Eco burns can be deeply disturbing. For most of us the idea of starting a fire to purposefully destroy the beauty of nature is troubling. But nature often depends on fire to renew. Long before there was man on the Myakka prairies there was lightening and through thousands of years the cycle of burning-renewal-burning constructed the unique landscape that is Myakka.
In her book, Myakka, Park Biologist Paula Benshoff has an excellent chapter called “Fire, Most Naturally.” She states that “the most intriguing and fascinating facet of my job is …involvement with fire ecology.”
Oak tree that was felled by the burn. In the foreground is an old tree trunk that had served as a bench for many years.
Last March a prescribed burn was conducted between Fox’s High and Low Roads, one of my favorite hiking areas. It was a shock to emerge from the canopy of trees that leads from the parking area to the prairies. The burn was about two weeks old and everything was still very black and sooty. The old oak that had stood as a sentinel for many years was a victim of the burn. Its rotted mid-section could not hold. It came down hard. Another victim was the large tree trunk that had been there for many years and served as a useful bench.
Fox’s High Rd. area was equally shocking. One reason I like this area so much is the easy access to different eco-systems. Fox’s High Rd. has sandy areas that make me think of our beautiful local beaches and there are pine trees dotting the landscape and framing several small meadow areas. I was worried that the pines would be gone. But they survived, a little singed, but still strong.
Fox’s High Road after prescribed burn.
As I poked through the charred landscape my worry and despair quickly gave way to wonder as I came across strong signs of new life.
Fresh growth two weeks after prescribed growth.The marsh off Fox’s Low Rd. looking back towards the road. This area is normally thick with vegetation and swampy but the drought had taken hold before the burn so there was plenty of dry vegetation for the fire..
It is now autumn in Florida. There are some who will swear that Florida has no autumn. Accustomed to the dramatic colors of tall trees, newly arrived Florida residents have a hard time seeing our Florida Fall. But the season has been spectacular this year, especially in the burn areas. The grasses have roared back. They are tall, vigorous and bursting with different colors and shapes. Similarly the wildflowers seem more abundant and there seem to be more varieties.
The old oak that stood for so many years on Fox’s Low Road is being given a beautiful salute. In this age where we celebrate life rather mourn the dead, the oak’s pyre of wildflowers and grasses seem gentle, supportive and most appropriate.
And along Fox’s High and Low Roads the views are wonderful. Check out the gallery pictures below for “before-and-after” shots. But most of all, Get Out There! Winter will be here all too soon and this glorious season of autumn in Florida will be gone. ❧
(For best results with gallery pictures, double-click on first image and then scroll through.)
Fox High Road
The marsh off Fox’s Low Rd. looking back towards the road. This area is normally thick with vegetation and swampy but the drought had taken hold before the burn.
Less than a week ago I used this blog to announce my intention to retire.
Four days later I was laid off.
My position was eliminated during a “strategic realignment” of the organization. I was not alone. Three other colleagues received the same message as me. And there had been earlier realignments in the organization. It was a matter of time before they got to our department. I guess I’ll never know if I was chosen because I had announced my retirement or because my number came up. Either way, c’est la vie. (That’s a French way of saying “it is what it is.”)
The next day, as fate would have it, was my birthday — my 65th birthday. When I was a child that was the expected retirement age, 65. But things have changed along the way. My full Social Security payment will not kick in until I’m 66 but I had made up my mind I wouldn’t wait another year. I made application for Social Security on-line and in a few days received a call from a nice agent who informed me that I qualified to receive my late husband’s benefits — which are substantially higher — even though we were common law for many years. I’ve sent her the proof that Bob and I presented ourselves as husband and wife. She made it sound all very simple. Let’s hope.
On my birthday I awoke and immediately thought of the day before when I had been laid off. As I lay there thinking of the week’s events I couldn’t help but think of my good fortune. Certainly not everyone who has been laid off has that thought. But throughout the week I had been thinking how I would like to be retired by the end of October. Answered prayers! Not the way I would have crafted it but it is, nevertheless, an answered prayer.
I rolled out of bed thinking “Well, Alice, it is the first day of the rest of your life.” I smiled broadly and headed off to Alafia River State Park where I photographed mushrooms with the help of my sister. Here’s a sampling of the day’s work.
This little guy was no more than 1/2 inch in height. He was beginning his new life … and so was I. ❧
Just a quick post to tell everyone that Alice will soon join the ranks of the notorious 47% when she begins collecting Social Security retirement next month. I’ve given notice at Tidewell Hospice that I would like to be out of there no later than Dec. 28. If it can be arranged I hope it will be sooner. I’ve worked at Tidewell for seven years and have seen, first hand, that life is shorter than we can imagine. There are too many projects that I have delayed because of my job. The good Lord willing I will have time to finish those projects and find a few more. In the words of songster Donavon Frankenreiter, “I’m looking for life, love, and laughter/Everything in between/And what happens after.”
A marijuana plant being grown by caregiver in Michigan.
Last week was something special for me. In Lansing, Michigan they dedicated the R.C. Randall Memorial Wellness Center, named in honor of my late husband. It was a joyous event and both the ribbon-cutting and dinner were well attended. I traveled to Lansing and was the keynote speaker at the dinner. For weeks before I wondered what I had gotten myself into and now I have the answer — something good.
The R.C. Randall Memorial Wellness Center helps patients with a medical need for marijuana to be certified by the State of Michigan. This certification allows the patient two options: 1) grow their own marijuana (up to 12 plants), or 2) be paired with a “Caregiver” who will provide the patient with marijuana which he or she grows specifically for patients. Michigan, along with numerous other States, has been forced to craft a solution to the medical marijuana problem because the federal government steadfastly refuses to “man up” and re-schedule marijuana. Under federal law marijuana is still classified as having “no accepted medical use in treatment” despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
Medical marijuana is a big part of my past. You can learn more by reading my post “Grass on the Mind.”
Robert C. Randall died in 2001. He was still receiving marijuana from the federal government and still had his eyesight. And he still had the desire to see others obtain marijuana for medical use. In his final days he tried to dictate an article about marijuana’s beneficial effects for people with AIDS, especially in Africa where he envisioned AIDS clinics easily growing marijuana in their backyards. “How easy it could be,” he said.
But nothing was ever easy with medical marijuana and two decades of being on the “front line” had taken its toll on me. With Robert’s death I felt the time had come to “bow out” of the movement. Like any woman grieving the loss of her husband, I went through a period of uncertainty. The only certain thing I knew was that the road Robert and I traveled together had stopped. I knew I had to find my own path.
I had an interest in hospice work and began to chart my course towards working with the local organization, a goal I achieved four years after Robert’s death. It has been rewarding work. From time to time I have received calls about medical marijuana, asking for comments or seeking advice. I did what I could but I became more and more removed from the movement and that was fine by me. The medical marijuana movement had become huge and often chaotic. By failing to confront the medical marijuana issue honestly the federal government had created a nightmare of state laws, dispensaries, and uncontrolled use. Pandora’s box was open and, from my perspective, there seemed no rational way to proceed.
I promised myself that I would always speak out to preserve Robert’s memory and remind others of his legacy. This has served me well. About two years ago an activist called from Washington, D.C. and asked my permission to use Robert’s name on a clinic that they expected to open. I said it was “possible” and asked to be kept in the loop. I never heard from him again.
In the Spring of 2012 I had another request to use Robert’s name, this time from Michigan, and the requestor was a young woman, Becca Hollandsworth, who had been befriended by an ally from the “early days.” Roger Winthrop is the quintessential activist, a man who has devoted his life to various causes, one of which has been med-pot. He and Robert were great co-conspirators. They would talk for hours on the phone (before the age of “unlimited minutes”) and write long letters filled with tactics and strategies. I trusted Roger and he trusted Becca. Permission was granted.
Throughout the summer I would hear from Roger or Becca with updates. A “gala opening” was being planned and would I come? I agreed. I was never quite sure that either Roger or Becca heard my protests that I “was no longer involved in the movement.” I told them I would come to Lansing to help preserve the memory of Robert and his legacy. “Will you be available to lobby in the Capitol?” Hmmm, sounds suspiciously like “involvement.” But I pressed on.
Before I knew it the event had taken on a life of its own. On the RCR Memorial Wellness Center Facebook page the following was posted:
“GRASS ROOTS REUNION events in Lansing MI … once-in-lifetime opportunity to meet & speak with pioneers of medpot ‘movement’ …. they’ve not been together in decades, unlikely to ever do it again. Lansing’s Eastside is most unlikely place for such event ~ not envisioned, just came together w/ support of handful of Michiganders who recognize values & wish to ‘connect’ w/ authentic Tradition in name & honor of Bob & Alice. We are so fortunate to have earned this opportunity.”
So, on September 12 we “pioneers” got together and dedicated The Center which is, quite frankly, very handsome and much more than I ever expected. Robert would be very proud.
Ribbon cutting at the RCR Memorial Wellness Center. Roger Winthrop and I cut the ribbon officially opening The Center.
But he would be even more proud at the reception I received from Becca, Mark, Aaron, Jaisen, and others. In my role as a grief counselor at hospice I do a lot of “validation” — confirming that what the client says is right and true. In Lansing I was the one to receive validation. It was a sweet and singular time. Looking back at two decades of work and receiving the respect of those who are carrying on — I’m not sure it gets much better.
That night there was a dinner and I gave the keynote address. About 150 people were in attendance including several representatives from the nearby legislature. In between various technical snafus I managed to speak from the heart about the beginnings of the “movement” and how those years had been. Forced to “wing it” I’m not sure I ever got out the words that are most important to me. “Thank you, RC Randall Memorial Wellness Center.” You made this woman very proud. And Godspeed in your mission. One day, we hope, sanity will prevail but until that time remember that legal or illegal marijuana works. It can save sight, quell nausea, soothe spasms, control seizures, and a host of other disorders. It is a substance that was placed on this earth for a reason, a substance for which our DNA has a “receptor”. It will not be denied, only delayed. Keep on keepin’ on!
Becca Hollandsworth and Alice at the RC Randall Memorial Wellness Center.
Sundays are becoming one of my favorite days of the week. First I don’t have to be at work and secondly, that seems to be the day Amazon.com sends out its book orders. For the past three Sundays I have opened my email to find an Amazon.com Advantage order waiting. I’m hardly keeping pace with the best-selling Fifty Shades of Gray but from what I’ve heard about that book I can tell you that I move in different circles.
Selling a book isn’t easy and having my new book on Amazon.com seems like a huge accomplishment but I can see I’ll have to do more if I want to continue seeing those Sunday morning emails. Retail-wise the stores are holding tight at the moment. I’d hoped to place my book at the Myakka Park Outpost gift shop but their ordering is on hold until October. This makes perfect sense. Traffic in the Park is decidedly down from seasonal crowds. So, I’ll bide my time and hope to “gin up” the Amazon purchases where I can.
How about you? Wouldn’t you like a copy of this book? Amazon is waiting. 🙂
Neil Armstrong died recently. The first human to walk on the moon slipped quietly into that Great Beyond. Godspeed, Neil Armstrong.
For me the name of Neil Armstrong will be synonymous with two events. The first, of course, is his landing on the moon. I was “there” along with several million others as we became transfixed before the television sets on July 20, 1969. How incredible it was. Television itself was barely out of puberty. Most of us still had black and white sets. In various extensions of family, friends, and human kind we huddled together, collectively holding our breath as Armstrong and his co-pilot, Buzz Aldrin, skillfully piloted the Lunar lander to THE spot on the Moon…Tranquility Base. I’ve always loved that…Tranquility Base.
I was with about a dozen friends, splayed out on the floor of our rented house in Lutz, Florida. I was about to enter my last year of college. The times, they were a’changing — an early Dylan song made all the more potent by the events of, well, the times. We were all pleasantly stoned on marijuana and marveling at the sights on the “boob” tube. Just eighteen months before several of us had traveled to the East Coast of Florida to watch a Saturn 5 rocket launch Apollo 8 to a historic rendezvous with the Moon. Apollo 8 would not land on the Moon but it would broadcast some incredible pictures that helped, for the first time, to put our place in space in a true perspective. A blue, tantalizing dot in the midst of blackness. It was all we had imagined and more.
Now, just a short seven months later, we had returned to the Moon, coming “in peace for all mankind.” It was as good as it gets in life.
But I said that Armstrong’s death brings back the memories of TWO events in my life. The second occurred 32 years later, in August of 2001. I was recently widowed, struggling with all the emotion and baggage that kind of event can bring. A dear cousin, in a most generous moment, gave me the funds for a trip to Australia where our dearest friends lived. Daryl, a native Australian, had spent 25 years with the World Bank. Her husband, Craig, had worked in various performing arts’ associations in Washington, D.C.
We decided to make an adventure of it and Daryl compiled a wonderful itinerary that took us to The Center, that vast portion of Australia which remains largely uninhabited. One spot she selected was The Bungle Bungles, or Purnululu, in a rugged part of the Kimberly. We stayed at a remote lodge and with a small group of travelers we explored the region, gazing at oddly domed rocks, climbing other rocks, and exploring caves, like this one.
The caves were delightfully cool and offered respite from the hot sun. As we rested one of our guides began to sing a song called “Armstrong”. The acoustics in the cave made his voice almost heavenly and the words to the song were very moving to me. You can hear it here.
When he was finished I commented to another guide that I felt the song really captured the spirit of that incredible day when Neil Armstrong walked upon the moon. “You saw it!” she exclaimed. Her sense of awe was, I’ll admit, a bit unsettling. After all, millions had seen the event on TV. “What was it like?” she asked. Her interest was sincere and so I told her what I could recall, which was a lot because it was an extraordinary time. Even the venerable news anchor Walter Cronkite was bowled over by the landing and the walk.
Sitting in the far reaches of Australia that day, reliving the day Neil Armstrong walked upon the moon. It was as good as it gets in life. Thanks Neil. ❧
It’s no surprise that I spent part of my Sunday (August 26) at Myakka River State Park. We were under a Tropical Storm watch at the time and the River was already at near flood stage. If we had gotten the worst of T.S. Isaac I wanted to have a good record. Isaac decided, like so many storms before him, that getting to the Central West Coast of Florida is a lot of work. It is a whole bunch easier to cruise through the Florida Straits, ruffle the feathers of the Margarita crowd in Key West, and then use the wide open Gulf of Mexico to feed its fury before making in landfall in Mississippi or Louisiana.
Sunday was a gloomy day and the traffic at Myakka was slim. The water is high and lots of the wildlife is either displaced or much closer to the pathways than normal. This momma alligator is a good example.
She was a few yards off the Power Line Road, protecting her brood with a watchful eye. There were enough obstacles between her and I that I never felt threatened but I also didn’t feel like pushing any limits to get a clearer shot.
Most of the other trails were washed out for the day. I tried to navigate the Fox High Road but it was hopeless. Way too much water, not to mention the mosquitos.
So, I began to make my way home and had just crossed over the Park Drive Bridge when I looked to my left and there was this deer.
He was no more than three feet from the car and I was traveling at about 15mph so it seemed as though he was keeping pace with me. We made clear eye contact and I stopped the car. He stopped too. And for a moment we regarded each other. I finally reached for the camera and was sure this would be alarming. But he took it all in stride. Perhaps our moment of eye connection made him realize there was nothing to fear.
He nonchalantly turned to his left and sauntered into the woods.
The next day was a working one, shortened by Isaac’s erratic behavior. Our offices opened at noon and that afternoon I had a grief support group for mothers whose adult children have died. It was a smaller group than normal, no doubt owing to the storm as well as summer vacations. There was a lull in the conversation and then one of the mothers said, “Well, I have something that I need to share.”
Her son had died of a heart attack three years ago. About a year after the event she was driving home and entered her gated community. She found the road blocked by a deer. She didn’t know what to do and was startled when the deer walked towards the car and stood by the driver’s window. She lowered the window and began to talk to the deer. At one point she touched the deer’s nose. She was convinced that her son’s spirit had somehow entered the deer. A similar incident happened to her a few weeks later.
Naturally, as I was culling through these photos tonight, I thought of this lady. I don’t know whose spirit was in the deer that I saw on Sunday. More’s the pity for that. But I have no doubt that this lady’s story is true. I have heard too many similar tales — stories of butterflies and orbs and lady bugs and objects that move on their own or beloved items that appear without rhyme or reason.
Shakespeare wrote, “There is more in heaven and earth than we can know.” And while it is true that we may not be able to know it does not mean we can’t be aware. ❧
Eco burns can be deeply disturbing. For most of us the idea of starting a fire to purposefully destroy the beauty of nature is troubling. But nature often depends on fire to renew. Long before there was man on the Myakka prairies there was lightening and through thousands of years the cycle of burning-renewal-burning constructed the unique landscape that is Myakka.
The old oak that stood for so many years on Fox’s Low Road is being given a beautiful salute. In this age where we celebrate life rather mourn the dead, the oak’s pyre of wildflowers and grasses seem gentle, supportive and most appropriate.
Alice's WanderLand 