Mutability: A Tin Can Tourist's Trip to Downtown Tallahassee

When the mercury dropped to record lows over the weekend, Secret Aging Man and I--temporarily known as Tin Can Tourists--had few options for entertainment, but that fact didn't spoil our fun. We awoke on Saturday morning to realize that we had not left the water dripping from the faucets as my mom had wisely suggested in her phone call the night before. Fortunately, the pipes in the camper were not damaged, but an ice plug in a hose leading from the outside faucet to the camper was obstructing the flow of water. A neighbor camper--much more experienced at this sort of thing--said she had filled up her water tank on Friday evening and disconnected the outside hose. I learned something else that morning: the shower house at the campground is clean, warm, and seldom used by anyone else, which is just what I like. With showers out of the way, now what do we do? The usual outdoor activities we have begun to enjoy around Tallahassee like hiking and garden walking were out of the question. A quick online search revealed a new-to-us treasure--the Museum of Florida History. Our treasure map took us by this fountain in the Kleman Plaza. Ice in a fountain in Florida's capital is not something you see every day.

I'm sure this plaza is filled with people on warmer days. We didn't see too many of them on Saturday, which is another something that I like. I get to take pictures without feeling like I'm invading someone else's privacy or getting stared/glared at.

I wonder what kinds of voices Florida women have that make them special? Is it just the drawl that sets them apart, or do those voices find expression in unexpected ways? I didn't get to find out on this visit. The ice plugged water line and late start in the day had prevented us from taking our time, and so did a supper invitation from one of SAM's new colleagues. I'm sure I will be back to get my answer before this display leaves the building sometime in April.

Florida's strange history would not be complete without a giant mastodon to consider. These giants disappeared along with the ice sheets that used to cover much of the earth during the last great ice age. No one has been able to figure out exactly why this happened. Were the furry beasts not able to cope with the blazing heat that soon became the norm, or did too many Fred Flintstones and Barney Rubbles find those ribs irresistible?

Here is another display that caught my eye. "Boots, Bustles, & Bitters" sounds like it would make a great song title. I'll have to get Daughter to come up with a good tune while I think of some lyrics. It will be something to keep our minds occupied on these long, cold winter nights and sure beats watching the idiot box.

It's too bad this idea didn't catch on back then. We could have avoided all kinds of trouble and countless debates over climate change.

Florida would not be the state it is today without the influence of these itinerants. I've become an expert in short order at this sort of thing.

I'm happy to report that our world on wheels is a little fancier than this model. It's perfect for one person most of the time and just about right for two people some of the time, especially when it's not so cold outside.

It's a little hard to believe that Florida's citrus history stretches this far back in time. That thing that looks like a crack in the wall represents a huge rift in the history. It was caused by another Great Freeze in Florida that occurred in the 1890s.

By the time I got home yesterday, the damage to the pink grapefruit trees had already been done. All of that lovely growth I was crowing about not long ago has retreated and left behind nothing but these brown-paper memories of former glory. The trees might still be okay if we don't have any more severe cold snaps this winter. There is a chance that new leaves will appear in the spring.

I finally coaxed Peanut out of the house and into the sunshine this afternoon. She will never get used to living in Alaska at this rate.

I filled up the cart three times today with trimmings from the frost-bitten garden. It was necessary to keep the yard looking presentable to potential homebuyers, and it's one of those chores I don't mind doing when the mercury makes its ascent into the range of normal again.

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From low to high doth dissolution climb,

And sink from high to low, along a scale

Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail;

A musical but melancholy chime,

Which they can hear who meddle not with crime,

Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care.

Truth fails not, but her outward forms that bear

The longest date do melt like frosty rime,

That in the morning whitened hill and plain

And is no more; drop like the tower sublime

Of yesterday, which royally did wear

His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain

Some casual shout that broke the silent air,

Or the unimaginable touch of Time.

--"Mutability" by William Wordsworth, 1822--

May in Florida--Find-the-Spring Time!

"The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won..."
--from "Ode on Intimations of Immortality" by William Wordsworth--



May in Florida takes us miles from home to visit someone special on the Atlantic coast. We decide to try a new route, leaving the interstate highway for a more leisurely pace and a look at what the heart of Florida has to offer. Silver River State Park in Ocala would be a great place to spend a few days if we had the time. We have only a couple of hours to stop and stretch our legs. Trail signs direct us to visit the spring-fed Silver River, but strange, hairy plants sprouting from tree trunks beckon us to stop and wonder at them and other oddities along the way. I suspect that these plants are some type of bromeliad, and this excellent site I found, jacksbromeliads.com, appears to confirm that suspicion.

If I'm wrong about the bromeliad identification, I can rest easy. I know there are bloggers out there who will kindly help me. Julie and Claude really know their stuff when it comes to succulents and other plants like the bromeliads that thrive without a lot of water. Visits to their blogs and discoveries along the trail help me appreciate the beauty and hardy nature of these plants.

Daughter made cupcakes for Mother's Day 2009, using a Red Velvet cake mix. We stayed up late Saturday night getting them baked and laughing about that armadillo groom's cake in the movie Steel Magnolias. I threatened to make one for her future groom. Who doesn't love a gray cake with a red center that looks like road kill? But I'm getting ahead of myself. Back to the journey east and trail I go.

Silver River lives up to its name, flowing like a silver thread through the park, providing a cool, mineral-rich home for fish and the fowl that feed on them.

People with more time than we have to spend at the park find canoes available for a reasonable rental cost. The park ranger at the fee station suggests getting an early start if visiting on the weekend. Canoes for rent are a hot commodity on this cool river, especially during the summer months.

When we reach the river at the end of a boardwalk, we spy a small alligator making its way to our shore. It disappears behind some brush, and we hear a loud splash. I hope it's not one of those lovely birds we see diving for fish. A sudden noise behind me makes my heart skip a beat or two. An elderly gentleman laughs when I sheepishly admit that I thought he was an alligator sneaking up on us. He takes his place along the boardwalk with a much nicer camera than I have. I pray he gets a chance to enjoy and capture whatever we will miss as the light softens and the day comes to an end. We leave him alone and retrace our steps along the trail back to the car.

The lady we have come so far to see celebrates a long life, 92 years in 2009. A sister-in-law graciously provides a cake (not an armadillo, thank goodness!) for all of us present to share, and we think about the ones who are absent and missed.

"...Thanks to the human heart by which we live,

Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,

To me the meanest flower that blows can give

Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."

--from Wordsworth's poem as above--

From Mistletoe to Spanish Moss--Epiphytic Love

From mistletoe to Spanish moss,
epiphytes, you know, are philagathos--loving that which is good.

They don't take more than they need in the way of basic nourishment to become established on a host tree such as an oak or maple. Providing additional photosynthetically derived energy for their hosts, they make cozy nesting material for birds, appear to assist avian digestive processes, and are collected as elegant decorating supplies by aesthetic-minded members of the animal kingdom.

In the plant kingdom, epiphytes are neither here nor there, living at the mercy of their hosts. I do believe epiphytes, especially the various types of mistletoe, have been much maligned and don't deserve the bad reputation they may have acquired because of hearsay or old-wives' tales. And who wouldn't love the idea of pineapples growing on trees?


My study of literature sometimes ranges from the sublime (Wordsworth's "Resolution and Independence") to the ridiculous (Lewis Carroll's "The White Knight's Song"). But what is ridiculous about the need to survive in difficult economic times? Carroll somehow understood better than Wordsworth the absolute necessity for laughter in times of great distress. Wordsworth was perhaps laboring under the delusion of his time that "moving forward" and being "optimistic" were keywords for success in any endeavor. And anyway, laughter makes more of an impression than wringing of hands or gnashing of teeth in times like this one. Somehow it eventually draws your attention to the dire needs of others who are less fortunate. You know--the ones you see along the various highways and byways these days, toting small bundles, bearing the weight of the world's diminishing dividends ultimately decreed by greedy "expert" financiers.

The White Knight's Song

I'll tell thee everything I can;

There's little to relate.

I saw an aged, aged man,

A-sitting on a gate.

"Who are you, aged man?" I said.

"And how is it you live?"

And his answer trickled through my head

Like water through a sieve.

He said, "I look for butterflies

That sleep among the wheat;

I make them into mutton-pies,

And sell them in the street.

I sell them unto men," he said,

"Who sail on stormy seas;

And that's the way I get my bread--

A trifle, if you please."

But I was thinking of a plan

To dye one's whiskers green,

And always use so large a fan

That they could not be seen.

So, having no reply to give

To what the old man said,

I cried, "Come, tell me how you live!"

And thumped him on the head....