njtiirjlist Thi' citrus (jrovos with thfir ncM lines of dark, shiny, 

 green-lejfed trees and the immaculate bare lanes between them 

 RO on for mile after mile over the gently rolling downs. Every 

 now and then small lakes or ponds appear with some ducks 

 paddling about and a few reeds growing around Then come 

 more miles of closely cropped prairies with complacent domestic 

 cattle standing about. But there are delightful hidden spots to be 

 found just beyond the citrus groves. 



In Osceola County (which is over 150 miles south of the 

 national park of the same name) and in Okeechobee. Highlands. 

 De Soto, and even parts of Charlotte and St. Lucie counties, 

 stretch literally hundreds of square miles of more or less 

 unspoiled country. I found a little lake once in northern 

 Okeediobee County that did not appear on any of the maps I 

 was carrying, though it was considerably larger than many 

 shown even on road maps and it was not too far from a road 

 of a sort which was marked thereon. I happened to come upon 

 this place in early evening when I was. I now believe, lost. It 

 was completely hidden among low. gentle rises covered with a 

 paltry shrubbery about three feet tall and composed of non- 

 descript herbs, some stunted, vaguely woody things, and some 

 desiccated grasses. 



This lake was S-shaped. and all along one side and round 

 one end it was fringed by willows, of all unexpected things. The 

 other verge was a fairly wide margin of rushes and water 

 grasses. There was an island in the middle at one end. and I 

 started to wade to this and finally attained it by swimming a bit. 

 This island proved to be an ancient '"hummock" with its typical 

 dense growth of small-leafed evergreens, but it was completely 

 hollow inside. This I found out by mistake; and. on crawling 

 into it, I was assailed by a most solid odor, and a vast number 

 of disturbed things went barging off through the almost complete 

 darkness into the water of the lake beyond with a tremendous 

 splashing. Once inside. I could stand up and walk about, on 

 hard-packed earth and feathers. I would not like to estimate the 

 number of water birds that lived there. Gaining the other side. 

 I peered cautiously out at ground level (which was virtually at 

 water level) and then, having lugged my field glasses along. I 

 was permitted the best bit of water-bird watching ever. 



Besides coot. Florida gallinules. little blue, great white, and 

 great blue herons, a couple of egrets that I think were the self- 

 introduced West African cattle egret, what I could swear was 

 that diminutive attraction named the least bittern, and two sub- 

 adult herring gulls, the following dudes, as far as I could later 

 determine from my somewhat sodden notes, appeared: black, 

 pintail, blue-winged teal, baldpate by the dozens, a shoveler. 

 lesser scaup, a lot of what I assume were buffleheads always off 

 by themselves and very active, and a host of very small, 

 apparently coal-blade, diving types that stayed far away and 

 defeated even my high-powered binoculars. I have never been 

 much of a dude enthusiast, but I admit being enthralled by the 

 sight of all these apparently happy and busy cohorts feeding, 

 cleaning themselves, or just mucking about on the placid waters 

 in the slanting rays of the evening sun. And yet all around for 

 miles were dull, open prairies. 



There is a lot that could be said about central Florida, with its 

 multitudinous lakes, its seemingly interminable flatwoods and 

 clean-looking pines, and its ground palmetto and grass. And it 

 would be possible to wax quite enthusiastic about the succession 



A large part of the Everglades is flooded during the sum- 

 mer, but in winter the waters contract into channels and 

 all the aquatic life goes with them. 



of different types of growth one sees in passing down the west 

 side near the coast, through the various patches of pine, cypress, 

 open wet pastures enclosed in thick oak stands rather like parts 

 of Africa, thinly flooded fields, masses of tall cabbage palms, 

 open salty or Sweetwater marshes, and other a.ssorted oikoi, or 

 "houses." Today, unfortunately, the coastal strip from Tarpon 

 Springs south almost to Naples — an important ecological turn- 

 over point— is. frankly, a sorry mess, due not only to normal 

 human litter but to an inordinate amount of roadside advertis- 

 ing and similar horrors. 



The Atlantic coast is worse and is virtually a continuous stnp 

 development, though here some as yet quite unspoiled parts on 

 the seaside and some fascinating wild dune country to the land- 

 ward still exist. Also, there is a place between Cape Canaveral 

 and Palm Beach where, to a botanist, the most ridiculous state 

 of affairs may be seen. This is modern, blown, beach sand rolling 

 away in regular dune formations under a pure stand of pines, 

 covering not only the soil but everything vegetative in sight. The 

 offshore sandspits. sand beaches, and dunes continue all the way 

 down to the tip of Florida and out onto the cays The eastern 

 flatwoods march along behind them inland all the way down to 

 Miami, where they become lost in that great modem city com- 

 plex. South of that begins the Miami Rockridge. a somewhat 

 different ecological bit. 



The Caloosahatchee River and its originator, great Lake 

 Okeechobee, form the real base of the central area. This lake is 

 a rather frightening expanse that for some unknown reason 

 looks flatter than any other piece of water I have ever seen. 

 Perhaps it is that the surrounding country is so flat: yet again. 

 it may be the quality of the sky over it. which — like the shallow 

 "Whitewaters" of the Caribbean — does actually reflect its placid 

 colorlessness in most lights. This body of water teems with fish. 



SAW GRASS AND GAMBOOZIES 



So we come finally to the bottom end of the peninsula and to a 

 land that for some reason is exciting to scientists and tourists 

 alike. It is a rather dreary-looking bit of country, heavily infested 

 with mosquitoes and, over wide areas, smelling almost as badly 

 as a wood-pulp factory. As a bit of North America and particu- 

 larly of the United States, it is both unique and very odd. and it 

 has a subtle charm. Now that the most interesting parts of it 

 have been taken over by the United States Department of the 

 Interior as a national park, its true fascination is coming to light. 



On both the Gulf and Atlantic sides there are within this 

 subprovince about three hundred square miles of "flatwoods" — 

 in two sections, the larger one on the east, the smaller on the 

 west. Everglades start from the bottom edge of the Okeechobee 

 and fill the center of the triangular tip of the peninsula. To the 

 east of them lies only the narrow Atlantic coastal fringe, but to 

 the west, on the Gulf side. is. first, the famous Big Cypress 

 Swamp area and then, south of that, the Ten Thousand Islands 

 and associated coast clothed in mangroves. This runs down to 

 and around the extreme tip of the country. This subdivision is 

 fairly simple, but the everglades themselves are not. 



Imagine an evening of soft sunlight with a sky getting set to 

 turn every range of yellow, orange, flame, and red — without a 

 cloud, and without wind. Imagine also that you are squatting on 

 a pile of slightly damp rubbish beside a small meandering 

 channel entirely filled with lily fronds except for one stretch of 

 open water which is jet-blade. The trees around you are not over 

 twenty feet tall and mildly uninteresting— just green. The pond, 

 slough, or "waterway" you are observing is absolutely still and 



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