Goodbye Greasy Goodness

I must admit I have stopped to take pictures of the Olde Dixie Fried Chicken sign more than I've actually eaten there. It is one of the few vintage signs left in the Orlando area, and occasionally I like to ride my bike into historic Pine Castle where the restaurant is located on photo safari. So when I heard it was shutting down, I made the conscious decision to ignore the fact that I normally try to adhere to a plant-based diet, and I stopped in for lunch.

It was quit chaotic when I arrived – folks lined up along the back wall waiting for take-out orders, what seemed like 8 or 10 women working hard to full those orders, and a disorganized crowd milling around the order counter. Immediately I was truck by the notion that if there was system in place, it wasn't clear. Was there line at the order counter, when did you pay, was there table service or pick-up? Turns out if you dine in, and they bring you your food, which I did in order to soak up the ambiance.

The place looks like it hadn't changed in half a century, the interior consists of wood paneling and stacked rock walls covered with posters of John Wayne. Large clusters of chicken collectibles line the counter. A mural of an old Southern plantation surrounded by oaks draped in Spanish moss covered the wall behind the cash register. There were amazing midcentury details like an incredible terrazzo compass rose and Googie-like multicolored hanging lights.

The smell of fried chicken coated everything, and the women behind the counter were in constant motion taking freshly fried chicken parts out of the fryer and putting them in boxes. At lunchtime the restaurant posted on Facebook that due to demand they had bought more chicken (as they were going to only stay open until they ran out.) As I was leaving I heard one of the ladies say they had run out of boxes, despite ordering about 5,000 of them.

While I was enjoying my delicious chicken breast, (it was so fresh and hot I couldn't pick it up with my fingers), one of the guests asked a member of the staff what was going to happen to the restaurant. She said they were looking for a new location, and I believe she said in Oviedo. I also overheard that the she understood the building would not be demolished, it would just not be Olde Dixie Fried Chicken anymore.

The place was crowded with a diverse group of people in all shapes, sizes, and colors. I found that interesting since the Confederate flag is prominently featured in the establishment's sign. My theory is that they named it "Olde Dixie" after the Dixie Highway which followed the route of Orange Avenue through Pine Castle.

There are very few restaurants with any history in the Orlando area, and even fewer buildings with original mid-century details. I'm sad to see this place go. And the chicken was moist and crispy, the cole slaw sweet and tasty, and the mac and cheese was delicious. I guess I'll go back to my plant-based diet until I have to say so-long to the next Orlando dining institution ready to bite the dust. Let's hope that's in the distant future.

Textures of the ancient city

I just returned from an overnight trip to my favorite city in Florida, St. Augustine. Although it can be touristy and crowded, there is magic there that I'm always able to tap into. My wife an I journey there at least once a year, and are never disappointed. This weekend the weather was perfect and the light was incredible. Waking the city, I  constantly make new discoveries and can simply lose myself in the rich textures on display in this incredibly lovely place.

Old Florida Gratitude: Presents from the Past

I was not born in Florida, but it's the only home I've ever known. I was 18 months old when my mom and I flew down to Gainesville to meet my Dad, who had already started his new job for the city. I have no memories of the snowy Midwest and while I know that it's me in those baby pictures in Michigan, there are no memories attached to them.

So in my own internal survey of what I'm grateful for this Thanksgiving, I must put at the top of the list that I'm grateful that my parents decided to move to Florida. Today only 36% of the folks living here are natives, and this state's colorful history is one of folks from other places leaving their mark here – from Ponce de León to Henry Flagler.

Who needs a swimming pool?

I grew up in Gainesville in a suburban neighborhood at the end of the block near the woods. Critters would leave the sanctuary of the woods and explore our yard; gopher tortoises, box turtles, snakes, and fireflies. My mom still lives in the house I grew up in and she still has deer and armadillo amble through the property, but sadly no more fireflies.

The second thing I am grateful for is growing up near those woods. It was our playground and in our young minds live oak branches became jet planes, the paths became motocross trails for our bicycles, and we became army scouts searching for the enemy. It was fertile ground for our  imaginations. I remember signing up for a nature course at the local trail shop with Tom Allen from Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom (and son of Ross Allen). To my surprise, they didn't take us to any of Gainesville's well known settings for nature like Paynes Prairie or the San Felasco Hammock. To my surprise, the nature course, led by the famous naturalist, simply explored the woods near my house. I guess our silvan playground was something special.

The woods are still there today, pretty much unchanged.

Mrs. Old Florida in the Gainesville woods, Thanksgiving 2011.

As I started fourth grade my mom went back to work because my parents had made the decision to purchase a weekend retreat. Most Gainevillians had Crescent Beach condos, but my parents chose a different location, the tiny town of Welaka on the St. Johns River. One of my dad's best friends had purchased a place there, directly across from the mouth of the Ocklawaha River, and we soon began making the hour and twenty minute drive from Gainesville every Friday night.

While River Bend Villas was anything but Old Florida, the location was off the beaten path. Tiny Welaka was and is in my mind the quintessential small Florida town – one stop light and the majority of the businesses there were fish camps. Our place was right where the river widened to form Little Lake George at a spot called Beecher's Point. If the tide was low enough we could walk along the water's edge and find Indian pottery. I caught my first bass there, saw my first manatee, and had a close encounter with a cottonmouth that still gives me nightmares. But we also caught blue crabs, had fish fries every weekend, and made trips up the Ocklawaha to swim and picnic.

That's me in the center, clowning around on the Ocklawaha River.

Jumping off the rope swing at Welaka Springs.

That's me with flippers on, in front of the mighty St. Johns River in Welaka.

My Dad with a couple lunkers. 

I am grateful to have had the opportunity to experience Old Florida at places like Welaka, Micanopy, and Palatka. I took it for granted then, but I don't today.

Looking not-too-thrilled to be in my Cub Scout uniform; woods in background

I was a Cub Scout and a Webelo, but I never made it to Boy Scouts as my troop dissolved and for some reason I didn't rejoin another troop. Webelos, the intermediate rank between Cub and Boy Scouts, stands for "We'll be Loyal Scouts." My favorite memory as a Webelo was a camping trip at a spring on the Santa Fe River. I don't remember the name of the spring, if I even knew it, but I remember it was on private property and we had the entire spring to ourselves for the whole weekend. We put watermelons in the spring to chill and when we finally ate them, it was the best watermelon I've ever had. Our entertainment for the camp out was to ride inflatable rafts from the spring head down the run, jumping out just before we reached the Santa Fe's darker water. We did this over and over and over, the force of the current making it a challenge to avoid crashing against the bank.

I'm grateful I grew up around springs and unspoiled wilderness. The Florida I grew up in was tiny towns and mid-sized cities with lots of forests or farmland in between. As a kid, long car rides bored me but today long drives through the country restore my soul.

We took several epic Florida vacations, and I'll always treasure the memories and the photos from our Sunshine State trips. My favorite was staying on remote Sanibel Island in a small cottage. I'd get up early every morning and scour the beach for seashells. We went to Thomas Edison's Winter Home in Ft. Myer's and Edison became my childhood hero. After Sanibel we cut across the state and visited Lion Country Safari on the other coast.

I also remember a vacation to the panhandle with a glorious sailboat trip, staying at little motels on Ormond Beach, and many frequent visits to St. Augustine. There was lots to do in Florida before Disney, and it didn't cost a fortune to do it.

My brother and I on Sanibel Island.

A memorable trip to Cape Canaveral (Kennedy Space Center).

Living less than an hour from Silver Springs, we often took out-of-town visitors there.

As a kid, I absolutely loved Marineland.

With my uncle at Six Gun Territory near Silver Springs. Loved that place too!

With my Mom in St. Augustine.

I'm grateful for these experiences in the other parts of the state, they give me a baseline with which to contrast the Florida of today and it helps me to appreciate the remnants of Old Florida that survive into the 21st century. Looking back into my childhood, I am reminded by how these experiences shaped me into who I am today. I am committed to doing my part to preserve Florida's culture, its history, and its natural environment.

I love hearing the stories from Floridians who have been in the state for generations – it helps me to imagine what the state was like before we arrived in '66. Feel free to leave a comment and share what you are grateful regarding Old Florida.

The Smells of Old Florida

It was suggested on my Old Florida Facebook page that I solicit comments for the smells that best reflect the essence of Old Florida. Here are the responses:

Coppertone. Noxzema after the Coppertone didn't work.

Night blooming jasmine or Natal Plum citrus blossoms in the spring; Confederate jasmine.

When you were on your way to the beach and you're starting to smell that salt air.

Coconut scented suntan lotion, fish... and that earthy, swampy smell on the rivers.

Maxwell House Quality Control, Jacksonville, 1950s, State Archives of Florida

Maxwell House coffee traveling the freeway in Jacksonville and roasting Bustelo coffee in Hialeah.

Paper mill in Port St. Joe, 1954, State Archives of Florida

Everglades pines when the sun first hits them in the morning. Hot asphalt as it rains...freshly cut grass. Paper mills.

Sulfur water. An oyster flat at low tide. Red Tide.

State Archives of Florida

Burning off the cane fields. Old time, real Florida tomatoes. And boiled peanuts. 

State Archives of Florida

Palmetto flowers, Spider Lilies in the swamp, Speckled Perch or Bass on the beds... for me the stinky Anheuser Busch Brewery, low tide estuaries, Deviled Crabs, smoked mullet.

State Archives of Florida

The smell of seashells forgotten in the backseat of the car.

State Archives of Florida

Smoked fish and orange blossoms. Oyster roasts!

The smell of fresh cane juice slowly turning into cane syrup on a cool November morning in North Florida. 

Plant City Strawberry Field, State Archives of Florida

Guavas cooking to make guava jelly. Strawberry fields in Plant City when the fruit gets ripe.

Magnolia blossoms and gardenias. Mangroves! Oak wood smoke. Muck fires!

Leaf tobacco in an Ybor City hand rolled.

Etsy

Orange blossom perfume. Hot Krispy Kreme donuts. The Wonder Bread factory in Tampa.

Mold and mildew. Wildfire breeze, fresh cut pines, lemons, Wax Myrtle, Cypress, the "left overs" from the neighbors catch tossed in the ditch.

State Archives of Florida

"Off" mosquito spray. A/C unit that hasn't had its filter cleaned in a long time. An oyster bar after a college football victory celebration. Roach spray. Kerosene heaters. Burning melaleuca trees. The smell of mullet frying in an un-air conditioned restaurant.

Frangipani in old town Key West early in the morning.

Afternoon rain showers, you could almost tell time by their arrival. 

State Archives of Florida

When the Cuban neighbors invited you over and roasted a whole pig on a pit all day and you took turns turning it...

State Archives of Florida

Seaweed baking away in the sun. The smell of Clorox bleached shells. Bait, brine and slough.

Pine needles, crushed Palmetto bugs, pool chlorine, little motel rooms on the highway, golf course on a summer night, mosquito trucks, wet Oak leaves, bait wells, backyard cookouts, horse stalls, well water, fried seafood, citrus groves in bloom, mucky spoils islands, fresh lime in iced tea, smoke from fireworks on the 4th of July, turtle tanks at Kresges.

State Archives of Florida

Rotten citrus, bog/muck fires, swamp or dead fish smells around lakes, hot tar paving roads.

Pastures of grazing horses and cattle. Tea olive blossoms. Exhaust from the races and fresh turned soil.

State Archives of Florida

A family fish fry, cornbread baking, the earthy smell of the Everglades. Salt water and diesel.

State Archives of Florida

The dirt around the earthworms in the bucket, and then on your hands when you're fishing at the river. The smell at the docks after the shrimp boats come in. So many more! Dear God, Florida smells good!