THE REAL FLORIDA

Clouds were white and billowy as we left sweet Fernandina, Cumberland Island. As we packed our gear, some folks from upstate NY stopped for a chat, then a sweet man from Frankfort, Ky said he had to stop and ask, where in Ky? And why did we have Ky plates on the rear and New Mexico plates on the front.. At that same moment, he spied our duckies and seemed( in a friendly way) to get it! We are kitschy! Finally, we pulled out, stopping briefly for provisions and a Starbucks. We headed down the coastal highway A1A toward a State Park that heralds: The Real Florida. Clouds were thickening as we drove, at a snail's pace, down the coast. We drove off the main road across sand roads and a washed out bridge to soaring long leaf pines and the uncluttered quiet of the hammocks. As WFS set up camp, I quickly made white chili for dinner. It was very, very good about two hours later.
We donned our rain gear, as big raindrops plopped on the sand. We headed into the dense hammocks where the Timucuan Indians dwelled( many, many years ago)along the marshes. We had been hiking about 45 minutes in the rain, when I heard a rustle up ahead. A small herd of young, feral pigs dashed in front of us, scurrying into the palmetto. We could hear the sow calling them in the distance. They were incredibly fat for feral pigs, with rough graphite colored hides. We stood in the drizzle, amazed. We walked on to the salt marshes. It was still, except for birds calling and the rustle of palmetto. We soaked up the feeling of being in a very undisturbed corner of the world. Yes, it does exist, even in overrun Florida.
This morning brought high, blue skies and classical music. We ate our croissants and tupelo honey for breakfast. Between sips of coffee, we planned our wilderness day.
Shall I say, it will be an adventure? Stay tuned.