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Florida Cracker Quiz

Posted on May 11, 2013 By

FloridaTourist

DOWN YONDER, FL. – OK, boys and girls, it’s time to gather ‘round for a little geography quiz.

Relax, you ain’t goin’ nowhere today, anyway, so you might as well settle back, get out a map of Florida and see if you can find some of the spots about which you’re fixin’ to read.

The reason for little quiz is that while many folks like comin’ down here and spendin’ a little time in our sunshine many of those folks just don’t think of our home as home. This is but a place to hang out for a few months in the winter after they will return home.

Even if they move here fulltime, many folks still think of home as “that place back up north.”

If you are in either of these categories let me explain to you; the very best way to make us Floridians completely ignore any piece of wisdom or advice you feel compelled to pass long is to begin every sentence with the phrase, “the way we did it up north was…”

This leads to what scientists at the University of Gators refer to as, “IFAS,” or “Immediate Floridian Aural Shutdown,” and is not to be confused with the university’s agricultural extension service of the same acronymity. It means, “we ain’t listenin,’ don’t give a ding-dang how you did it Up North.”

Anyway, back to the reason for this little quiz. Until folks who move here from some other place begin to think of our place as home they can never fully develop a sense of community that is essential to our community’s well-bein’.

Folks who don’t think of our place as home are more likely to throw trash out the car window or use way too much water or complain they pay too much in taxes.

Folks who don’t think of our place as home are less likely to participate in civic affairs (and explain how much better things were Up North) and are less likely to make a contribution of their talents and energy to the community.

So, in any effort to make you more familiar with your region here’s a little geography quiz you can take by yourself or share with a loved one.

We’ll start out easy:

On the map, find: Immokalee, Chokoloskee Island, Bonita Springs.

See? That was easy.

Now, find: Ochopee, Palm River, Lake Trafford.

No problem. Piece of cake.

You’re probably feelin’ pretty good about yourself by this time.

OK, try: Deep Lake, Miles City, Copeland.

Hey, impressive. Maybe you know more about this place than you think you do. Those last three communities, by the way, were built by Barron G. Collier when Naples had but a few homes and was only that swampy spot on the beach.

Back to the quiz.

You’re probably battin’ ‘round 1,000 so far.

Let’s get a little harder.

Find: Matlacha (and pronounce it correctly), St. James City, Bokeelia.

Did it? Think you’re pretty sporty, I’ll bet.

Try these: Big Hammock, Rice Straw Stand, Coconut.

Hah! Got you on those, unless you’re a real old-timer.

Still interested?

Find: Curry Island, Fish Trap Bay, Quakenassee Hollow. (Clue here: not all islands are surrounded by saltwater.)

For the intrepid, find: Rock Spring Island, Bear Island, Monkey Joe Key.

Still with me? Bonus points for finding: Catherine Island, Cowbone Island, Charlie Key.

If you can identify on a map all those spots, congratulations! You can now official qualify as a Provisional-Cracker, pending your willing acceptance to full Floridian and with it the responsibility to love and cherish this unique peninsula.

 

Boats ain’t for fools…

Posted on December 8, 2012 By

2003-02-17 09.50.10

DOWN YONDER, FL. – A little knowledge is always a dangerous thing but particularly so in the boating world.

We Floridians take our boats seriously. We consider them almost a God-given right, if not a special requirement of the Florida Constitution. But we also learn early to respect the water over which we glide our craft.

The Gulf of Mexico may be the most placid of the Seven Seas but it’s still an ocean, after all, and must be treated with respect if not also just a touch of fear.

Too many people jump into too many boats without enough knowledge or training and pose a threat to themselves and the rest of us.
One of the things newcomers seem to think is great fun n their first few outings on the Gulf is to jump overboard for a cool swim. This is all well and good but only if you take the right precautions.

Power boaters, for example, can simply throttle back the engines and stop the boat to retrieve someone gone crazy and overboard. It’s easy, then, to jump overboard or strap on a couple of two-by-fours and do a little skiing.

For sailors, the story is a little different. Sailboats tend to do best when they remain in motion. It’s just something about the way they’re designed. Jumpin’ overboard tends to be a little more tricky if the boat is in motion – mainly because once you’re in the water you’re no longer on the boat. Separation between person-in-the-Gulf and the boat can be a problem.

There are good ways to enjoy a quick dip from a moving sailboat.

One way is to dangle a line off the stern, jump in, grab the line and let the boat pull you through the water. This can be done only at the slowest speeds, however.

Another way, if you have a big enough boat, a strong enough mast and an extra halyard or two, is to craft what’s called a Bahama sleigh ride. If the wind is strong enough and the sailboat heeled enough you can strap yourself into a boatswain’s chair, attach it to one of the extra halyards and hang precariously to leeward as the motion of the boat cutting through the waves pick you up and crashes you back down into the water. Great fun!
But it’s not a good idea to simply jump overboard from a moving sailboat.

This happened, however, to one captain on a recent outing. One of the boat’s passengers, a newcomer to the area, decided it would be fun for his four-year-old son to enjoy a dip in the Gulf.

Hanging on to a dangling line was out of the question because that little trick is reserved for people older than four.

The passenger finally persuaded the captain to luff the sails for a bit and allow him to dip his son over the side. Reluctantly, the captain agreed.
The sailboat slowed and to everyone’s surprise – including and especially the four-year-old – the father threw his son overboard and jumped in after him. The child was wearing a life jacket but still he and his father found themselves in the Gulf of Mexico as the sailboat drifted away.

Within no more than 15 seconds the two freshman Gulf swimmers were at least 30 feet from the boat’s transom.

The captain knew he could swing around and come back to get them if head to but that would take time to haul the sails back in, restore steerageway and return to their position. Instead he headed the bow straight into the wind and, finally came to a relatively complete stop. That allowed the father to swim his son back to the boat and climb back aboard.

The lesson learned here is two-fold: don’t jump overboard unless you know what you’re doing and don’t freak out the captain. He might just leave you.

 

Still searching for the front door…

Posted on January 16, 2012 By

DOWN YONDER, FL. – The family was gathering. Food was on the table. Well-wishers and mourners had been stopping by the house all day.

Most of them rang the front doorbell. But a knock at the back door raised curious eyebrows of the family members gathered for the moment in the kitchen.

Outside the door stood one of the most familiar faces ever to grace that farming hoe. A tall, elegant woman who carried her head and shoulders high, she refused to let her demeanor reveal the troubled years of her life.

“I heard about Mr. Ernest,” the woman said. “I’m so sorry. He was a good man, good to me and mine.”

The woman was ushered into the house enthusiastically, gratefully. She’d come a long way to pay her respects, taking public transportation as far as it would carry her and walking the rest of the way.

How she’d heard about Mr. Ernest’s death was never made clear. There had been a short newspaper piece about it but Mattie couldn’t read – she never been given the chance to learn. Rather than schooling in her young years, she was working.

Her handsome and dark brown face radiated the sight of seeing so many old and familiar faces, some of which she’d seen mature from childhood to adulthood. Her face, now framed by graying hair, broke into that bright smile that for so many years was an integral part of that farmhouse.

“Mr. Earnest,” as she always called him had, indeed, been good to Mattie and her family – in his own way and in a way dictated by the social mores ofFlorida’s old, white society.

Mattie and her husband, Jimmy, lived on the farm for many years. Mr. Ernest gave them the old family house when a new one was built. Jimmy worked in the pasture and groves alongside Mr. Ernest. Mattie worked in the house with Miss Mary.

Mr. Ernest had been employer, benefactor, even arbiter when the need arose. He tried to treat his employees with respected and dignity, the way he treated everyone – but with Mattie and Jim, the attitude was actually one of benevolent paternalism, the social mores of the day.

It was a different era, a different time, one best left behind but not forgotten for fear of it being repeated.

The times had changed greatly by that balmy spring morning when Mattie stopped by the old farm house to pay her respects. Martin Luther King, Jr., had preached, led, taught, suffered and died trying to make sure the discrimination and paternalism of the past gave way to a new dignity, new self-esteem and a new sense of independence and social advancement.

Although he’d never been to this part of ruralFloridato lead a campaign, he’d been to the big cities. His message and his mission touched the lives of everyone gather in that farmhouse that morning.

But still, Mattie came to the back door. Granted, it was the door used by nearly everyone in the family. Hardly anyone actually used the front door. Mattie had no doubt seen other people arriving at the same time and going to the front door. But this was Mr. Earnest to whom she was coming to pay her respects. She chose the back door.

It has been almost 60 years since Martin Luther King began the campaign that would transform this nation. But the transformation is not yet complete.

Had the scene repeated itself today, Mattie might have chosen the front door. But Mattie was still a prisoner of the social mores of the time. Mattie died in aTamparest home. She was practically penniless. Mr. Ernest’s family might have done more to ease her comfort in her last years but they didn’t. We have still not reached the social midnight about which Dr. King frequently talked.

The dawn is closer but it hasn’t yet arrived. Faith, however, is inching the hours closer to a dawn where everyone is judged “more by the content of their character than by the color of their skin” and front doors are there for everyone.

 

 

What do you mean, “It doesn’t feel like Christmas in Florida?”

Posted on December 9, 2011 By

Well, ho-ho-ho, it’s that time of the year again!

It’s the time of the year when nearly all Floridians are hailed by their temporary Yankee neighbors with the traditional greeting, “Geez, it just doesn’t feel like Christmas inFlorida.”

(You can if you’d like alter that slightly, of course, to say, “Geez, it just doesn’t feel like Hanukkah inFlorida.” But truth be told, most Jewish folks are smart enough and reasoned enough not to associate the great triumph and resilience of the Maccabee children with bone-crunching cold, life-threatening conditions and enough snow piled on the roof to cave it in, crushing the Christmas tree…or Menorah, whichever.)

But if you’re a Floridian, born or adopted, you’ve no doubt run across at least one moron every year who will complain about the warmth of the December sun, the gentle Gulf breeze, the tranquil surrounding nature, the moderate nights filled with jasmine and remark that, somehow, Christmas just shouldn’t be spent in such idyllic and temperate latitudes.

They seem to think Christmas just “isn’t right” unless they are buried under three feet of snow in sub-zero temperatures, battling frozen water pipes and hoping to the Baby Jesus electricity doesn’t go out again because they only have enough fire wood for one more night.

I blame Currier & Ives. I also blame Charles Dickens. Perhaps these folks would be happier at Christmas if we didn’t have child labor laws, environmental regulations or systematic care for the infirm. I don’t know.

Some folks just can’t bear the thought of a Christmas Day sail on warm waters or a Christmas Eve stroll on the beach at sunset. They are, frankly, demented.

This malady can even run in one’s own family. My very own Florida-girl darlin’ daughter used to think she just had to be in the mountains of Western Carolina at Christmas because, who knows, it COULD snow!! (Okay, let’s recall…two Christmases ago stranded without power for three days under nearly four feet of snow, couldn’t even get there last year because of the snow…hmmm…she may have changed her mind.)

When she was a child, I took great delight in pulling out the globe (remember those?) and drawing a line west, right along the latitude of old Bethlehem to…to…to…well, I’ll be darned, NOT to a point that would ever be immortalized in a Currier & Ives print.

Nope. Old Bethlehemis just a skosh north of the 31st parallel, which places it on exactly the same latitude as one of the many hick towns in South Georgia (USA) between Jacksonville and Savannah.

And given the moderate, Mediterranean-warmed climate of Palestine, I’d be willin’ to guess there were palm trees just outside that stable on that miraculous night.

Maybe the cattle were lowing because they feared getting bopped on the head by a falling coconut. No, probably not.

In any event, the point is Christmas is not about cold and snow and sleigh rides and stealing someone else’s maple syrup. Nope. Christmas is about the greatest gift every given: the reconciliation of humankind with our God. That, my friends, can be celebrated any-dang-where you feel the spirit – especially in Florida.

Bein’ born to a Florida-girl mother but raised as a mountain child, I can testify that it was never, really, truly Christmas until we reached the orange groves and palm-lined yard of my cracker grandparents. Suckin’ down a fresh cut temple orange or playin’ football on that spongy Floratam lawn was always the single best annual gift. It was the Floridian my soul.

So, the next time some crank wanders up to you and says something really stupid like, “It just doesn’t feel like Christmas in Florida,” you just turn to them, smile and hand them a Honeybell orange. They’ll be tradin’ Currier & Ives for Clyde Butcher before you know it.

 

Cracker Resources…

Posted on February 22, 2011 By

FloridaCrackerDock

DOWN YONDER, FL. – The old man pulled himself onto the dock, feeling rejuvenated and fresh from his morning swim.

“You know, I was thinkin’ the other day how resourcefulness is a necessary part of being a successful Floridian,” said the old man to his young friend who was perched at the end of the dock, bamboo fishin’ pole in hand.

“There’s lots of people spend lots of money to live comfortably in Florida when all that spendin’ ain’t really necessary at all,” he said.

His young friend looked up at him from under her wide-brimmed straw hat.

“What’re you talkin’ about, uncle?” she asked.

“I mean, look around you. We paid no more than a song for this here cabin and look how rich we are. We got all the food we can catch. We got the biggest swimmin’ pool anywhere and this ol’ cabin has weathered ever’ storm it’s seen.”

“I guess resourcefulness is a sorta way of life when live close to Florida nature,” said the young girl. “But it manifests itself in a lot of ways.

“I was readin’ the other day where a bunch of farm workers in Central Florida were spendin’ the lean workin’ month of August pickin’ palmetty berries from the woods,” she said.

“Oh yeah,” said the old man. “We used to make a pretty good wine from them berries. But you can get in trouble with the G-men for doin’ that today. Them berries still help the bees make a darn fine honey.”

“Well accordin’ to what I read, the farm workers did get in a little trouble with the sheriff who kept makin’ ‘em dump their harvest because he thought the berries were bein’ used to make wine,” said the young woman.

“But that’s not why they was pickin’ ‘em. They was out there bravin’ rattlers to send them berries overseas, to Europe and Asia where they berries are apparently used to make medicine for prostrate and urinary-tract infections.

“That’s not surprisin’,” chuckled the old man. “Considerin’ what I’ve done more than a few times to them palmetty bushes.”

“That’s not the point,” said the young woman. “The point is that them farm workers were bein’ resourceful, usin’ their slack time to pick the berries and make four times as much money as they would workin’ on the farm durin’ pickin’ season.

“That Florida resourcefulness also manifests itself in other , more sophisticated ways,” said the young woman. “I was also readin’ the other day about the professors up in Gainesville who developed a machine that peels the skin off fruit and shellfish so northerners don’t have to get their hands all sticky peelin’ oranges and shrimp.”

“Do tell,” said the old man. “How does that machine work?”

“It apparently works by usin’ steam to expand the layer of water found just beneath the skin of fruit and shellfish,” she said. “As the steam is released a vacuum is applied and the separated skin just drops from the fruit like it was never there to begin with.

“They claim an orange doesn’t lose one drop of juice, although I’ll bet the steam cooks the shrimp quite a bit,” she said.

“Yeah, but most folks like their shrimp cooked a might,” said the old man.

“Anyway, these two professors got a patent for their machine,” said the young woman. “But right now, it’s about the size of a 55-gallon drum. That’s not the sorta thing that’s goin’ to go well as a Christmas present under the tree. And it’s too small for commercial uses.”

“They’ll work on it,” said the old man. “I figure two professors who’re smart enough to figure out that much will be smart enough to whittle down their invention to the size that can fit on a counter-top in one of them fancy houses that you don’t need in the first place,”

“I reckon’,” said the young woman. “Now I wish somebody would be resourceful enough to tell me how to get these trout to bite so we can have some breakfast.”

Treasures in Paradise…

Posted on March 9, 2010 By

DOWN YONDER, FL – A toddler watched with wonder as her father crumpled acacia seed pods in his hand and tossed them into the evening sky.

She had never seen something suddenly so transformed and cast to the wind. It must be magic.

The silly Muscovy ducks saw the magic, too, and thinking the crushed seed pods food came running in their greediest waddle. They poked and pecked at the crushed pods, only to realize the frustrating truth that acacia pods are not their preferred supper.

“Mindless ducks,” said the toddler’s father. “You don’t see the mallards fightin’ over crushed seeds.”

The seed pods of acacia trees are food to the exotic Brazilian parakeets that found a home and started a colony nearby. They chatter incessantly as they dart from branch to branch, removing the seeds from the pods and feasting joyously.

It is one of the many rituals of spring in South Florida. People who think the season never changes here just aren’t payin’ attention.

The bright red bottlebrush blooms, the scent of gardenias and jasmine, the fiery orange of the Poinciana and butterflies transfigured from caterpillars are all part of South Florida spring.

The sun becomes suddenly much hotter as it crosses the Tropic of Cancer on its annual march north to bring spring to colder climates. The water warms from its wintry cold.

There are once again massive thunderheads that build over the peninsula’s interior. Fed by the Gulf of Mexico’s moisture and carried on the afternoon sea breeze, they build to the point of explosion and rain heavily on the swamps and savannas parched by winter’s drought.

In South Florida, like most regions, spring is the time of rebirth and renewal. Spring is magic just like the single seed pods crushed into many seeds.

Is it simply an accident of the calendar or is there something larger that leads all the world’s great religions to holy days in the spring? Easter and Passover are certainly linked by the calendar – and events – and Passover’s date is a matter of history. But spring is also the time when the world’s Muslims make their annual pilgrimage to their most important shrine in Mecca. Hindus hold their biggest festival in the spring.

Legend has it the branches of the acacia tree were fashioned into the crown of thorns worn by Christ on the cross. His death and resurrection are linked both in faith and mysticism to the rebirth of spring.

The English word, “spring,” means both a season and the bubbling up from the land of new, life-giving water. It comes from an old Indo-European words and means to “bring forth” new life and is linked to the word, “rising.”

The ancient North Americans, who lived here centuries before Europeans arrived, believed the world was created in the spring.

An island floating on water, they believed the earth was suspended from the sky by cords at each of the four cardinal points we now refer to on a compass.

The sun was brought by the animals who arrived on this new earth when it was still dark. Hung in the sky by conjurors, it was hung too low and was too hot. More conjurors were brought to move the sun until it was hanging seven handbreadths from the earth, just under the sky. At that place, they reasoned, its warmth was just right for spring flowers and plants.

They also believed there was another world under this one. The other world was exactly like this one except the seasons were opposite. The pathway to the other world was the rivers and streams that flowed from their mountains. They knew the seasons were different because the “springs” from which the water flowed were always colder in the summer and warm in the winter than the outside air.

Maybe to some eyes the seasons never change in South Florida. To eyes that are open the spring is yet one more reason to cherish this paradise.

Pleasurin’ themselves for charity…

Posted on February 2, 2010 By

DOWN YONDER, FL. – Everyone sing, now: “Looks like you’re on dope…everybody’s doin’ the Buzzard Lope!”

“Looky there,” said the old man gazing across the bayou. “Them crazies is at it again, dancin’ and drinkin’ and carryin’ on somethin’ fierce…and doin’ the Buzzard Lope.”

“They do that every year,” said the old woman. “You know that. I call it a pretty darn good time to go shoppin’ at the dollar store.”

“That’s a point,” said the old man. “One thing’s for sure, we got more parties and festivals ‘round these parts this time a year than anybody can shake a stick at.”

“That buzzard festival is one thing,” said the old woman. “But you ought read about this big wine festival goin’ on ‘bout the same time. Says here a bunch of rich folks got together and raised $8 million in a single afternoon by auctionin’ off expensive wines and yacht cruises and dinners with movie stars and stuff.”

“Do tell,” said the old man. “What was they raisin’ money for with that kind of opulence and con-spic-u-us consumption??

“Says here, they was raisin’ money for poor people…the children of poor people,” replied the old woman.

“And imagine,” said the old man. “Nearby, another whole bunch of folks was making a head count of the homeless in the neighborhood.”

“Yep. But while some were counting the homeless, someone at this party paid $340,000 for a seven day escape to the Bahamas on a private yacht,” continued the old woman. “Somebody else paid $200,000 for supper at Spago with movie stars and to go to Judge Judy’s show on the TeeVee Box.

“Still somebody else paid $400,000 to cruise the Mediterranean on a 170-foot yacht and somebody coughed up $130,000 to have supper with Robert Redford. He’s gettin’ kinda old, ain’t he?”

“Wonder how much some of them rich people would pay for a conscience?” asked the old man.

“Whatya mean?” asked the old woman.

“What I mean is how can them rich people throw money around like that, like it was water, when they ain’t about to actually meet any poor folks themselves, much less use all that wealth and privilege to try to change the system that keeps people poor in the first place?” said the old man.

“Kinda harsh, ain’t you?” asked the old woman.

“Yes,” agreed the old man. “But think about it. These hoity-toidies would rather get together in a big ol’ cluster and try to out-diamond each other – all the time thinkin’ they’re bein’ so egalitarian – than to get their hands dirty workin’ hard to reform the system toward some kind of economic justice. It’s the 21st Century equivalent of ‘let them eat cake’. Hell, the French monarchy fell because of this kinda carryin’ on!

“I see what you mean,” said the old woman. “The whole world only raised $15 million in a concert for Haiti and these folks raised $8 million in a single afternoon of excess. Wonder what they could accomplish if they put all that money and energy toward a level playin’ field?”

“They ain’t interested in that,” said the old man. “It’s the jagged playin’ field made ‘em rich in the first place and most of ‘em got a head start wearin’ fancy shoes.

“Naw, they’re happier livin’ in jewel-encrusted luxury and when the opportunity arises sittin’ around in a circle masterbatin’ on poor folks, thinkin’ that’ll make ‘em happy.”

Cracker crime…

Posted on January 28, 2010 By

DOWN YONDER, FL. – “You know, this here Sunshine State is funny, sometimes,” the old man said as he sat at the edge of the dock, his feet dangling in the water.

“Take crime, for example. Now, I admit we got our fair share of criminals: two-bit hustlers, robbers, cat burglars and former elected officials.

“But Floridians can also get arrested for violatin’ a whole bunch of laws that you won’t even find in other states, felonies. All committed on the water. We got a bunch of water laws and our own special aqua cops to watch out for scofflaws who commit the crime of the ancient mariner.

“The Florida Fish & Wildlife Conservation Commission patrol officers are just like state troopers, only in boats and not Mustangs.

“I was readin’ just the other day where they arrested a feller up in North Florida for illegal oyster shuckin’ and packin’. I didn’t even know there was an illegal way to shuck oysters. In fact, so far as I know there’s only one way to shuck oysters and stickin’ a knife in ‘em and crackin’ ‘em open. You can steam ‘em open on an open fire, of course, and avoid implements of destruction.

“But illegal oysters shuckin’? I wonder how much time you get for that or whether the penalty is five years of eatin’ canned oysters. I wonder if I’ve been shuckin’ oysters legally or illegally all these years?

“The FWC also arrested a young feller, recently for harassin’ fishermen on Sanibel Island. He was baitin’ ‘em a little too much. Nobody ever gets arrested for harassin’ the fish.

“They arrested another feller up in Indian River County for illegal clammin’. That’s kinda like illegal oyster shuckin’ but the people who do it are thinkin’ only of themselves – they’re more shellfish.

“You can also get arrested for speedin’ through a manatee zone. Folks in Iowa don’t gotta worry ‘bout breakin’ laws like that.

“There is also – apparently – a seafood black market operatin’ in Florida, not to be confused with the market for black grouper or the market for blackened seafood that started in Louisiana. The FWC says its investigatin’ restaurants that are buyin’ seafood illegally or for selling you grouper when it’s really tilapia or some such.

“Last month, the FWC arrested two young fellers for illegally harvesting 276 spiny lobsters. The boys were fined $3,000 and forced to give up their wet suits and SCUBA gear.

“Not all your common marine criminals are bottom-feeders, either. Some of ‘em got ed-je-cation, although it don’t always appear to have made ‘em very smart.

“This poor ol’ boy from Pace got caught molestin’ crawfish traps down in the Keys because FWC found his high school class ring at the scene of the crime.

“What’s society comin’ to? Folks out there molestin’ crawdad traps.  I blame that on television and purveyors of prurient principles.

“Anyway, the ol’ commercial crawdadder outa Islamorada was pullin’ his traps one day and discovered they had been molested. After some counselin’ and a re-examination of the crime he discovered this Pace boy’s 1995 class high school class ring stuck in the slats of the crawdad trap. Inscribed on the inside of the ring was the crawdad molester’s name.

“He gave the ring to the FWC. They tracked down the boy and he admitted he’d lost his class ring snorklin’ for lobsters off Matecumbe Key.

“That’s where it starts, you know. Some people just can’t handle seafood. You git your first taste of shrimp, maybe a little hot sauce, and the next thing you know you’re molestin’ crawdad traps in the Keys.

“There appears to be a rising tide of fish felonies in the undercurrent of Florida life. Sorta gives a whole new meanin’ to the term, ‘crime wave,’ don’t it?