Old Florida: Searching for Center in Seminole County

In college my graphic design professor insisted that we develop our own concepts. My classmates protested that "in the real word, copywriters will write copy and we'll just have to do the artwork!" But "Jack", the toughest and most influential instructor I had in my 4 years at UF, was unwavering and I went on to develop such memorable headlines as "It's A-maizing" for Argo Corn Syrup. My classmates still tease me about that one.

In my professional career working at small in-house design departments, I was forced to not only create my own concepts but even write my own copy. I also wrote radio ads, TV commercials even the script for a promotional video. Yet I'm still more at home in the visual realm than in the world of words. This realization was made more apparent to me after a Nature Journaling Workshop with the brilliant Florida writer Bill Belleville sponsored by the Center for Earth Jurisprudence.

I've just recently discovered the CEJ, whose mission is to advance a legal system that recognizes that ecosystems have inherent rights to be healthy. Yes, they are lawyers for the earth!

I attended a lecture by Jacksonville artist Jim Draper and fell in love with the organization and their methods of blending environmental education and spirituality. I eagerly signed up for the journaling exercise held at the Lake Harney Wilderness Area in Seminole County.

Just the drive to Lake Harney where the workshop was held was eventful. Soon after crossing over the St. Johns River, I made my way down Osceola Road and passed a huge sow sauntering down the side of the road, not a sight often seen in my urban existence! A short time later I passed a Gopher Tortoise striding down the yellow line between lines of traffic. Had I not been following another car, I would have stopped and moved him, but I am happy to report when I passed that way on my return trip, I saw no evidence that he ended up as roadkill.

The Lake Harney Wilderness Area is 300 acre parcel that Seminole County bought through a land acquisition plan similar to the state's Florida Forever program. According to the Seminole County website, the site is "home to the historic railroad crossing of the Florida east Coast Railway, Native American Shell middens, several bald eagles nests, oak hammocks and mixed hardwood swamps." We strolled down the Flagler trail to a scenic overlook built on top of a shell mound. Rusting evidence of the railroad bridge crossing was apparent next to this archaeological site. This area had been occupied by generations of Timucua, Miakka and perhaps Seminole Indians before the white man came along. Prior to Henry Flagler's railroad bridge, this location was a ferry crossing. It also served home to the logging town of Osceola. When the loggers had harvested all the trees on the site, they simply picked up the town and moved it down near the Everglades, leaving only the brick bank vault behind. As I wandered the site, it was thrilling to know I shared the same space as some Florida's earliest human inhabitants. Belleville did a masterful job of explaining the cultural history and the pointing out obscure natural details. It was not long before the location came alive in my mind as much more than the obvious physical appearances; it is a culmination of centuries of human occupation. I saw the natural setting with new eyes as I explored the nearby paths.

The lonely bank vault of the former town of Osceola

The St. Johns River

After soaking up the natural beauty as I wandered around the woods, I forced myself to sit and attempted to center myself. My first try at closing my eyes was interrupted by a buzzing mosquito. After two recent cases of mosquito borne Dengue Fever reported in the area, I was committed to staying bite-free and quickly soaked myself in bug repellent. I heard the sounds of insects, birds and pesky squirrels rustling palm fronds. I also heard speed boats and airplanes pass by. I couldn't sit still for long.

The observation platform atop the shell midden

I know the feeling of oneness with nature that Bill Belleville described so eloquently. I often experience that kind of serenity sitting on my dock of the little lake behind my house. It's like an immense wave of gratitude, and the certain realization that I am part of something larger than myself. I fit into nature's perfection. The anxiety of maintaining a manicured yard diminishes and I realize that by allowing native "weeds" to grow unencumbered, I've actually created habitat for a plethora of critters both seen and unseen. But on this day, at this beautiful setting, I could not shut down my urge to explore and to see new things. My virgin journal captured no brilliant words. I have to take time to process my experience in order to write about it. But my eyes beheld enough beauty for me to want to return to this spot again, and it left a mark on my heart. I felt fed and fulfilled. I'm fairly certain that alone was a more than an adequate outcome for this Sunday afternoon.