Why I Went To The Space Coast Bird and Wildlife Festival

Here's the reason ... no, not the gopher above. I can step out into my yard and see an entire gopher colony.

The picture below is the reason.

(Photo by Phoebe)

If you don't read Julie Zickefoose's blog, or haven't read her book, " Letters From Eden ", you are forgiven, but only this once.


Let's get on that, okay?

Julie is one of those folks who must have got in line about 3 or 4 times when they were handing out talent. She's a writer, poet, painter, sings in a band, and ... I'm going to stop now, because I'm feeling somewhat akin to a stump.

Of course, talent is one thing, but I believe she works really hard to make things happen.
It always bugs me when someone attributes a person's accomplishments all to talent, ignoring the hard work that makes success possible.




Saturday, I hit the road early and drove across the state to Titusville, home of the Space Coast Bird and Wildlife Festival. This is an amazing festival with a seemingly endless list of classes, speakers. field trips, and displays.


A gopher tortoise walk with Julie was scheduled for 1400 hours at a county park called The Enchanted Forest. In an email several weeks earlier Julie had shared that she would be speaking at the festival and it would be a good chance to meet if it wasn't too far away.

I marked my calendar that day and informed the family that I would be in Titusville on the 29Th of January, so no family emergencies were allowed on that Saturday.


The young guy who was our guide on the gopher walk did a fine job. The event started with a bang up PowerPoint presentation in a classroom setting ... I covet his PowerPoint for my classroom.




As I looked around that classroom, surrounded by gopher lovers, it occurred to me that I was probably the only one in the room who had eaten gopher stew. The older folks were probably retirees from nongopher northern climes. One exception may have been "Crackerboy", a fellow Florida blogger. I didn't ask such an incriminating question.




Of course, the younger ones had grown up in a time where the gopher is a protected species and the idea of eating one now is a little akin to making roast Osprey for Thanksgiving.



(I have NOT done that.)


The gopher tortoise's protected status wasn't always the case. They were a legal game animal when I was a kid. It was very common for a church fundraiser or political rally to advertise "Fried mullet and gopher stew" during my childhood.
I clearly remember watching the man next door butcher live gophers ... not a pretty sight and probably not one that any of the people with me in that room could picture.





I kept that bit of gophertrophic information to myself since the legal disclaimer above might not have been enough to keep the crowd from staking me to the nearest fire ant mound, had they known.





After the classroom session, the group moved out of the park visitor center and we walked out along a trail that took us through both hammock forest and open scrubby gopher habitat. Gopher tortoises are not forest dwellers, they need open, sunny, fire maintained habitat. (Longtime readers know I have a colony of about 10 gopher tortoises who share PFHQ with me and that I manage the land around their burrows for optimum gopher-zenness.)

Personally, I think the park staff needs to burn their scrub again. The scrub oaks and palmetto are short at the Enchanted Forest, but way thicker than the open grass and forb growth that gopher tortoises need. (Miz S, this forb's for you)

When someone asked about brown trails of sawdust on sabal palm fronds, it was the girl from Ohio who dug around and found the culprit.

Julie and a friend investigate a palm frond.

She carefully teased apart the sawdust structure on the frond and found a tiny pupa case.

The culprit was apparently some type of moth. In the photo above, she's sharing that discovery. I thought this moment with the palm frond was a serendipitous example of what she does.

Julie looks a little closer, sees what we miss, or... take for granted, and then shares it in her writing and her art.


It was pretty cool to see her in action ... also tres cool to meet her two children, Phoebe and Liam.

Reading her blog, I always think, "These two kids are growing up in about the most wonderful environment possible."

If you read it, you know what I mean.

That ideal environment seems to have paid off.

They both stole the show briefly that evening in a question and answer session after Julie's presentation.

I'm sure she's used to this.

Julie gives a dynamite presentation that will take you through a range of emotions as she describes life on her much loved home in Ohio.

If you get a chance to go listen to her speak, do so.

FC, Julie, and Crackerboy. (photo by Phoebe)

Off To Titusville

By the time you read this, I will be on the road to the Spacecoast Birding Festival over in Titusville.

That's a long, southward slanted ride across the peninsula for me so I'm leaving before the sun rises.

On such a journey, something is bound to happen.

When it does, I will share it here.

A Normal Vulture Post, No Poo, No Broken Windshield

When I spotted this carcass, it was covered by about two dozen vultures and one bald eagle. I pulled the JEEP off the road and parked close enough to use the JEEP as a blind. The birds all flew up and swirled overhead, but you could tell they really, really wanted to resume feeding.

Aided by a clear new windshield provided by an errant vulture and my insurance company, I sat quietly and filmed the birds as they returned to the feast.

The whining and panting you hear is Bear peering over my shoulder from the back seat as the vultures returned to the business at hand.




If you get tired of that old cliche, " When pigs fly!" you can now substitute "trees" for "pigs".



Here we see an oak about to lift off.

Miss Elaine and Me

(a sidewalk card from my kids)




Today is Miss Elaine's birthday. How old or young she is, does not matter here.




What matters, among other things about her, is the simple fact that we share a birthday and she is my friend.









Miss Elaine never, EVER forgets my birthday. Every year, a card with a personal note arrives in the mail to let me know she was thinking of me on our shared, special day.









Every year, around January 10th, I say to myself, "Gotta get a card and get it in the mail by January 20th so it gets there on time."









Lots of years I do just that. Some years I drop the ball and then call her on the day.









Occasionally, I am able to drop in on her on January 23rd and sit in her parlor and chat.









We talk about family, hers and mine.




(Here's mine)








I thought that was going to happen today. I was home in St. Augustine for a family birthday at Mom and Dads and I had figured I could swing by and either surprise her or drop a card in her door so she would know I remembered.









That's the thing about best laid plans, ... what you thought would happen sometimes gets derailed.









As it did today.









I'm home now ... just got in about an hour ago. My bags are unpacked, the house is quiet, so let me share a little about Miss Elaine.














Miss Elaine's daughter is one of my best friends and I have known Miss Elaine since I met her baby girl back in 7th grade.









Her daughter and I became part of a circle of close friends that made it all the way through junior high, high school, college, and real life while remaining good friends, even if we rarely see each other anymore.









If you think back to your teen years, there were probably some adults, other than your parents who played important roles in your life. Maybe they listened to you, maybe they advised you, or maybe they were just always there, rock solid and supportive.









Miss Elaine was that to a lot of teens who passed through her house.









I learned a lot of things from Miss Elaine way back then.

This is only a small sample ....




I learned poodles just may be the smartest dog on the planet. Miss Elaine had a poodle named Angelique that, when I think back upon it, may have been smarter than some of my middle school students.




Yes, I'm sure of it.


For a young FC, whose wonderful mixed mutts could not even comprehend a simple "sit" command, Angelique was a canine Einstein.



(of course, MY dog is an artist)




I had my first caviar at Miss Elaine's house. I wasn't going to even try it, but she made me and now I can honestly say, "I don't like caviar". I don't think she cared if I liked it or not, but she cared about me not trying it.


I had my first steamed oyster via microwave oven at Miss Elaine's house too.




I did like them.




Usually, steamed oysters are a big messy outside event with a fire, sheet metal, and wet croaker sacks.




This was a glass corning ware dish and some saran wrap.




They were delicious.



I worked on a farm as a teenager and once I showed up with a passel of other teens at Miss Elaines . I had just finished a 16 hour shift ... I worked the harvest season in a packing house.




Miss Elaine was a Registered Nurse and I had no sooner whined about how sore my shoulders were than she ordered me to lie down on the floor and in about 3 minutes she had rubbed all the soreness out of my neck and shoulders.




It was amazing.



These are little things on the surface, and probably not memorable to Miss Elaine, but here I am 30 years later and I can see them clear as a bell.

You never know what's sinking in when you talk to kids, what bounces off, ... what sticks.
So, grown ups, ... do a good job like Miss Elaine did.

Maybe somebody will remember those moments 30 years from now.

... even if you don't share a common birthday.

Happy Birthday Miss Elaine.

It's 11:41 pm ,so I did get your card on time.

Vilano's Empty Winter Beach

Bear says, "The weather is here, I wish you were beautiful!"
(He's such a Buffett fan)


Vilano beach is very shelly and is a pretty decent place to hunt for fossil shark teeth. It's not as productive as Venice or Englewood for fossil sharks teeth,but it's definitely worth a look if finding ancient teeth is your thing.
It is mine, although not with 100 pounds of labradork tugging on a too short leash.
I'm surprised any of these photos are in focus!



It was a cold day and the sun was setting fast when Bear and I took our beach walk ...
Make that "beach run", a beach outing with Bear almost always involves running.

Ahhh, solitude.
I love the emptyness of a winter beach.
The photo above is looking south towards St. Augustine Inlet.


Looking north.
Empty here too!

This red coquina shell beach is a real vehicle trap and even 4WD's can wind up sitting mired on their frames if the driver is careless.




This driver was not careless and did not bury his JEEP in the shell sand.
Guided by his faithful dog, he made it out alive.

(Bear and I are both trying to look serious in this photo ... he smiled first immediately after this photo, so I win)

The Sun Is Setting Rapidly On Old Vilano Beach

This fishing pier is actually the east end of the old A1A bridge over the intracoastal waterway at Vilano Beach, in St. Augustine. St. Augustine has no shortage of nearby beaches, but when I was a kid, Vilano was always the quieter, laid back, funkier beach.


There was a distinct difference that you could not help noticing when you crossed this bridge and landed at Vilano as opposed to crossing the Bridge of Lions and landing on Anastasia Island.



Anastasia Island was often simply referred to as "The Island" ... epecially that portion directly across from downtown St. Augustine, an area known as "Davis Shores" after a a developer named ... Davis (surprise!) pumped sand over the pristine marshes, dug some canals, and sold lots back in the early 20th century land boom.

It was said that "God lived on The Island".


God may have had one of those expensive bayfront homes on Anastasia, and later perhaps a condo on St. Augustine Beach, but I don't think she had any Vilano Beach real estate holdings.


Although, I may be mistaken on that, I hear she works in mysterious ways.


Vilano was very different from "The Island".

Vilano was more of a "regular" (not rich) folks beach community with a lower population of doctors and lawyers. Due to a bodacious surf break, it was home to scores of surfers who only added to the funky character of the little community.



Today a high rise modern bridge replaces the old lowslung drawbridge that still partially exists as that fishing pier. This "new" bridge zips you across the intracoastal waterway in minutes, and while it does offer a brief high speed view of the ocean, there is no drawbridge to force you sit and watch the dolphins as you wait for a boat to pass.

This is the price of efficiency.


To be fair, the old draw was a little fussy sometimes and since it lifted a section of the bridge straight up, if you ignored the crossing arm you went straight into the drink.


When you consider the fact that for a very long time, there was a bar called the "Lazy Sands" practically at the foot of the bridge that had a drive through window for mixed drinks served in a "to go" cup ...then you can imagine how a drawbridge might consume more drivers than expected.


Like I said earlier, Vilano was a different place.




Exhibit A for the exquisite funkiness of old Vilano is the building above.




All around this old motel, set into the walls, are pink flamingoes. They are not just paintings but three dimensional sculptures.

The building is chainlinked and posted with no trespassing signs. The flamingoes stare out from behind the fence like sad, captive birds at a zoo.

Sadly, I think these birds are an endangered species. I'm sure this building is waiting it's demolition.

Losing this kind of folk art is painful to me. Having built things, carved things, and painted things, it occurs to me that a lot of effort went in to making and painting these. Flamingoes are everywhere at this old defunct motel.

Near the office, a giant pink and almost scary looking flamingo watches for customers who no longer come.

Flamingovelociraptor?



Today's customers are across the street at the megageneric motel.


It doesn't take much imagination to predict that a similar motel may take the place of the old flamingo encrusted Vilano Beach Resort.

There are even electric flamingoes who once positively glowed with a welcoming neon radiance.

Can't you just hear the crackly buzz?

Do I need to mention the irony of this sign at the motel?

I didn't think so.

The sun was almost gone by the time I finished my walk with Bear. We spent too much time photographing the flamingoes and the sun did not wait.

In the gathering gloom, I grabbed one last shot.

A huge modern supermarket will soon replace this surf shop according to the "Coming Soon" sign posted on this block.

The bulldozer waits.

The sun sets.

The Irony Of This Does Not Escape Me

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
The windshield of my JEEP gets taken out by a vulture?

The very same JEEP that carried an injured vulture across the damn state in search of a wildlife rescue vet just about two weeks ago?

What was that about "good karma" coming to me for being kind to a vulture?

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday !


Good grief! I had just traveled 2 hours and 125 miles from St. Augustine and was literally within one mile of PFHQ when I spied a flock of vultures feeding on a dead deer at about the 11 O'clock position.

I slowed down, but obviously not enough, since one lumbering bird, ... probably overloaded with deer guts, swooped up and then down into my windshield.

CRACK!
Instant spider web crackle pattern instead of clear glass.


I drove the remaining mile in a state of disbelief.

Is it just me, or is this just a wee bit ironic?

KNEEDY POST

Here's Dad's polio leg brace ... one I think he borrowed from Franklin Roosevelt when they were at Warm Springs.

Sigh ...

I am sitting in the Barnes and Nobles, home again to take my shift helping Mom recover from her back injury and give my brother and sisnlaw a well deserved break from the same.

This weekend is the end of the semester both at my bricks and mortar school and for my virtual school students, so it's a tough time to be in a "no internet" house. In the lulls of caregiving, I dash out to McDonalds or B&N to access the net, check on my virtual school students who are desperately submitting last minute assignments and if time and battery allows ... get a post up so you know I am still here on the 3rd rock from the sun.

I'm also spending some time seeking info on Post-Polio Support Groups, Polio Orthotics, and resources available to polio survivors of " a certain age". (Thank you bloggy friend Dani for your great tip a while back!)

My folks are not the kind to ask for help and they don't do the internet, so imagine the resources they are probably missing out on.

I found some good resources, all saved as favorites, and all to be investigated at home where I can plug in and not be bothered by laptop battery symbols flashing ominously.

In a weak attempt to get at least a bit of Florida nature attached to this venting post, I present you with a picture of strong knees that need no bracing.

Bearly Missed Him

Mrs. FC would tell you that I am not the kind of person who gets lonely easy.

At this point in the game, my human family is supposed to be hither and yon, working, chasing college degrees, etc. I've had a few years to get used to that since the girls first moved out for college. (Remember that whine?)

I know they are okay and that we will see each other as often as possible. After all, everyone is within a 120 mile radius of PFHQ, so it's easy to get together.

Their close proximity, coupled with my own bit of hermity lone-wolfnicity, makes their absences routine and tolerable.

Contrast that with the temporary absence of Bear this week while he has been on an overnight visit at Junior's apartment.

A few days ago, Junior sent me a text requesting Bear's company on an overnight stay at his apartment, The visit would include a doggy play date at a dog park with a German Shepherd owned by a friend of his.

Of course I said yes, Bear is his dog too, and I know how very much he misses him.

No big deal.

Just a day, a night, and a day.

As it turned out, his absence coincided with Mrs. FC being in St. Augustine to help Mom and Dad, so last night I came home to an empty house.

No barking audible as I parked the JEEP.

No barking and frantic whining as I unlocked the front door.

No Bear dashing to bring me a shoe, his blankie, or toy as I opened the door.

No wiggly hugs and dog kisses in the kitchen as I set my stuff down.

No need to grab the leash and attempt to clip it to a wild prancing Bear.

No dog walk ... I didn't have to rush back outside as soon as I unloaded my stuff.

No dog talk ... I realized last night just how much and how often I speak to him.

No wrestling.

No intermittent walks throughout the evening.

No big sighs to induce guilt when I am working on the computer and not playing with him.

No hunting for shoes.

No food in the dog bowl.

No muzzle on my knee as I eat supper.

No drool-soaked spot on my knee when I get up from eating.

No tug o war with the shark toy.

No paws on my chest and giant dog head and shoulders towering over me at bed time when he stands up and pleads to have some help getting up on our mile high 4 poster bed.

No whining to go out EARLY in the morning today.

S-I-G-H ...(That was mine, not a Bear sigh ... okay, it was a Bear induced sigh, but it was all mine)

So right now, it is 1:30 pm.

We have a "Bear return rendezvous" scheduled for 2 hours from now.

I might just make it until then.

More Supporting Evidence For My Theory

I spent part of the weekend in St. Augustine helping my parents.
If you hit the rewind button, you may remember that my Mom fell and injured her back recently.
We, my brother, my sisnlaw, my wife, my kids, and moi, have been taking shifts staying with Mom and Dad.
Essentially, Mom is not to lift anything for a month or so while her injuries heal.
So we are all taking turns cooking, cleaning, putting away things, and generally giving her some down time to get better.

So it was that I was heading out to Theo's restaurant this morning to bring them breakfast from their favorite eatery.

There was a slight delay however when the neighbor lady called to me in the yard.

"Did you leave your JEEP windows open like that last night?

Huh?

"Like what?" I called back.

"All unzipped and hanging, " she said. "I only asked because someone has stolen stuff out of our JEEP a couple of times. I was afraid it had happened to you."

I walked around to the driver side.

"It has." I said.

I walked over to my offroad extension of my soul and peered into her violated interior, fully expecting to NOT see my fishing pole, my JEEP watch, my brand new Tilley hat, my fishing tackle, my six pack of Yuengling beer, and well, you get the picture.

It was a mess, but everything ... EVERYTHING, was there. The glove box contents were scattered all over and my brand new Case pocket knife was jammed into the locked console in an unsuccessful attempt to get in there.

The little silvery thing is just a book light, but the watch (upside down) is a pretty expensive JEEP logo watch.

It was pretty clear to me that (A) they were looking for expensive items like cell phones, gps units, etc. ... (B) they got interrupted by the security motion sensor floodlights on the front of the garage.

They knew enough to enter from the lee side of the JEEP to avoid the motion sensor, but I think somebody messed up and the very bright double flood kicked on.

Even the dashboard change was still there ... and what thief leaves a six pack of good Pennsylvanian beer behind?

When the very tall deputy showed up, we went over the JEEP and I was just saying to him that it looks like I lucked out. They didn't take anything and the windows were unzipped not cut.

I was rezipping the back window as I said that and then, there it was. They cut the stitiching in the top, essentially ruining it.

Oh, I'll check in to Mom's homeowner policy, but JEEP tops are about $600, and homeowner deductibles tend to be in that zone or higher, so I am probably NOT going to luck out there.

C'est la vie.

The deputy did share the fact that they caught two people breaking in to cars in the neighborhood around 5 am that morning and they were toting stolen gps's etc.

That was satisfying. but still ...

... I am still pretty convinced that my theory of "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished" remains substantiated by the evidence.

Bitterness

"Never succumb to the temptation of bitterness. "
---Martin Luther King, Jr.


Sorry Rev, I have succumbed.

The temptation of the American Bittern was too much for my weak will.



See it?


Here he (she?) is warming up for the old "straight neck, be the reed" disappearing act. Being caught in the open did not please this bittern and it slowly, oh so slowly, crept off into the nearby winter browned reeds and rushes.


I would have named these birds "Patience".
If you have ever watched one hunting, you know why.
Slow and methodical ... that about sums it up.
If you compare the bittern's creep to a snowy egret's wiggling of feet as it spooks it's prey from clumps of weeds, or to a reddish egrets fluttery dance as it chases down killifish in the shallows, it seems pretty snail-ish.

When they are not creeping, but truly hiding, they go all vertical with beak straight up looking for all the world like the reeds they have chosen to hide among ... even gently swaying with the reeds if a breeze is about.

In fact, just about everything a bittern does seems geared to not being noticed. It always seems odd to me to see a master of camouflage working side by side with glaringly obvious white wading birds like ibis, or snowy egrets.

Like a guy who shows up for a bird watching hike in a ghillie suit while everyone else is wearing sweaters, khakis, and sneakers.
(In my defense, the brochure said we would be "stalking" ... oh well, ...live and learn)

I wonder, do the ibis snipe at the bittern behind it's beak?
"Hey, Snowy ... don't look now ... I SAID DON'T LOOK! Sheesh ... anyhow, don't look now but here comes Mr. Covert Action. Just play along and act like you don't see him."

Now, where have I heard that before?

Annual Burn

Every winter, after the first few frosts have turned the tall grasses from green to brown, we burn the "meadow" near the old FFA hog pen.
"We" means my daughter Emma and I.
She inherited a large dose of the the gene known as "pyrolase-b-urnalota" from her Dad.


We were not burning at night, but it looks like it in this flash photo.
It was near sundown, but not as dark as the picture implies.



Above, we have Emma surveying her circle of destruction ... which is really a circle of regeneration since this tiny, annually burned meadow has the greatest plant diversity of any dryland habitat at PFHQ.

It's a simple activity, this Father/Daughter burning, but I look forward to it each winter.

I love the way the grasses and many of the fire adapted native wildflowers hold their seeds on tall stalks, high above the grass-fueled flames.

Whent the fire has moved on, the stalks may still be standing holding their precious cargo aloft ready to drift down into the ash enriched soil.

Sometimes, a seed stalk will slowly burn through at the base, but almost always the stalk falls in slow motion, and only reaches the ground after the hungry flames have moved on ...

... Safe seed delivery complete.

It's a beautifully simple thing, but it still awes me a little every time we burn.

Gopher Stalk

Shhhhh. We're stalking Geomys pinetus.



Aka, around here at least ... "gopher" or "salamander".

Southeastern Pocket Gopher is the common name for ol' Geomys pinetus.



So, it seems pretty natural for folks to shorten that to just "gopher".



"Salamander" takes more imagination.

That one is a corruption of two words, "Sandy Mounder". Say 'em together fast with a sweet Southern drawl and you come pretty close to "salamander".

If not, you may be lacking in sweetness.

Work on that, okay?

Pocket gophers truly are "sandy mounders". They move A LOT of earth as they burrow beneath the surface of PFHQ.






See those mounds in the picture above ?
The gopher has to remove soil from his tunnels as he creates them.

Every so often, the gopher tunnels up to the surface and kicks out the excess soil, thus producing a chain of mounds that trace the the general path of the tunnel below.

Remember this post?

My "stalkee" was not as cooperative this time, but you do get to see a gopher nose in the last video.





I love it when a plan comes together.






Gee whiz, aren't you glad I narrate these videos with exciting statements like, "That's dirt ..."

You were probably confused until I said that.