My Florida

It is impossible to describe the beauty of my Florida. It is something you simply must experience. Whether by means of a meandering drive or a walk in a small town, Florida cannot be understood through amusement parks in Orlando, sports venues in Tampa, or the beaches of the Panhandle. My country must be felt under your feet and in your heart.

My Florida roads are not the impersonal interstates of federal engineering. They are roads well-worn by cattlemen and Seminole who preceded me. As I drive from east to west, my car wanders through canopies of old oaks covered in Spanish moss interrupted by herds of cattle or horses grazing. Large farms converge upon small towns with a single white church steeple at the intersection of two-lane roads. Florida flags adorn homes with chickens and palm trees in their front yards. The highways in my Florida have more ads sharing the Salvation of Jesus Christ than the latest thing. There are turtles in the roads with few people alongside them. There is not a trace of urban rot or Washington intrusion in my Florida. My country is wholesome.

My Florida can be an unforgiving place. She is a dance between beauty and violence. Off the coasts of our magnificent white sandy beaches are sharks of all types, often hungry for a taste of a young swimmer. Hidden behind beautiful cypress trees and palm fronds lay alligators in our swamps. Many bodies have disappeared in those murky dens of despair. Our children play in manicured backyards that house rattlesnakes near the mulch. The little ones know the distinct sound of a rattle and how to avoid them. Woe unto the young foreign Yankee whose ears know not the sound until it is too late. Should he survive the strike of a snake, he may not survive the weather. Looking up to the stunning skylines we enjoy in the mornings, they warn us of hurricanes and tornadoes that come annually. You have never seen a more beautiful dusk than that which can be seen from a Florida beach after a hurricane has swept past your home. My country is beautifully dangerous.

My Florida was once a haven for all sorts of rogues, pirates, and fugitives. Those who could make their way across the Okefenokee Swamp or through Haulover Inlet often earned shelter from the long arm of the law. Stories abound of pirates in the coves of the Western shore or Eastern waterways. Swashbuckling Floridians once exploited the protective rivers that provided opportunities to attack merchant vessels. Many ships litter the coastlines; some sank under the Union Jack while others under skull and bones. Intrepid Southerners once used the swamps and rivers of North Florida to escape lawmen from other states. Many of those criminals went on to become “Cracka’” cowboys. Many others found themselves dead at the hands of a Floridian for attempting to do that which led them to flee into Florida in the first place. Baker and Columbia counties were known to have obese gators in the late 1800s. My country is violent.

My Florida is comprised of many old men doing old men things. You can find old Cubans in the south of my country, smoking cigars, drinking coffee, and playing chess. You can find old black men sitting outside telling stories to one another in a form of Southern dialect that is quite foreign to you or me. You can find old White men in the north of my country, sitting at worn out tables, discussing the weather, the crops, and the women. My country is old and relaxed.

My Florida has plenty of little children and young families trying to grow in a complex world. We do not teach them how to be gay or hate themselves in our schools. My country outlawed that noise. We let our children be children. The thousands of parks and beaches that adorn my country are filled with the laughter of little kids and the exhaustion of their parents. I can watch them discover sharks’ teeth at the shores or Indian arrowheads at the bottom of crystal-clear springs. I can hear them giggling. I can see their footprints in the sand. My country is young and vibrant.

My Florida is vast. She is ecologically and agriculturally diverse. She has the most coastline in the continental United States. My country is number one in the production of bred-to-beef cattle and seafood. We have twenty-one commercial ports. She ranks in the top five of citrus, non-citrus fruit, and vegetable production. Her top trades include aeronautical production, agriculture, and, of course, tourism. My country is rich.

My Florida has many suffering citizens. Beset upon by federal policies that ensure the proliferation of opioids and methamphetamine, there is a lot of pain in my country. The rural poor in the center of my country are often forgotten by the mega churches in nearby suburban enclaves. Those Christians fly far away to take care of other people, while my people suffer in silence a mere drive away. The sorrows of my people are ignored while the federal government cares for their replacements from other lands. My country weeps in poverty.

My Florida is not a wasteland of urban cesspools comprised of degenerate filth. My Florida is not Yankee retirees in their golf-course McMansions. My Florida is not a stomping ground for itinerant illegal interlopers. My Florida is not Mickey Mouse and false-rainbow flags. My Florida is not retirement homes comprised of elderly people abandoned by their families to the care of indifferent strangers. My country is better than those who simply use my country without care.

My Florida is wonderful and exciting. My Florida is naturally pretty. My Florida is my heart and home. My Florida is beautiful. My Florida deserves to be free.