are as common as land and none of the ground is dry  What surface that is not water consists of a mat of fallen soggy leaves.  Almost no light filters down through the mass of gargantuan trees, all reaching far, far up to the sun that never touches the ground.

How easy it would be to become lost in these tropical jungles!

Vines as large as tree trunks drape themselves around, across up and down.  It is in the midst of this where we feel dwarfed that we hear what Darren says is the pecking and call of a pileated woodpecker, a bird we had never seen, but certainly wanted to.  The incentive was enough to abandon the trail trying to get a a look at the large bird that continued to flap away when we approached even though we were far below it.  Finally, we did get enough of a look to identify it, although I still hope for a clearer view.  That was a most exciting bird event.

The most disappointing aspect of exploring that tropical morass is that I cannot produce a photograph that even hints at the atmosphere.  My lack of expertise and my limited broken camera do not daunt the quantity of pictures I snap, but none are sufficient to indicate the marvels in that depth.  I am fascinated by the astonishing variety of fungus that thrives therein, though, and find it and other flora and fauna photograph more easily than trying to record the overall.

I am reminded of the mushroom that walked into the bar to order a drink but the bartender wouldn't serve him.  "Why not?" inquired the mushroom; "I'm a fun-gi".

In the midst of the hammock hike, we encountered another sink: this one had standing duckweed-covered water in the bottom with mossy logs fallen across it.  Of course Darren must challenge his balance by crossing on them.  There was a time when I would have joined him but this was not it; some things do change with age.

Nearing the end of that hike, Chris spotted a deer running through the underbrush while I practically tripped over a gopher tortoise.  My find was far easier to photograph, so we fiddled around with that for a spell until he got sick of us and hightailed (if it could be so called) it down the road.  On previous visits to Darren, we three had searched high and low (well, only low actually) for a gopher tortoise to no avail after he had shown us various dens and we had researched them, so stumbling over one was an exciting happening.

Even more astounding were the two others our shelled friend led us to as he departed our company.  None of the creatures overly relished our company, however, and I got to watch one of them run (really!) for his home and leap/slide (I kid you not!) into his entrance foyer. 

The Williston stop gave us additional birds for the trip besides the pileated woodpecker and magnificent frigatebird: tufted titmouse, pied-billed grebe, yellow-crowned night heron, ruby-throated hummingbird and Carolina wren.
 The road out to Cedar Key passes the site of Rosewood, a town with a tragic past revolving around a racially-instigated allegation and the ensuing attacks and murders after which the place was abandoned.

 

Chris finally foiled this guy by oiling the pole - pretty funny watching him try to climb it!

A juvenile yellow-crowned night heron.

When palm meets pine.