Florida Behind the Scenes
Learning to love the state I'm in
Short Saturday
You may be surprised to hear this, but today was only the second time in my life that I have actually seen a raccoon. For all my photos of alligators and deer and such, I really am not much of a wildlife spotter. This one, however, I could not miss. Hanging out of a tree in the middle of the afternoon, looking ridiculously cute.
Forever and a day
That’s what today has felt like. This post was supposed to be about cows in fields with their calves and flowers and a hawk being dive-bombed by a mockingbird. However, I somehow managed to leave the SD card out of my camera and I never noticed it until I got back home. So, I went down to the lake to take some morning photos. Some of them were beautiful, like this liquid landscape, but I didn’t run home to download them like I usually do.
Instead, I kept my camera with me all day, and added a few shots here and there, like this osprey flying against a smokey sky.
Yes, that’s right, a smokey sky. Once again, there are wildfires all around, including one just a few miles from my house. So close to my house, in fact, that the road to my house was closed for a while this afternoon. Finding this out while nobody was home but the pets was scary, but fortunately, nothing came of it. The road is re-opened, I am home, and the pets are all fine.
Before going home, I was downtown for a gallery opening, and when I stepped out of the gallery, the light was glorious! The alley next to the gallery was transformed by the light shining through it.
The smoke that covered the city captured the colors of the sunset, magnifying their intensity, and spreading them out across the sky. The sun itself shone through the haze, piercing it with its brilliance.
Every vantage point I found was better than the last one. I was sure that the sun shining through the tree was the most perfect shot ever.
Then I saw the birds flying against the magnificent sky and was completely entranced by the view.
And then there is the way the color of the light transforms this ordinary white wall into an object of yearning, while setting off the green of the leaves. This may be the perfect way to end a very, very long day.
I feel summer creeping in . . .
. . . and I’m tired of this town again.
Just last week I was bragging about the wonderful weather, and now here I am quoting one of Gainesville’s most famous sons, Tom Petty, in one of his less-than-flattering lines about Gainesville (if you don’t recognize the song, it’s Mary Jane’s Last Dance). The bank flashed a 96 at me as I drove by this afternoon, which may or may not have been the official high. It’s not going to be much cooler than that for months to come.
It’s a little hard to be motivated to hike much of a trail when it’s that hot. It also means planning a little better, since the instant sweat that forms in the summer means that the clothes you wear to go to out in public probably aren’t what you want to wear on the trail. And it’s good to have a towel in the car. And lots of water.
With that said, I didn’t plan ahead. Not only did I try to just fit Ring Park into my errands today, I did so while wearing makeup, including mascara. Why? Well, I’m trying hard to get used to wearing the stuff again, if for no other reason than to look like the adult I’m supposed to be. Makeup can be one of the fun parts of being an adult, but it really isn’t advisable to wear much of it on a trail in the summer in Florida. Or even the spring, although there’s not an awful lot of difference between the two seasons.
As soon as I got out of the car and my mascara melted into my eyes, nearly blinding me, I realized that I was not going to go far. Instead of heading down the trail and through the woods, I chose to turn to the right and head straight for the Emily Ring Wildflower Garden, which is beautiful and close to the entrance of the park. I don’t know what any of the flowers are named, but I know that the water flowing in this pool led to wonderous daydreams of cool water.
Serenity
Memories of trees revealed among the green reflections of their leaves.
The veil of web obscures the lake, offering itself instead.
Light on leaves glows in early evening sunlight, scribing gold on green.
Banana leaves suffused with light, layers of green on green.
Buddha sits in peace on a suburban lawn.
Reflections melt into truth, blue skies floating on gentle water.
Unpainted lady
Along University Avenue, there are several old Victorians in varying states of repair. Some are B&Bs, some are businesses, some are subdivided into apartments, and some are unoccupied.
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As I drove by them today, I noticed that this one seemed unoccupied with an empty parking lot beside it, so of course I pulled in. It is a beautiful house, full of wonderful details. With the paint half scraped off, it is easy to see that these are real wood details, individually carved.
For the most part, it is in excellent shape. The landscaping has taken over a little bit, as it is wont to do in Florida and a board or two is missing from the porch, but those are relatively minor.
Doors now are often just bought from a big-box store, with only minor thought given to the statement they make, but when this house was made, they were crafted with care and attention. The one on this house is no exception; although it is not ornate, it is beautifully detailed, and makes a statement.
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Since it seemed to be unoccupied, perhaps even unowned, I had no hesitation in climbing the stairs to the porch to take a few shots on and from the wonderful porch.
Then I noticed a light on inside the house. Since nobody seemed to mind me being there, I kept on taking photos. The light did give a certain message, though, and one that I was glad to see. This is one lady that will be painted again.
Cheating
I didn’t mean to do it. I really had no intention of beforehand, but tonight, I cheated on my dogs.
It all started when we were on our way to the store and I was looking for some new territory to photograph. We were driving past this park and I commented that it was too bad that there wasn’t much interesting at it, when my daughter exclaimed that there was! There was a squirrel tree that someone had put a door on, and it was the cutest thing in the world. So I stopped and we found out that someone had removed the door. We saw a woodpecker, which could have become my subject.
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But there was a dog park there. I didn’t realize it was there at all, although I’ve driven by this park many, many times. It’s a really nice dog park, too. No big, stinky retention ponds grace the center of the park. There are trees everywhere, and mulch on the ground and even a fireplug in the middle of it.
I was admiring the park itself, when I saw this dog.
And then this one.
Oh, and who could resist this face?
Then my daughter went inside because she couldn’t resist the dogs. The two dogs, three cats, and a rabbit aren’t enough for her, she has to play with other people’s dogs, too. I didn’t get inside, but I did have to pet a couple.
And take some photos. I’m sorry, Layla & Sadie, I promise it won’t happen again.
Looking down
I have always had a tendency to look down, which has caused others to make interesting psychological claims ranging from a lack of confidence or excessive diffidence to snobbishness, and all manner of things in between. There are times when I look down to make sure I place my feet surely, and there are times when I look down because to look someone squarely in the face would mean smelling their breath, but mostly, I look down because I like the rhythm of movement.
When I start on a run, I will almost always watch my feet, counting cadence, until I have my rhythm going, and if I lose that rhythm for any reason, I will start again, looking at my feet.
On a trail, I will look down to see what type of creatures I may expect to meet up with. That may sound like I am some sort of tracker, but really, all I am looking for is whether I will meet humans, dogs, or wild animals. If all I see are very large paw prints, I will probably turn around. If I see dog prints without humans, I will be a bit more wary.
Then again, sometimes I look at the ground just because I like what I see there.
Summer lovin’
Even though it isn’t technically summer yet, this is the part of summer that I love the most. Not that we usually get any summer quite like this, but for most of the country, this would be summer weather. Watermelons are ripening, which for some reason this year has excited me tremendously. I didn’t used to care much for watermelon, being content to eat a slice on the 4th of July for tradition’s sake, but never much more than that.
This year, however, as soon as I saw the first watermelon in the store, I wanted one. Perhaps more importantly, my dogs wanted one. They are melon eaters, through and through, with an occasional foray into squashes and green beans. Oh, sure, they like their meat, but they would probably choose watermelon over steak. Maybe.
It is a bit difficult to take a picture of a dog as they run off with their prizes. Especially when their head is in the cone of shame because they won’t leave their stitches alone.
The summer feeling goes beyond watermelons, though. There is the wonderful late evening light, which you can see in these shots taken at about 7 PM.
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And then there is my little salsa garden. I may have no idea when the garlic and onions will be done, but I can see that the tomatoes are forming nicely, as are my jalapenos. I am pretty sure that those tiny bumps are the beginnings of some bell peppers, and if they are not, the flowers indicate that there will be some in a little while.
So, tonight, I will be sitting back, eating watermelon and drinking a mojito made from my own mint, pretending that this is summer (and no, that cat has nothing to do with anything except that I liked the shot).
Shadow quest
Every once in a while I set out to take photos of shadows, just shadows, and nothing but shadows. Usually I get sidetracked by flowers or houses or a train, but today, I managed to stay on topic, mostly. Enough that I can share my results with you, dear reader. 
Shadows are such transient things, changing from minute to minute with the intensity of the light or the movement of the wind. There were a few clouds in the sky (not at all the rain we were promised for every day this week), so many times, I would see something, set up to click away, and the sun would disappear. Or I would be walking along seeing nothing interesting, and suddenly the sun would pop out and there, on the sidewalk right in front of me, would be a gate. 
***** Of course, the most Floridian shadows would be the ones of the palm trees. They are also some of my favorites, as they are so recognizable, yet abstracted in shadow form. I guess they are kind of like that in their true form as well. 
Then again, the lacy patterns of the deciduous trees on the different surfaces of houses are so appealing. They seem like promises to me, but promises of memories rather than of things to come. I suppose such shadows appear on houses in the north as well, but there is something eternally southern in the way they feel to me, as if they whisper of iced tea on a porch on a sunny spring day. 
The surface the shadow falls on can change the whole story. A branch silhouetted on a picket fence is deeper and more intriguing than it might be on a plain white surface, while a spray of grass on red has a grace and beauty that would not be evident on a textured black background. 
The geometry of a fence is changed in a shadow, with undulations from both fence and surface exaggerated, and punctuated by the length of a sign that changes the rhythm completely. The differing planes of picket, plank, and sign are obliterated to become one as they are projected onto the street. 
But of course, you, my faithful reader, knew I could not completely ignore the unshadows of the world. I would hardly be human if I could ignore this shot, now would I?
The Angel & McDonald’s
Every time I go to Sam’s Club, I am aware that right next door is a cemetery. Mt. Pleasant Cemetary, one of Gainesville’s oldest, is on a hill, at what may be the highest point along 13th Street. According to the historic marker at the front, it was established in 1883 by the Mt. Pleasant Methodist Church as a cemetery for African Americans. In a strange feat of planning, somehow a commercial corridor has been allowed to grow around it. I am not terribly sentimental about my own death, but I do find it jarring that this historic cemetery has been crowded by the desires of the living.
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There is a homegrown quality to the cemetery itself, with irregular grave spacing, and an assortment of markers. Family plots have been marked off, apparently by the families themselves, in any manner of ways. Many of these have begun to decay, attesting to their homemade nature.
Oftentimes older cemeteries are full of ornate markers and memorials, but there are few of them in this graveyard. By far the most prominent memorial is this angel, in her simple beauty, although, when viewed head on, the bright red and yellow of McDonalds vie for attention.
A few obelisks, none as tall as I am, can be found here and there, and one other angel.
The vast majority of headstones are simple, with names and dates carved into stone and little else. As I looked around, I noticed that many of the ones in poor shape were not that old, they had just been carved from softer stone. Many were almost illegible, but would have dates as late as the 1990s that could be barely made out.
Always, there are stories in cemetery, which may be more or less clear to the observer. Young children, babies, make for sad stories that are obvious to anyone who can read the dates. But what of the child angel on this grave of 31-year-old woman? Who set it there and why? Was she childlike? Or did she have a child, maybe even one who died before her?
And what of the crudely carved stone below? The headstone itself is made of the same material as many others, but the carving was clearly not expertly done.
Then there are the stones with the Star of David carved into them. This cemetery was built and maintained by the Methodist church, but it was built for all African Americans within the community. Did the Jewish cemetery at the other end of town reject them? Or were their families more aligned with the community than with the congregation?
These two headstones were side by side, laid on the ground, although they appear to have once stood upright. Each with the carving of a hand and a chain, but the hand is not bound by the chain. One of them has a date of death of 1885, the other a date of birth of 1827, which could well indicate that they were born in slavery, but died free.
Toward the back of the cemetery, a large fenced off area has been left to go to weed and wilderness. Is this another family plot? Some of the graves are quite recent, even one or two from the 2000s, but to look at it, one would think it had been abandoned for decades, if not centuries. Even here, though, there were signs of care, such as recently placed flowers on certain graves. Picking my way through the weeds, I found this broken headstone, pieced together and placed upon the ground. What happened to break it and why was it placed so carefully but not replaced?
No explanation accompanies this sign, which marks off a section of the burial grounds. Were there originally two cemeteries so close to each other that have now become one? Why would the historic marker call this Mt. Pleasant if the original name was Grass Lawn? Why the discrepancy in dates?
