Clean rivers, deep woods, biodiversity, the slow and wise rhythms of nature are a form of wealth that’s not ours to spend. It needs to be preserved for future generations of Floridians.
Words of wisdom which must be heeded by our leaders who have the power to do so.
Read the original article with photos here in the Gainesville Sun.
Comments by OSFR historian Jim Tatum.
jim.tatum@oursantaferiver.org
– A river is like a life: once taken,
it cannot be brought back © Jim Tatum
Should I Stay or Should I Go? When Growth Chases Floridians Away
The night was cold and dark, full of rustlings and grunts. Most of our new land is oak and pine forest, home to a tribe of barred owls that lulled us to sleep with their urgent question: “Who cooks for you?”
Twenty years before, my wife and I had slept rough in a different piece of land. The scrub surrounding us then, in Southwest Florida, was mostly palmetto and cocoplum, Brazilian pepper and lone royal palms. But the labors of the next day were the same: dig a well, build dwellings for ourselves and for livestock, till a field, plant seeds and trees.
Powerful economic, migratory and demographic forces had found the way to the gate of our farm, after pushing others like us out, one by one. The last gladiolus grower. The last citrus grove. The last cattle ranch. All gone to make room for the gated community, the strip mall and the golf course.
Florida is vast, diverse and contains many versions of herself. Who could judge those whose idea of “land” is many acres of suburban houses?
The land and her wards — hummingbird, tortoise, cypress, pasture, orchard — need strong laws protecting them, just like minorities have rights that majorities have to respect. Democracy and environmentalism are two sides of the same coin.
What is land? How do some Floridians understand it, beyond the theme park and its parking lagoon?
You never own the land. You’re the steward. She lets you raise chickens and rabbits, kill them, eat them, the ancient way. Lets you hunt the deer and swim the spring. Grow okra, collards, eggplants, berries, working your fields from sunup to sundown.
Raise a family on the land. See your children grow up climbing trees, catching fireflies. You celebrate planting and harvesting, rain and bald eagles.
The years pass. Sunsets and rooster calls, memorable seasons, bonfires, the sand of time inevitably trickling down the hourglass. On the land. In tune with it, noticing the subtle changes from week to week: bluebirds coming back, dragonflies feeding on swarms of just-born termites, gopher tortoises stirring up every spring.
Then you move on. One cannot dwell forever on the land — or in the world. Once you understand that, it’s easier to move on
For some of us, land is not an investment. We want to live a long life in it, respecting and cherishing it, then die in it and have our ashes used to fertilize a lemon tree we planted. Our offspring may or may not want to live in it, someone else may, but the land itself will live.
South Florida-style hyper-development seems remote in our neck of the woods, and we hope we’ll be left alone to our ways until it’s time to leave Earth. But I have something to say to my new North Florida neighbors and friends: Everybody needs to earn a living. That’s understood.
Clean rivers, deep woods, biodiversity, the slow and wise rhythms of nature are a form of wealth that’s not ours to spend. It needs to be preserved for future generations of Floridians.
Santiago De Choch is an organic farmer in Suwannee County, and can be reached at seedandpen@gmail.com.
