7 Comments

thank you, Walter -- this is so sorrowful (not sure about the grammar here - but it makes me feel so sorrowful) And the live oaks-- there was a big ol' one at the farm of my relatives outside of Gainesville, on their sandy-soil homestead that didn't grow much of anything. But the live oak was live to we kids and we could be lifted up by a daddy or uncle to sit on the lowest limbs. I however, knew as a 5-year-old that if I stood up straight and then whirled in place - like a bare-foot ice-skater -- that in fact I would fly up and plump down on the lowest branch. I never told anyone about this power - the menfolk were around -- but always knew I could, and know it to this day. A Live Oak Legend!

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Evocative and beautiful account, with some lessons in it for all of us. I'm Restacking this to Notes so non-subsribers can read it.

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BTW -- just say Gerard's Sunshine State book of essays. looks good- picking it up shortly.

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Although now a Virginian, I continue to love your Newsletter.

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Loved this beautifully written and bittersweet tribute to another time and place. So evocative and descriptive. Alas, we humans build and tear down only to rebuild and repurpose again. Thanks for sharing!

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A beautiful bitter-sweet tribute. Some of us humans tend to think we're at the top of the food chain, that our communities and endeavors are the beat all, end all. Your thoughtful accounts help deepen my appreciation of nature and the need to tread lightly amidst the wonder of it all. Thanks for shining the light.

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It is entirely appropriate to mourn Southwood Plantation and your amazing fire ant research.

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