Sawgrass Lake Park

For a city the size of St. Petersburg, FL, and for the number of people living in St. Petersburg, there's a great selection of natural places to roam. One of them is Sawgrass Lake Park, 400 acres of glorious open space hidden in a residential neighborhood. I'd heard it's a great park, but had yet to make it there. It was time for The Way Eye See it to load up our camera equipment and check it out.

Unfortunately, lots of other people had the same idea, which is part of tourist season in FL. Still, we peservered, because, from the moment we parked and looked around, we knew this place had promise. From the entrance, you can either go to the left, across a boardwalk and beyond, or to the right, following a sidewalk. I didn't have to decide, because I spotted a Red Admiral flitting around close to the water, and I have a particular weakness for butterflies, especially ones I've never seen. Several blurry pictures later, the Red Admiral flew out of my range, and we decided to hit the boardwalk.

One of the things I love most about Florida parks is you never know what's lurking in the water, around the corner, behind a tree .... People on the footbridge crossing to the boardwalk were pointing at something, so we had to stop and look, too. First was a huge turtle, feet stretched, eyes closed, looking very self-satisfied, sunning itself on a rock. Beautiful yellow water lily buds were everywhere. There was also a "teen" alligator nosing around in the plantlife. I love watching alligators, especially younger ones, because, even though they're small, there's still something ancient and mysterious and powerful about them.

After the bridge, there's a fork in the boardwalk, and we chose the side less traveled. Sawgrass Lake is home to one of the largest maple swamps on the FL Gulf Coast, and there's not much more peaceful than walking among trees. But, since we didn't know how far this path lead, and it was getting late in the afternoon, we decided to turn around and try out the other path. I'd hoped this one would follow the water, and was happy it did. For as peaceful as trees are, even better for my spirit is the tree/water combo.

One of the nice things about this boardwalk is there are several covered lookouts with benches, so you can get out of the sun and hang out over the water. At Sawgrass, though, be sure not to hang out so far you fall in! The water was full of teensy busy gators, motoring from one place to another, eating and doing whatever it is baby alligators do. We enjoyed watching them so much, we forgot even to consider mama might be around, until we spotted her on the bank. She was huge! It's funny to think those tiny gators will someday be her size, although for all their cuteness, they do have that gator badassness about them.



It was hard to leave those little gators, they were so entertaining, but we wanted to check out the observation tower before we left. Even though we weren't sure exactly where it was, we figured we were were going in the right direction from the noise everyone else was making. I'm not begrudging people a sunny spring day out, especially if they've come from Northern climes, and are spending their money in FL, but it's annoying to me, seeking not only some peace and quiet, but bird-watching opportunities.



Luckily, waterbirds seem less affected by noise than smaller birds, of which we saw few (only one, in fact, a catbird hopping along the boardwalk railing). A grumpy-looking green heron searched for food along the shore near the observation tower, and a female anhinga was letting her presence be known with loud honks. She then dove into the water, and, when she came up, was buoyed by her feathers, which was really cool, and something I've never seen before. Several turtles bobbed in the water, and, in the distance, a big alligator cruised by. It was definitely worthwhile braving the crowds.

Sawgrass is mentioned by both the Audubon Society and The Great Florida Birding Trail as one of Florida's premier birding sights, and I believe it. Although the birding wasn't amazing this time around, I can't wait for fall, so we can go back and see what feathered tourists have come to visit.

Dunedin Hammock

Have you ever forgotten how much you've enjoyed a place, then rediscovered it, and it's even better than you remembered? That's how I feel about Hammock Park in Dunedin. I grew up in Dunedin, and, over the years, spent time walking the trails, but only recently have I started really exploring the Hammock. I'm in love.

The Hammock was surveyed some 158 years ago, and the North-South boundaries remain to this day. It was purchased by the City of Dunedin in 1965, and, in 1974, the Dunedin Garden Club helped create the first self-guided nature trails. There are 5 miles of trails in this 90 acre natural park, and each trail is different.

The Skinner Tail is the Hammock's main drag, and it runs alongside a stream, where I've watched great blue herons, white egrets, green herons, and cormorants do their thing. I always follow the Skinner Trail to the Friends of the Hammock's new butterfly garden, located next to Andrews Memorial Chapel. Butterflies are one of my favorite subjects to photograph, but they don't make it easy, unless they're in caterpillar state, which many of the monarchs were. Fat and stripey, they were in abundance on this trip, many munching leaves, first up, then down, as though the leaves were corn-on-the-cob.

My usual route is to backtrack from the butterfly garden to the Sugarberry Trail, because I always see something on the Sugarberry. Turtles are plentiful, and further down the trail there's always the promise of a raccoon tip-toeing across the trail and into the water, or a green heron searching for food. Today, I discovered a tangerine tree packed with tangerines. I'm used to seeing orange trees in the Hammock, but had never come across wild tangerines before. They're fiery orange when the sun shines on them. Some unripe tangerines had fallen to the ground, and it was hilarious watching a squirrel attempting to roll one up to a tree branch.

When I finished the Sugarberry Trail, I decided to try my luck at the end of the Skinner Trail, where there's a large pond. There are always birds there, and I was curious if I'd see anyone new. Along the way, I took the time to notice wild flowers, which I don't always do, and was rewarded with both irises and spiderwort, both in the most spectacular shades of purple. The usual gang was hanging out at the pond: snowy egrets, great blue herons, anhingas, and osprey soaring overhead. Nobody new, but that's ok. I'm never disappointed with the same old same old when it comes to nature!

From visit to visit, I never know what I'll encounter at Hammock Park. Sometimes there's more action than others, and either way is fine with me. I'm a wanderer at heart, and being outside is my joy. With no expectations, I know there's always the promise of things to come.

Nature's Palette

I enjoy watching birds, and looking for birds, but, although I own several bird guides, I don't consider myself a hardcore birder. In fact, sometimes I take the easy way out, and visit Pinellasbirds.com to see what the real birders are finding. It's a great local website, with daily postings of who saw what where, complete with photographs. More than once I've chosen a park based on what's been posted.

Although I've been to Kapok Park in Clearwater on several occassions, this particular trip was specifically to find, in person, a Glossy Ibis I'd seen on Pinellasbirds.com. Kapok is a beautiful little city park. In the past, I've seen an owl and owlet, Eastern Cottontail rabbit, different butterflies, ducks, Coots, Moorhens, White Egrets, Great Blue Herons, Limpkins - basically, a who's who of Florida wildlife. But would I luck out and see the Glossy Ibis?


Of course, I wanted it to appear immediately, and, of course, it didn't. However, I'm not one to give up easily, and decided to focus on a Wood Stork, who was feeding near the boardwalk. I've never really observed one at work, and it was fun seeing it scooch around in the water, stirring up whatever it is Wood Storks eat. After awhile, the Wood Stork finished, and flew across the water to a small island. I followed it through my camera lens, and a few feet from where the Wood Stork landed, I noticed shiny emerald green in the grass. I couldn't tell what it was at first, so watched it a few seconds. Finally, it moved - it was the Glossy Ibis! I sent a mental thanks to the Wood Stork, and waited for the Glossy Ibis to emerge.


And waited. And waited. And, at long last, a beautiful, bejeweled-looking bird stepped into the water, and I was fully able to appreciate it. Pictures don't do this bird justice. Even seeing one in the flesh doesn't do it justice, until the sun shines directly on its feathers, making them shimmer. I was mesmerized, and took shot after shot as it moved through the water. It waded into a green algae patch in front of where I stood on the boardwalk, allowing me even closer views. I felt like the luckiest person on earth.


As if seeing the Glossy weren't special enough, I was amazed - enough to say "WOW!" out loud, even though I was alone - when first one, then another Roseatte Spoonbill flew into my frame. Their bright pink feathers are unmistakable, and reflected in the water. I was even able to zoom in close enough to see their red eyes. The Spoonbills splashed around, chased each other, preened, and eventually flew away. Between the Spoonbills and my first Glossy Ibis sighting, it was almost more than I could handle.


Feeling the day had reached its peak, I decided it was time to go. My camera dead camera battery agreed. I wasn't in the least bit disappointed, though, because I'd come hoping to see a Glossy, and had seen it. The two Spoonbills were icing on the cake. Magical moments far exceeded my expectations, and I left Kapok with a smile on my face, knowing nothing compares to the colors of nature's palette.

Our Winter Star

Once upon a time, there was a little dolphin caught in a crabtrap. But, in this story with a happy ending, she was discovered by a fisherman, who called the Florida Wildlife and Fish Conservation Commission. They, in turn, called the Clearwater Marine Aquarium, a marine hospital and rehabilitation center, where this dolphin, named Winter, was given a second chance at life.

Against all odds, Winter has blossomed at the aquarium. Although she was intact when saved from the crabtrap, Winter later lost her tail. Remarkably, she's learned to swim without one, which doesn't seem to hold her back, but it's damaging her spine. In normal circumstances, she'd use an up and down motion with her tail to propel herself. Her new swim pattern, though, is to move side to side like a fish. Luckily for Winter, prostheses designer, Kevin Carroll, heard about her on the radio, and decided to create a prosthetic tail. After many trials and errors, Kevin's team finally designed a tail Winter can use, and she practices swimming with it every day. Not that Winter always makes it easy. In the words of an aquarium trainer, "the only plan is what Winter has in mind."

Winter shares her tank with an older dolphin named Panama. It took Panama awhile to accept Winter, but she finally caved in to Winter's attention, and who can blame her? There's something infectious about Winter, something beyond her ability to overcome. She almost radiates a kind of happiness, a sense of being carefree. What I loved most about visiting her on this occassion was how uncooperative she was during the aquarium's demo. Winter swam out of her enclosure for a few seconds, then turned around and went back in. Panama wasn't that interested in the crowd, either, but the aquarium is about information, not performance, so it's no big deal. Sticking around paid off, though. Once the crowd wandered away, Panama leapt through the air several times, and Winter swam out to play. They were both the essence of Dolphin: joy.

Winter is truly an inspiration. Not only is she an ambassador for those who need prosthetics, she's living proof we can overcome our obstacles. My friend Anna's 3 year old granddaughter, Eve, thinks every dolphin she sees now is Winter, and when you ask her about Winter's tail, Eve's reply is always, "We have to buy her a new one." Sometimes life really is that simple. Winter has been our star here in Pinellas County since she was a baby, but she's about to go global. A film crew is in the area making "Dolphin Tale," due out in September 2011. We've all heard of the Little Engine that Could. Now, everyone's going to know the Little Dolphin that Could.

A Two Parks a Day Habit

For her birthday, my friend and photo buddy, Anna (bird watcher and the business brain behind The Way Eye See It Photography), wanted to celebrate with a day at Brooker Creek Nature Preserve in Tarpon Springs. We met early in the morning, anticipating what birds we might spot, and hoping to see Swallow-tailed Kites, but the park was closed when we arrived. We stared at the locked gate, as though the power of our desire would make it magically unlock, and, when it didn't, we sat, contemplating our next move.

John Chestnut Sr Park is, fortunately, only a short drive from Brooker Creek, and we headed there, with no expectations, since we've had hit & miss photo ops on previous visits. We wanted to stop first at the butterfly garden, but got diverted by the loud pounding noises of a Pileated Woodpecker looking for food. It's not easy, despite their bright red heads, to spot pileateds among tall oak branches, and when we did, it flew away. I've yet to get a decent shot of a pileated, but I love watching them, and they're always a goal to look forward to. Alligators are common at John Chestnut, and I wanted to see one surface from an algae-covered pond, but no such luck there, either. We did spot a Blue Heron, though, and its color, combined with the algae, was spectacular.

Not to be deterred from our original birthday plan, Anna and I drove back to Brooker Creek a few days later, and wandered a few trails, followed some butterflies, got a split-second view of a Red-shouldered Hawk, and swatted mosquitoes. Early on, we could tell it was going to be the sort of day where patience might or might not pay off. We finally lucked out on the exit trail, when both a Palimedes Swallowtail and an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail, a new butterfly for us, landed and fed on close-by plants. Butterflies are among my most difficult, but favorite, photo challenges. Swallow-tailed Kites are an even more elusive challenge. We'd seen one once at Brooker Creek, and wanted to see one again, but it didn't feel like we would on this trip. So, we packed up our gear, making plans to hit John Chestnut Park next. Anna and I are shameless gawkers, constantly on the look-out for wildlife, and when, on the drive out, Anna spotted Gulf Fritillaries on daisies, we couldn't pass them up. But we had to, because there was a car behind us. So we drove the park's entry/exit loop again, hoping the butterflies hadn't zipped away, and this time pulled over. Not only was I rewarded with butterfly shots, we were shocked when first one, then another, Swallow-tailed Kite swooped over our heads. The first kite flew so close, it practically touched the hood of the car, and I was so surprised, all I could do was watch. Both kites sailed high in the sky above us for a few minutes, before disappearing behind a line of trees.

That's what I love about nature: the magic and the gifts. In my experience, there's a mystical element to nature, which I can't explain, but magical moments, like the Swallow-tailed Kites, almost always happen. Sometimes I have my camera handy, and sometimes I don't. And sometimes I have my camera handy, but am too caught up in the moment, or too surprised, to even think about using it. I don't mind if I don't get the shot; I'm just grateful to receive the gift.

When I'm in the zone, though, concentrating on a subject, there's nothing that compares. Later that afternoon, at John Chestnut, we followed the sound of a Red-shouldered Hawk calling. When we found it, we were able to watch it/photograph it for several minutes. The hawk sat on its oak branch, I stood below it, and it's as though we were connected by some invisible thread. It definitely knew I was there, because it looked right at me, and I stood as still as possible to let it know I wasn't a threat. In moments like this, when I'm connected to an animal, it feels like I'm in a bubble, and nothing exists outside it. These moments fade as abruptly as they occur, and I can always feel when the moment is over. The imaginary thread breaks, the bubble bursts, and I hear the noises of everyday life again.

I've never felt complete in anything I've ever done until I started taking photography seriously. I've always loved being in nature, and the combination is what makes me whole. In The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell talks about "the peak experience." He explains it as "actual moments of your life when you experience your relationship to the harmony of being." Campbell's peak experiences came when he ran track. My peak experiences happen, camera ready (or not), in nature.

That's why I'll never give up my two parks a day habit.

Cross Creek - Marjorie Kinnan Rawling's Florida Homestead

Smack dab in the middle of nowhere sits the tiny community of Cross Creek, Florida, and smack dab in the middle of Cross Creek, sits author Marjorie Kinnan Rawling's Cracker homestead, purchased in 1928, when Marjorie moved to Florida in search of a place to write. Standing amidst her citrus groves, it's not hard to imagine what life was like when Marjorie lived there. It's as though her spirit still resides in the trees, the barn, her seasonal kitchen garden, the now quiet typewriter sitting on the front porch table, next to a pack of Lucky Strikes and an empty gin glass.

The day we visited, it was stormy and hot. In fact, it rained so hard at one point, we took refuge in the barn along with a few chickens. When the rain stopped, steam rose from the tin roof of the hen house, and left droplets on the tiny growing oranges in the grove.

As much as I love wandering the grounds, my favorite part of the Cross Creek experience is walking through Marjorie's house. Like any visitor, you wipe your feet on the doormat, and enter through the front porch, where Marjorie wrote and napped. The house still contains mostly original furnishings, aside from Marjorie's book collection, which included signed copies by Ernest Hemingway and Robert Frost. Many authors were guests at Cross Creek, and if only the dining room walls could talk. Not hindered by political correctness, and fueled by fresh, local food and much booze, you can practically hear the high-spirited conversations that took place. Marjorie had gentler dinners with poet Robert Frost, though, and I like to envision them discussing yearlings, sojourners, fences and neighbors, and roads not taken.

Marjorie's kitchen alone is worth the visit. My mother's side of the family comes from a North Florida town about the size of Cross Creek, called Ponce de Leon. The family homestead is a typical Cracker house with a tin roof and wrap-around porch, and Marjorie's kitchen reminds me of the kitchen my Great Aunt Anna Lou ruled: wood burning stove, pie chest, fresh veggies from the garden, corn bread in a skillet, and the mixings for caramel cake. Park rangers at Marjorie's still use the kitchen to occasionally cook for themselves.

Marjorie called Cross Creek her "place of enchantment." She lived there for 25 years, wrote The Yearling and Cross Creek there, and, although it was by no means an easy life on a farming homestead, walking the grounds and in the house, you can feel what she meant. She had an independence out there on her land, and took pleasure in her natural surroundings. She created a successful business from her groves, and I'm sure would be pleased to know her land still produces citrus, and continues to live on as a state park.

"It is is necessary to leave the impersonal highway, to step inside the rusty gate, and close it behind. One is now inside the orange grove, out of one world and in the mysterious heart of another. And after long years of spiritual homelessness, of nostalgia, here is that mystic loveliness of childhood again. Here is home."

Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Cross Creek, 1942

Where Have All the Peacocks Gone?

One of my favorite places to visit and photograph was the Dunedin Cemetery in Dunedin, FL. It was unique, in my opinion, because of the 40 or so peafowl, who used to make the cemetery their home. In the past few years, though, people from neighborhoods around the cemetery have complained so much, the City sent our peacocks packing.

The Dunedin Cemetery is 7.75 acres of beautiful oak trees, blossoming frangipani and golden rain trees, floating butterflies, and many varieties of birds. It was established in 1876, and is the final resting place of many of Dunedin's founding "pioneer" families. It's tucked away on a busy road, not visible from the street, and, peafowl or no, is a serene haven.

Nevertheless, the peacocks were the main reason I loved going to the cemetery. I never fed them, but enjoyed observing them and photographing them. April is their mating season, and it was fun to watch the peacocks scratch in the dirt, fan, then shake their tail feathers, as they tried to attract peahens. It was equally fun watching peahens pass by them with ho-hum glances, although, obviously the displays worked at some point, because a few months later sweet, fluffy chicks would arrive. I never realized peacocks could fly until I saw one go up into an oak tree at the cemetery. I'd never seen juvenile peacocks before, young males with bright blue heads and necks, and just the beginnings of their magnificent fans trailing behind them. And peacocks battling one another is something to see. Fans waving, angry squawks, feet flying. There's so much I learned about peafowl from quietly watching them. They're fascinating, gorgeous creatures.

How did the peacocks end up in the cemetery? They arrived sometime in the late 1930's, thanks to a farmer who lived on the Clearwater/Dunedin border. In the 1920's, peacock feathers were all the rage in the fashion world. But, when the market bottomed out in the 1930's, this local farmer let his peacocks loose, and they settled in Dunedin Cemetery. They've been a constant in Dunedin, an attraction, and generations of Dunedin's residents have grown up visiting them.

In this modern world, though, there are fewer and fewer places for the wild to roam. In 2008, some residents in the neighborhood closest to the cemetery started seriously petitioning the City to relocate the peafowl. Residents complained the peacocks landed on their pool screens, pooped in their yards, pecked at their at cars, and cried all hours of the night. It seems to me, that's something those residents should have realized before choosing to live there. Sure, peafowl behavior can be annoying at times, but isn't that true of most of us? And aren't we taught to live and let live? It's unfair, I think, when people aren't willing to compromise, to share space, and win out over animals.

To give the City of Dunedin credit, our peafowl weren't destroyed. Initially, some of the birds were thinned out. Finally, the remaining ostentation (isn't that the perfect term for a group of peafowl?) was relocated, and, I'm assuming, is happily doing its thing somewhere undisturbed. But, I feel Dunedin has lost a little bit of its charm. I live a short distance away from the Dunedin Cemetery, and, on nights I had my patio door open, I could hear the peacocks' cat-like cry. I miss them.