Tomoka to Amelia

After 2 wonderful days with my dear friend Eli filled with paddleboarding, biking, swimming, and long conversation immersed in the natural beauty of the surroundings, it was time for me to depart.  It was the 1^st time on my trip that I departed early instead of staying late, and it was only because of the upcoming rain.  It had rained the 2^nd night and I did not want to camp in the cold and wet predicted for the 3^rd night.  I was having a serious case of FOBC. Most people have only heard of FOMO, but I have FOBC: Fear Of Being Cold.  Trust me, after the cold endured at the Okeefenokee, FOBC was a real thing.  The cold was still in my bones after the 2 below freezing nights there, and I was not ready to be cold again.  And so, after drying my things out as best I could, I hit the road. 

I regularly forget that there’s this line between North and South Florida where everything changes. I was reminded once again once as I turned right out of the park and over the bridge where I had 1^st met Eli. 

I had researched walks near Tomoka, and the drive to North Pennisuala was one of the most spectacular drives I have ever done.  Ever.  Anywhere in the world.  The “Birding Route” as it was called, followed the curve of the creeks and waterways.  Estuarys fanned out as the old oak hung thick with Spanish moss.  Tree tunnels embraced me as I entered their otherworldly shadows and lush greenery clambored near the roadway waving in the wind to the passersby.  Hundreds of birds fished, flew, or sunned themselves as I twisted my way north towards the coast.  State parks were bountiful.  This stretch of magnificence starts at Ormond Beach and follows the coast all the way north to Amelia Island where I was headed.  It was bittersweet as I gloried in the majesty of this profoundly stunning natural world.  It was the real Florida, not the Florida of strip malls, big money, and Mickey Mouse.  Instead, a natural splendor of nature, clean water, and beauty.  I knew I was the last generation to see this kind of Florida, the Florida of truth where seashells were plentiful, the coral and ocean reefs teeming with fish, and the wildlife crawling with every colored feather, claw, or tooth.  I took praise to be able to witness it in my childhood and in this little slice of winding road.

The day of hiking through North Penninsula and Washington Oaks passed quickly both differing dramatically in their offerings.  North Penninsula, a rugged walk through scrub forest and sand, Washington Oaks a once immaculate plantation of manicured gardens which led out to beautiful forest, the place where oranges were first farmed and produced in Florida.  (One of my favorite moments was when I had to go “bushy bushy” and dropped a squat on the forest floor.  I glanced to my right, and there was a ripe orange, pristine and inviting, waiting for me.  I looked up and saw 3 more oranges hanging heavy on the branch.  I harvested them all and treated myself to its juicy yumminess when I reached the car.  A gift from the earth.)

I followed the A1A through the lost lands of Florida grateful that the 95 was the main thouroghfare leaving these small sleepy towns on the coast to keep their charm.  Flagler, Crescent, Vilano, Marineland, they rolled by as I followed the ocean and soon came to my home for the week, Amelia Island.  As the sun and the temperature dropped after a day of exploration, I was grateful I had made the choice to settle down somewhere for a few days, somewhere quiet, somewhere that a hot shower and a flushing toilet were just steps away.  It is often the most simple things that give us the greatest joy.