Dr. Rev. Gabriel Ghanoum, a local priest and the Spiritual Care Director at JFK Medical Center, was at work when a 100-year-old patient, without any known relatives, had died. What happened next would set him on a path to create a new ministry in Palm Beach County: He became her legal guardian and claimed her as his own.

“When there isn’t any family or friends to claim the ashes of the deceased, I claim them as my own family and see to it that they receive dignity and compassion in death,” he said.

That was nearly 15 years ago, and since then, Father Gabriel Ghanoum, along with the assistance of several volunteers, has claimed over 800 deceased individuals and given them a special burial at the Our Lady Queen of Peace Cemetery located in Royal Palm Beach.

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For many of us, especially in Western culture, the subject of dying or death is a difficult topic. But the idea of dying alone is something else entirely: it’s incomprehensible, driven in part by our limited understanding of the dying process in addition to an innate longing for human connection, even in our final moments, when transitioning from one stage to the next.

And yet, dying alone is the reality for some individuals. When this happens, local authorities try to find family members or next of kin to claim the body. When none are located or come forward, the state must step in to make any final decisions about the remains. Each state, including Florida, has its own laws when it comes to unclaimed bodies. Often, the policies and procedures for final disposition depends on available resources.

Aside from legal issues surrounding unclaimed individuals, there’s also the subject of spiritual matters related to the importance of a proper burial. While funeral rituals differ between religions and cultures, most groups around the world do honor loved ones with a ceremony or an end-of-life celebration.

But who will honor the unclaimed?

In Palm Beach County, Father Gabriel Ghanoum claims them all—not simply a few select individuals, but each and every one. “I sign for the cremation of everyone that is unclaimed in the county,” he said. “All of them.”

The process of claiming deceased persons in the region and giving them a dignified burial depends on several factors, including the availability of the chapel’s cemetery off Southern Boulevard. “The remains must be in the funeral home for at least six months before they can be sent to the cemetery, just in case someone comes to claim them,” he said. “And after the six months, the cemetery enters each individual into the system.”

This ministry project, known as No One Buried Alone, schedules a memorial service four times a year where cremated remains are interred in a special crypt, thanks to a partnership between the cemetery, the Diocese of Palm Beach and the Palm Beach County Division of Human Services.

During each burial ceremony, which is held at the entrance to Our Lady's chapel, the names of individuals are read out loud as Father Ghanoum bends down to kiss each black container where the ashes of all ages, races and religious affiliations—including children and miscarried and stillborn babies—await their final resting place. Many of the dead are elderly from local nursing homes or homeless indigent people.

At each container, Father Ghanoum pauses to say “I love you.” These three words and subsequent burial are meant as one last act of compassion for those who may have needed it the most.

There are many moving parts to the success of this program and the story behind it, most notably the collaboration of the cemetery and county. But there’s also a handful of volunteers and countless donors that help make these ceremonies happen. Each person that participates in the NOBA program becomes surrogate family members to those who have died alone.

As for the special ceremonies that take place several times per year, those in attendance have played a part, in some way, in the end of life story of the unclaimed deceased. And after each service comes to a close, attendees walk together with Father Ghanoum and the cremated remains to the Compassionate Crypt of St. Joseph of Arimathea, where the ashes are interred to their final resting place.

The internment finishes with the song “My Way” by Frank Sinatra.

Kevin Goulding, a long-time colleague of Father Ghanoum at JFK Medical Center and photographer at several NOBA ceremonies, considers these moments to be evidence of our shared humanity. “In a world that often forgets the forgotten, the No One Buried Alone project gives quiet dignity and a final act of love, respect, and prayer to those who had none in death,” he said. “ Father Gabriel is a true servant of compassion.”

To learn more about the No One Buried Alone program or to donate or become involved, please click here: No One Buried Alone.

The city of Newberry, an area of North Florida that borders between Archer, Jonesville and Gainesville, is home to a once prosperous farm and community center named Dudley Farm. It turns out that the farm, now designated as the Dudley Farm Historic Sate Park, has a long and at times turbulent history.

Last month, we visited Dudley Farm with very little background into its historical value or symbolism in this part of Florida. We understood it to be a working farm, with a few animals on site, that allowed for visitors. But, in reality, the farm is more than that—much more.

Located off Newberry Road, just west of Gainesville, the site sits secluded, surrounded by large oak trees, sabal palms, citrus and dogwood trees and cattle pastures, and currently spanning 325 acres (originally, the farm was 640 acres) previously operated by the Dudley family for three generations. It was sold to the state of Florida in 1986.

Though several structures on site have been restored, each remain in their overall original state. Nothing has been recreated; nothing has been removed. The main living house was rebuilt in 1881 by Dudley Jr.

But it was settlers Philip Benjamin Harvey Dudley Sr. and his wife, Mary, that started the original farm, along with 30 African American slaves.

For context, of the almost one-third of all Southern families who owned slaves, 88 percent owned fewer than 20, while approximately one percent of families owned more. Dudley Sr., therefore, quickly became a middle-class agrarian through his ownership of enslaved people who cleared land and grew cotton at the Newberry farm.

At the time, around 25 years leading up to the Civil War, most Florida slave owners were transplants from Kentucky, Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia, searching for new and fertile land, settling in and around Tallahassee and included Gadsden, Leon, Jefferson, Madison, and Hamilton counties — then expanding into Alachua and Marion counties. This was known as “Middle Florida.”

Dudley Sr. and his wife moved from South Carolina to Newberry in 1852 and purchased the land that became Dudley Farm in 1859, just two years before the start of the Civil War.

Florida was a fractured state when it came to the Civil War and institution of slavery. When members of the state legislator, most of whom were powerful Middle Florida planters and slaveholders, voted to secede from the Union, a large number of Floridians to the East and to the West pledged loyalty to the United States, resulting in Union military disruptions along the coastal counties. According to Florida Humanities, this is where men, women and children escaped to when seeking freedom in Florida.

Given Dudley Sr.’s history, ideology and position as a slaveowner, he joined the Confederate Army as a captain of the Alachua Rangers 7th Regiment, leaving the farmhouse and land behind. However, Middle Florida, which included the Dudley Farm, was protected from Union forces due to geographically separated war zones. As a result, the Dudley family and their property remained unscathed.

After a few years, and when the war had ended, Dudley Sr. returned to the farm and the humans he enslaved (as well as others enslaved in Middle Florida) were now free men, women and children.

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Post Civil War in the South included triumphs and many significant challenges for African Americans and the farms they once lived and worked on, including the Dudley farm, where Dudley Sr. and his son turned to grazing cattle, while also raising cotton and other crops with hired help. Payment often came in the form of "furnish" which consisted of pork and sugarcane.

In time, however, and despite changes to daily operations and federal law, Dudley Farm became a focal point for the larger Archer region and a type of community center for cattlemen, townsfolk, and other merchants in the area over the course of 100 plus years. This includes through the Great Depression, changes in agricultural norms and mechanization in addition to the deaths of managing family members such as Dudley Sr., Dudley Jr. (Ben), Fannie (Ben’s wife) and their three sons.

The last Dudley to remain on the farm was Miss Myrtle Dudley, where she lived until her death in 1996 at the age of 94. Carrying out the wishes of her mother, she kept the farm intact by donating 24 acres to the park service in 1983, then sold the remaining 232 acres to the state. In January of 2021, Dudley Farm Historic State Park was designated as a National Historic Landmark.

According to the Florida State Parks website, interviews were recorded providing details about daily life on the farm and changes over time. I was able to locate one interview online between Myrtle Dudley and Lisa Heard, conducted February 25, 1992. At 60 pages long, the interview is quite extensive, though at times meandering, giving historians and writers a better and more intimate view about what happened on the farm and what happened to some of the slaves who were freed from captivity. It’s a lot to unpack. If you’d like to read it, here is the link.

After first visiting the site and later searching for more information through articles and library databases, Dudley Farm Historic State Park seems to be a physical manifestation of deep-rooted memories. In other words, there are stories untold that’ll most likely stay that way, locked away with those now deceased.

Yet, Miss Myrtle did attempt to tell her side of the story in the recorded interview. One topic that often came up was that of the Newberry Six. Her story, told through the lens of time and emotional recollections, does line up with other versions. She does, however, hint at ongoing hostile relations with the local Black community, many of whom were previous slaves in the area. This likely played a role in the escalation of events on Friday, Aug. 18, 1916.

After reports of a hog stealing ring were made to Newberry law enforcement, Deputy Sheriff George Wynne, younger brother of Fannie Wynne Dudley, visited the home of Jim Dennis, one of the suspect in the case, at 2 AM. Another suspect, Boisey Long, was in the home at the time, and shot Sheriff George, killing him soon after. Both Dennis and Long were black men.

In response to the sheriff’s death, Miss Myrtle recalls in her interview how a mob of townsfolk were in ‘such a tantrum’ and that ‘they did not look natural.’ Then came the lynchings. It was reported that Jim Dennis was shot to death by the angry mob, and his siblings Mary Dennis and Bert Dennis, family friends Andrew McHenry and the Reverend Josh J. Baskins, and Jim’s sister-in-law, Stella Young—all found to be innocent after the fact—were hung from one large oak tree near Newberry’s town center.

While some writers speculate that members of the Dudley family participated in the lynchings to avenge the death of their beloved Uncle George, there is no definitive proof. But there is an indisputable connection between the Dudley Family and the Newberry Six discovered through Myrtle Dudley’s interview.

And so my visit to Dudley Farm Historic State Park was, by all admission, mystifying. The site itself was pleasant; beautiful old Florida flora and historic structures in their authentic form. Flowers bloomed, butterflies danced through the farmhouse garden, cows grazed on green pastures. But there was a stillness there, as though time itself had abruptly stopped and intrinsic memories deep within the land and buildings lived on. It’s not an easy feeling to describe.

If I had to sum up Dudley Farm knowing what I know now, I’d describe it as a blend of eerie and paradoxical. To what extent should the historical relevance focus on the Dudley estate as a long-standing working farm and community center versus a place where enslavement and oppression took place?

Perhaps a better balance will be achieved, but that’s not for me to decide.

In no way am I attempting to oversell Epic Universe, the newest theme park by Universal Orlando located just four miles from their flagship destinations of City Walk, Volcano Bay, Islands of Adventure, and Universal Studios. In no way am I telling you to go (now) or risk missing out on all the fun. That’s for you to decide.

Theme parks aren’t for everyone, after all.

But I am telling you, emphatically, that Epic Universe deserves all the accolades it is receiving — and more. I say this as an average theme park attendee. I will take my kids to theme parks, attend special events, purchase the occasional park merchandise, but I am not a theme park enthusiast. I am, however, a creativity enthusiast and when you find creative genius, you share creative genius.

Epic Universe is creative genius.

And yet, as it has been noted throughout history, creative genius can be a bit messy, slightly cluttered, chaotic, perhaps, and that’s okay. Neat and tidy perfection will only get you so far, and besides that, it’s boring.

There’s nothing boring or mundane about Epic. The park is part of a 750-acre development that features five themed areas named Celestial Park, Dark Universe, How to Train Your Dragon – Isle of Berk, Super Nintendo World, and The Wizarding World of Harry Potter – Ministry of Magic. Construction began in 2019 but was abruptly halted—like many other good things in our world— due to the pandemic.

It was described by CEO and chairman, Tom Williams, as "the most immersive and innovative theme park" the company had ever created, adding 14,000 new jobs and untold tourism dollars, further elevating Universal’s brand and leader in the amusement park market.

The rides at theme parks are obviously a focal point for success and park attendees can be incredibly critical when it comes to ride details and nuances. Are they exciting? Are they slow or fast? What kind of emotional or physical response does each ride elicit? Are they worth the wait? How long are the lines? Is there a virtual line queue (there is, sorry). And because of admission price, etc, attendees have every right to be critical. If a day at the park is going to be expensive, it better be a great day, and most of all, worth it.

Epic created 11 new rides, and though I’m not going to describe each in detail, most of them, are indeed worth it. From personal experience and preference, the Stardust Racers was the best ride of the park and the best ride I’ve been on—ever. This is a dueling roller coaster that will go down in the history books and undoubtedly rank as one of the best within and beyond the park. From what I hear though, it’s better to ride at night when dueling vehicles appear as comets shooting across the night sky above Celestial Park. This ride is, in my opinion, worth a two hour wait, if it comes to that. I do not say that lightly. Two hours is a long time.

Another noteworthy ride, or shall I say immersive experience, is Monsters Unchained: The Frankenstein Experiment inside Dark Universe. Part of what makes this ride so interesting is that you are essentially walking through a technologically innovative queue, almost like a haunted house, entering into a story of good vs. evil, with larger-than-life size audio-animatronics, classic horror characters, flying vampires, and even the Phantom of the Opera, playing the organ and all. It’s a decadent, over-the-top type of ride, part chaotic, pure genius.

And then there’s the Harry Potter and the Battle of the Ministry ride inside the The Wizarding World of Harry Potter – Ministry of Magic. No, I did not experience this ride, and no, I’m not sad about it. Harry Potter was never my thing, and as of right now, the ride is virtual queue line only (also not my thing).

From what I hear, it’s spectacular. But if it remains a virtual queue ride, there’ll likely be a flood of complaints from people who never got the chance to ride, despite staring into their phone all day long, searching for an open spot. On the one hand, standing in line for three plus hours is highly unpleasant but you know what to expect. Virtual queue lines, on the other hand, promise nothing but constant phone checking. Maybe you’ll get in. Maybe you won’t.

But even though I’m not a Harry Potter die hard, The Wizarding World of Harry Potter – Ministry of Magic was my favorite world inside Epic. It’s basically Paris, just older (set in 1920s) and cleaner. There are cobblestone streets, original and imaginative architecture, street carts, flower stands, back alleyways, shortcuts, bistros, cafes, musicians, and more. Plenty to eat and drink—the adults will love it. The young ones, not so much. In fact, while leisurely passing through the area, there weren’t many children in the crowds.

So where did all the children go? Most likely, one of two worlds: How to Train Your Dragon – Isle of Berk or Super Nintendo World. Both areas have several rides and other kid-friendly things to do. Both areas are designed with littler ones in mind. But, despite your age, Super Nintendo World will blow your mind (or your sense of reality) when walking inside. It’s unreal, really. From colors, patterns, music, characters—every last detail is exactly like the video game. It’s the world I was most impressed with in terms of design and the world I spent the least amount of time in. My senses (and the crowds) went into overload.

Lastly, we have How to Train Your Dragon – Isle of Berk. Despite dragons and vikings galore, the park is a bit tamer with room to move and explore, a few rides, a roller coaster, and even a large climbing playground (Vikings Training Camp) for littler kids to be kids and for parents to sit.

The world is 15.5 acres with over 30 dragons of 17 different species coming in and out of view. It’s not only spacious but it captures the overall feeling of the films, How To Train Your Dragon. And again, the details. From hand carved rocks to soaring architecture and recreated mountains, nothing has been forgotten here and most certainly not the beloved characters Hiccup, Toothless, Gobber, and Astrid, all of whom can be found roaming the world.

Final Thoughts

While leaving the park later that evening, I thought of the movie Jurassic World. In the movie, Claire Dearing, the director of the park was boasting about the invention of a new dinosaur, Indominus Rex, as a way to keep the park attendees happy and satisfied (because dinosaurs weren’t enough, it seemed). The new dinosaur breed was bigger, stronger, faster… better. It’s a metaphor for many humans today and their never-ending quest for something different, something new.

Although dinosaurs are no where to be found at Epic Universe (there are dragons!) this theme park is new and it is better. It’s completely immersive, innovative and monumentally designed.

Some people will still complain. Some will want more.

More is coming, believe it or not. Epic is in its infancy and the beginning has just begun.

Each month I send out a ‘Photo of the Month’ to upgraded subscribers but this email post is going out to everyone in my subscriber list in celebration of Spring and new beginnings. Nature has this spectacular way to show us each year how to renew and rejuvenate and how to see with our own eyes the cycle of transformation.

Yet the season of Spring is not only a time of actual happenings on the planet, it is also a symbol for hope. Now, there’s a few different definitions of hope, from a secular view to a more faith-based perspective, but each definition emphasizes the feeling or knowing of expectation — that something can and will happen to change a current situation. Going further, hope is the opposite of hopelessness and despair.

Because nature seems to lack the type of consciousness experienced by humans (but who can really know for certain), there is no feeling of expectation. There is only expectation. All year, through every season, nature is quite busy cycling through each new phase of its existence because of the innate expectation of renewal within each plant, animal and ecosystem. Even in it’s so-called ‘final’ phases of death, it really is just another new beginning.

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The life cycle of a palm tree is quite impressive— living anywhere from 70 to 100 years or even more in warm tropical environments, and depending on the species. Though stable and resilient, palm trees do experience seasonal changes such as losing fronds, growing and losing fruit and fighting (or succumbing to) disease. With each falling frond, there is a new one in its place. With each loss of fruit, another is getting ready to grow. When a palm tree dies, a new seed takes its first step towards creating the embryonic root. It’s all cyclical. One particular phase cannot happen in the absence of the other.

Because palm trees are so resilient, they are often symbols of hope and of victory. For Christians throughout the world, the palm tree and frond are both physical and spiritual elements of Palm Sunday—the first day of the Holy Week leading up to Good Friday and celebration of the Resurrection.

Here in Florida, palm trees are a seemingly everlasting symbol for the warm, tropical Sunshine State. Found on Florida-themed merchandise, Florida logos, and on the property of most any Central and South Florida piece of real estate, palm trees are synonymous with our lovely hope-filled peninsula.

Because, even through all the storms, the Flori-duh criticisms, and the unusual people who seem to live here (myself included), Florida is a symbol of hope, renewal and rebirth.

Once again, thank you for being a subscriber. If you are interested in a free high resolution file of each on of these palm images, please email laracchapman@gmail.com and I can send it to you as an attachment. For more information about my work, visit my recently updated website https://www.laracchapman.com/.

Long before I decided to adopt a highway from the Florida Department of Transportation, the sight of littered roadsides spurred a sense of angst and hopelessness, and rightly so. Trash on the ground is a stark reminder of our human failings, a visible expression of carelessness and destructive habits.

But all those angsty emotions were fleeting: once the litter was out of sight, it was out of mind— and easier to ignore. It also wasn’t my problem. It’s not like the litter was mine. But in 2017, when I first began my journey into nature photography, seeking out beauty in the natural world came with a caveat: the inability to look away.

It’s a global problem

The world has a complicated relationship with trash and many countries struggle to keep their cities and neighborhoods clean. There are global hotspots — most notably in places associated with socioeconomic factors and location — where littering habits affect both land and bodies of water. The Philippines, for example, has 5 of the top 10 hotspots for plastic food wrappers, whereas Jamaica has 3 of the top 10 hotspots for plastic bottles. Cigarette butts were more common in Southern Europe and North Africa.

Many, if not most, of the littering hotspots were associated with bays, seas and lakes such as the Mediterranean Sea, the Bay of Bengal, the South China and Philippine seas, the Gulf of Mexico, the Caribbean Sea, Lake Malawi and the Great Lakes of North America.

Here in the United States, and despite the country’s wealth, laws and ordinances, litter remains an environmental issue. According to a study released in 2021 by the organization Keep America Beautiful, nearly 50 billion pieces of litter were found along U.S. roadways and waterways, equaling 152 items for each U.S. resident. The good news, believe it or not, was that these numbers were actually down 54 percent since the 2009 litter study.

In Florida, many of our state parks, beaches, and attractions are kept relatively clean due to public and private cleanup efforts. But roadside trash, more often on busier streets and highways and high density areas, is worrisome, especially when it lingers.

Losing touch with nature

Though the pleasures of modern life appear to vastly outweigh any downsides, studies repeatedly prove that we feel more connection and find deeper meaning within the natural world. And yet, statistics show a steady shift in how people spend their time and what they care about. Digital tools and technology now appear to dominate every aspect of life — from work, leisure and socializing.

Further complicating matters is the emergence of Artificial Intelligence. It’s important to note that AI research organizations and experts are touting the ability for AI to ‘save the natural world’ in a number of different ways including decoding animal language, identifying changes in ecosystems and better understanding biodiversity. And perhaps this is all true and incredible breakthroughs await.

But the AI process involves building algorithms and transferring aspects of the human brain into a machine. It is the increasing of automation, relying more and more on computer sophistication and leading to a lack of human engagement and understanding. A quick history lesson or a dystopian novel can provide a few useful clues as to where this could all lead.

So what does this have to do with litter? That all depends on whether our digital habits and reliance on computers can lead to a better connection with nature. I’m not so sure it can. Because it’s difficult to care for something without a strong connection to it, everyone knows that.

Dirty hands, clean conscious

It all started with a cardboard box. A large and very dirty cardboard box sitting roadside for weeks. On one side of the box, an endless stream of traffic traveling north on State Rd. 441. On the other side, a canal where wading birds, iguanas, butterflies, dragonflies, and other animals lingered underneath sunshine and blue Florida skies.

But it wasn’t about the box, really. The box was a symbol — an eyesore —and the start of a four year journey revolving around trash. Because each time I passed this section of road on the way home, the soggy, muddied, loathsome cardboard box started speaking to my subconscious, growing louder with each passing day.

Why won’t anyone get that big ugly box and trash off the side of the road? I asked this repeatedly, even posting a comment about it in the neighborhood app, Nextdoor.

The individual who responded did provide a few helpful clues but also reinforced a collective attitude about litter: don’t worry, someone else will do it. It’s a common mindset and expectation here in the states and why wouldn’t it be? We pay taxes (quite high in some places) so that the government will take care of things like roads, bridges, damns, waterways, sewer, and yes, litter cleanup. But it became evident with each passing day, that the government wasn’t coming to get the litter, at least not anytime soon.

I contacted the Florida Department of Transportation a few days after that exchange, expressing interest in a cleaner section of State Rd. 441, and promptly adopted the two mile stretch on both sides of the street (four miles total). It didn’t take much to make it happen. A little grit; a lot of frustration. And now the road was mine.

***

For four years, that roadside was my baby and I fought to keep it clean. Thankfully I had help: my husband, Patrick, fellow neighbors and several friends attended cleanups when they could. I won’t bore you with the details of what we found — mostly bottles and wrappers, but sometimes weird things too like a bag of urine, dead animals, hospital gowns, and drug paraphernalia. It’s all part of the deal: litter is gross but someone has to clean it up.

I’d like to think it scored me points with the birds, the flowers, the butterflies. I’d like to think that those hours cleaning outdoors solidified my connection to nature. I’d like to think that my small efforts made a big difference. And here’s what I do know: the instant gratification of seeing littered nature turn clean and green again was off the charts.

You should try it sometime: Adopt a road (alone or with a team) and change the trajectory of your small corner of the universe.

It’s indeed a good day when you happen upon a Roseate Spoonbill, with their stunning pink plumage, searching for food in the shallow wetlands of Florida. Just ask any nature photographer. Spotting a spoonbill is a dazzling sight to behold, particularly because it’s becoming more rare to find them in these southern parts of the Sunshine State. Fluctuating water levels, habitat loss and overdevelopment are driving this trend.

In Wellington, Florida, for example, and areas of Loxahatchee and Royal Palm Beach, the dizzying push for commercial and residential development has left many residents in the area both stumped and frustrated. And yet, there are those (mostly developers and elected leaders) that believe more shopping plazas, more restaurants, and more apartment complexes are what will make this region great. But with so much building happening all at once, and so little green space left, what are the implications for wildlife and human population density? And do these developers and elected leaders have a vision—a long term vision—for the area other than concrete structures?

These are just some of the questions raised by the sudden onslaught of development. There’s no one better to answer them than a local Roseate Spoonbill. As luck would have it, I met a spoonbill on a recent afternoon, wading ever so diligently, inside a small pond near the Wellington Library.

What follows is a condensed version of our conversation and a few photographs of this beautiful pink bird.

Lara Chapman: Could you please describe your desired habitat and current environment?

Roseate Spoonbill: Of course. My preferred habitat areas include coastal and wetland areas anywhere in South America, coastal areas of Central America, the Caribbean, and along the Gulf of Mexico**. I love to nest in mixed colonies within mangrove islands or even in the Florida Everglades. Occasionally, you’ll find me in manmade canals or smaller ponds searching for crayfish, shrimp, crabs, and small fish. In fact, the pink you see in my feathers comes from what I eat, similar to flamingos.

I need water, that much is obvious. But I need specific bodies of water that are shallow and low-lying. This is so I can forage for food and probe along the bottom of muddy water, feeling for fish, amphibians, and others to eat. I have quite the beak, if you hadn’t noticed. Almost prehistoric looking. But when the water levels are just right, my wide, flat bill can snap up more prey in each scoop than birds with pointed bills can.

As for my current environment, well, it’s nothing to boast about. At least not anymore. It is loud with cars and horns and work trucks with great big metal cranes attached. The roads are severely congested and there seems to be a motor vehicle accident every hour and what humans call a “hit and run” once or more per week.

A few years ago, this area of the world seemed to experience some sort of overnight exponential growth. I’m not quite sure what happened as I am just a bird. But it was something to behold, indeed. Human beings coming from all over, some wearing masks, then dumping their masks on the side of the road or even where I fish. It was absolutely dreadful. I’m glad that is over.

Lara Chapman: Could you tell us more about the congestion? What kind of impact is that having on you and others you may know?

Roseate Spoonbill: Sure. This part of Florida, what humans call the ‘Western Communities’ of Palm Beach County is nearly as far west as you can go until you find yourself in the Everglades. According to stories passed down from my avian ancestors, humans tried to drain the Everglades in a completely unnatural and bizarre attempt to build more agricultural areas. They, of course, learned the hard way that this cannot be achieved, but in the process, greatly damaged the grasslands and the wetlands. There was absolutely no long term vision and everyone paid a steep price.

Fortunately, human efforts to restore the Everglades have been surprisingly successful, to which many birds like myself and other native animals are grateful. But human beings continue to build on nearly every square inch of solid land they can find, which includes this region. Just look around for a moment. By examining the geographical variations in population distribution, density, and growth, human beings here seem to be exceeding the capacity of the environment, most particularly when it comes to available shelter, or what human beings call “homes.”

As far as the impacts on me, well, I’ll probably just end up leaving like many other birds I know. You don’t see too many of us anymore, do you? Great Blue Herons, egrets, wood storks—wading birds like myself— we’ll just move on to better foraging environments with more space. So that’s the tradeoff: more shelter, eating places and shopping stores for the humans but less natural spaces and less birds.

Lara Chapman: Thank you for all the insight, I do appreciate it. You mentioned something about ‘long term vision’ and I wanted to know if you could expand more on that?

Roseate Spoonbill: Ah, yes, long term vision. A novel concept, don’t you think. But humans, time and again, seem to overestimate what they will achieve, when in fact, no one can possibly predict the future. And the vision here, in this part of the world, is to build out and then build up. Rarely is it ever to preserve, conserve or align with the natural world. As a bird, it’s quite unfathomable. But, alas, I would be foolish to claim moral superiority on the matter.

Human beings need shelter. You need places to eat and get food and you need places to shop. That is how you live. Though I do find it quite odd that you will build one big concrete structure, then desert that concrete structure, so that you can build another concrete structure—right across the street from each other. It is odd, even you humans must admit that.

Lara Chapman: Yes, indeed, you make an excellent point. Thank you for your time.

Roseate Spoonbill: Thank you!

**As of January 24, 2025, the Gulf of Mexico is now the Gulf of America.

It’s the end of October with another 30 days speeding by. Much has happened and much more will happen especially as Tuesday’s election approaches. Let’s hope it’s a peaceful time regardless of the outcome. Speaking of peace, the image above is actually quite personal to me. The horse photographed here is named Goldie. She is my lesson horse; the very first that I learned the basics of riding with, from the walk, trot and canter.

I decided to take up horse riding last year when I needed a new social outlet and more time spent with animals in nature. Also, my husband and I will be moving in a few years to Ocala where we can have two horses on property. So learning everything possible about these majestic creatures has been tops on my list. And so that’s how I came to know Goldie.

She’s a beautiful horse with soul and sass and the type of big brown almond-shaped eyes that look directly into you. She is patient and kind but also occasionally stubborn, of which she has every right to be. Humans can be so intolerable sometimes— most certainly if they’re sitting on you.

The image above is actually a screenshot of a video that I took with my iPhone. I then did a few edits in Photoshop and eventually made a framed piece out of a fine art print.

I did this because Goldie is special and because she passed away this month. Goldie is a lesson horse because she teaches us lessons. Not only about horsemanship but about life.

With peak winds estimated at 140 miles per hour and a funnel width of 300 yards, a tornado started ravaging areas in Wellington, Florida last Wednesday and soon made its way through Loxahatchee Groves, The Acreage then up to Palm Beach Gardens. From approximately 4:51 PM to 5:21 PM, the tornado traveled 21 miles, causing structural and catastrophic damage to homes, barns, vehicles, and commercial buildings. A Publix grocery store in Avenir, a newer community in Palm Beach Gardens that saw over 300 homes damaged, now has a deep hole in the middle of the building. This particular tornado was responsible for seven injuries, though no human fatalities. One horse reportedly died.

Then, an outbreak of tornadoes on the Treasure Coast. One tornado stayed on the ground for 13 miles, crossing two counties with EF2 and EF3 damage. Before exiting St. Lucie County and entering Indian River County, the tornado tore apart the Spanish Lakes Country Club Village, causing six fatalities and immeasurable destruction.

By the time it was over, rescue workers rushed to various locations, pushing through thick and dangerous debris, only to find the type of catastrophic damage never before seen in many of these neighborhoods. Some victims were trapped under rubble or inside vehicles. Many roads were impassable.

Those in the path of the tornadoes described it as a freight train or like a bomb going off. Roofs were gone. Windows blown out. Barns completely flattened. Cars flipped. Heavy metals twisted and snapped in half like brittle sticks. Glass everywhere. At one home, a large construction dumpster landed on top of the roof.

And there was an unmistakable randomness to it all. One street of homes in Wellington was particularly hit hard while another street nearby lay untouched. Then an unlucky home left without a roof or windows while next door neighbors on either side hadn’t a scratch. Several barns were flattened while another across the road appeared in good shape. A few homes still had Halloween decorations up, skeletons and ghosts nailed to trees. But just feet away, pine trees and live oaks were yanked from the roots, thrown like twigs across canals and backyard swimming pools.

Yet, certain areas experienced consistent and distressing damage where entire neighborhoods were affected. The magnitude of destruction in equestrian subdivision Rustic Ranches, for example, cannot be overstated. Many residents lost roofs, some lost barns and horse arenas. Some saw their paddocks destroyed. Some lost everything. Most everyone lost something.

While hurricanes will often generate tornadoes, the consensus from many Floridians up and down the east coast is that last Wednesday was an anomaly. Palm Beach County Sheriff and lifelong resident of the county, Ric Bradshaw, told WPTV that, in all his years in the area, nothing like this has happened before.

According to the National Weather Service, tornadoes produced by tropical cyclones are relatively weak and short-lived. Weak as in EF0 or EF1. But several of the tornadoes that touched down during Milton were EF3, and by most accounts, they were not short-lived.

The last hurricane to produce a tornado outbreak was Hurricane Ivan in 2004, with 120 reported over a period of three days across several states. While areas of Florida did experience some damage, it’s nothing like the widespread tornadic destruction that occurred during Hurricane Milton.

This, of course, happened on the tail of Hurricane Helene, another catastrophic storm that caused severe damage throughout the Gulf Coast of Florida, Georgia and North Carolina. Needless to say, Floridians are storm-weary and anxious about what lies ahead. Some will rebuild. Some will not. Some will leave the state all together.

There is a hopeful chapter in this ongoing story: members of the community are coming together to help those who lost so much. Volunteer efforts started almost immediately after the tornados hit and will continue for the unforeseeable future. Local governments and churches are also spearheading cleanup initiatives and providing relief.

To be sure, and at the end of this story, it’s the part about neighbors helping neighbors and strangers helping strangers that will hopefully be remembered the most.

And if you feel compelled, you can help too.

It’s the end of September 2024 and Florida has had quite a month. A recent hurricane moved through the state, up the Gulf Coast, and into Georgia and North Carolina, causing total destruction, damage, and unfortunately, many deaths. There is still much to process and understand about this hurricane, but above all else, it serves as a reminder that nature is a force and a very real part of living in the world. Even when humans act as the masters of the universe, nature will relentlessly, time and again, tell them no. But, at the same time, nature is neutral. There is no intentional malice in the storm. There is no vengeance. Nature is not out to ‘get us.’ Nature, simply, just is. And we are the ones who must abide.

And yet, humans today can and do understand patterns and past events in order to predict future outcomes. In fact, human beings—their curiosity, innovation and abilities — cannot be overstated enough. As just one small example, scientists who study the night sky are able to pinpoint when the Earth, sun and moon will line up in space, causing a lunar eclipse like the one that occurred on September 17th and 18th. In ancient times, however, and before recent understanding of astronomy, lunar or solar eclipses were thought of as omens or messages from the gods.

As a photographer and star gazer, I’m glad I was able to catch a glimpse of the nighttime event. If you missed it, I hope you enjoy the photo. I also do hope that you take a moment and pause at the power and relentless force that is Nature. Much respect is owed. Even ancient civilizations knew that.

It’s the end of August 2024, and depending on where you live, summer is quickly coming to an end. But here in Florida, it’s summer nearly all year round so no temperature relief for us. Nevertheless, everyday is a gift, and regardless of our hot, cold or mild circumstances, we should be thankful to roam the earth wherever we may be.

Speaking of roaming, did you know that the tiger is the largest cat to roam the earth? These Asia natives, are, for the most part, solitary creatures that hunt at night, searching for prey in the darkness including deer, water buffalos, and wild pigs. Unfortunately, lack of food can be problematic as each tiger requires up to 60 large animals per year.

I chose this image as the August Photo of the Month as it is also featured in my second children’s photography and poetry book that will be completed in a few short weeks. “At the Zoo with a Blue Bird named Bob” will take children on an adventure through their local zoo where they can view photographs of some of their favorite animals such as flamingos, elephant, zebras, monkey’s, and yes, tigers, while reading fun and informative poetry about each animal. In my first book, “On Flowers and Insects with a Blue Bird Named Bob” each page took children on a wonderful tour of flowers and insects. Over a 100 copies were sold!

Below, you’ll find the new cover for the second book.

The photograph is available as a high resolution file for all my upgraded subscribers. Thank you for upgrading and supporting my work.

It’s also complicated.

Florida citrus — oranges, grapefruit, lemons, and tangerines — is the cornerstone of the state’s agriculture industry. And even though these fruits are not native to the Sunshine State (we can thank the ancient Indian subcontinent for that), they have proliferated upon arrival sometime in the early 1500s.

But it wasn’t until after the Civil War when commercial production began, due in part to newly constructed railroads that allowed citrus growers to move products across the country.

So far, even through devastating freezes, fly infestations, disease, and extreme weather events, the citrus growing industry in Florida has flourished into a multi-billion dollar production. To be sure, Florida is the second-largest producer of citrus in the world and the largest producer of 100% orange juice in the United States.

But Florida citrus has taken a beating as of late by way of hurricanes, urban sprawl and an incurable contagion.

In 1998, a small winged, sucking insect about the size of a flax seed or chili flake appeared in Florida and began its slow but steady pillage of citrus trees across the state. By feeding on leaves, the Asian citrus psyllid spreads a toxic bacteria (Candidatus Liberibacter asiaticus) that blocks the flow of nutrients from the roots to the branches, breeding infection in both older and young trees, although younger trees are more susceptible.

Just like any highly transmittable disease, the infection spreads from host to host, and in this case, tree to tree or even to neighboring groves. Once infected, the bacteria will starve and strip the tree of sugar and minerals, turning green leaves yellow and preventing the ripening of fruit.

The tree will die within five years—and the fruit along with it. There is no cure, only the culling of inventory; the chopping and removal of trees, the pulling of stumps and roots.

Citrus greening disease, also known as huanglongbing or yellow dragon disease, has been spreading rampant in Florida groves, causing serious damage to the crop and to the state’s industry.

Like many progressive diseases, the damage took years—decades even—to come into fruition. And, now, the true extent of the deterioration can be found in the details, the fine print listed on cartons, showing where exactly the ‘Florida’ orange juice is coming from.

Made in Florida with Mexican and Brazilian oranges

For decades, the label on Florida’s Natural read, "100% premium Florida orange juice.” But about two years ago, this iconic orange juice brand made the decision to distribute a new ‘from concentrate’ blend, featuring oranges from Mexico and Brazil, while also vowing to “use as many Florida oranges as possible based on what Mother Nature delivers.”

To be expected, the company received backlash from Florida orange juice diehards and connoisseurs. Others hardly noticed the difference.

Six months after the brand changed its blend, Chief Operating Officer of Florida’s Natural, Chris Groom, said there was significant growth in OJ, grapefruit and drink sales. Likewise, Chairman Frank M. Hunt III, claimed positive input from consumers and taste panels.

But, now, two years later, how many consumers notice or care to notice the change? And an even bigger question: Are Floridians even remotely aware of the dire conditions within citrus groves across the state?

I admit I’m not as knowledgeable about the subject as I should be. In truth, there is orange juice fully stacked on the shelves at my local grocery store. There are bags of oranges and grapefruits and lemons lining the aisles.

And what about the fresh, cold orange juice at the Florida Welcome Center? When I called the Florida Welcome Center near Jacksonville, a cheerful woman answered the phone. And when I asked if the orange juice they served came from Florida oranges, she didn’t hesitate. “Of course,” she said. “We use Florida’s Natural.”

I thanked her for her time, ended the call and double checked the label. She was partially correct, I suppose, in a larger sense. But in terms of just how many Florida oranges were used in the blend, there’s no way to know.

Modified for success

There’s very little doubt that the process of genetic engineering creates suspicion in the minds of health-conscious consumers. Some people claim that GMOs are harmful to the environment. Others say selective breeding alters the DNA of the host plant, and the resulting foreign genes cause health problems like allergies and even cancer. And yet, advocates claim GMOs just might save humanity, or at the very least, orange juice.

Recently, Florida citrus growers have joined the GMO movement by exploring genetic engineering to fight citrus greening in the state, seeking out new ways to slow the spread of the bacterium and save the industry.

As of August of this year, a Maryland based BioAg Climate Technology Company, Silvec Biologics, announced a first-of-its-kind RNA vector delivery product to combat the disease. Unlike GMO technology, RNA products deliver traits into plants without modifying their genomes. According to a recent press release, “a single application has been demonstrated in field trials to provide long-term reduction in yield declines caused by the citrus greening bacteria.”

Another company, Massachusetts-based Invaio, recently created a ‘Citrus Health’ solution that suppresses bacteria in an infected tree, using a small port about the size of a phone charger, so the solution can stream directly into the tree’s vascular system. Rather than using an extensive insecticide spraying method that can lead to the destruction of groves, Invaio opted for a ‘precision infusion’ approach using bactericides, or agrobacteria, which is “a microbe that originated in soil but has been turned into a plant engineering tool,” according to geneticist James Thomson in a release.

Smaller brands still got it

For those of you seeking 100% juice from Florida-grown oranges, you still have options. Fort Pierce-based Natalie's and Indian River Select continue to distribute 100% Florida-grown orange juice.

Other brands, who seem to be more niche in their approach, have turned beloved Florida citrus into novelties like wine, cakes, cocktails mixes, cookies, and more.

In fact, the Honeybell Orange Lover's Cake was the origin story for this article. On a very hot afternoon in June, I ordered this cake from Al’s Family Farms, a small but thriving family owned citrus grove located one mile off I95 in Fort Pierce. A few days later it came delivered to my front door step in a cold, round tin cake can. I can’t even say for certain why I ordered the cake. But I believe I was craving something sweet, something citrusy …. something moist. And, of course, it had to be something from Florida.

Al’s Family Farms is not the first to pair flour and oranges, though it may be the most delightful. It certainly is moist. It was so good, and I highly recommend this cake to any friends, family or readers.

Did I know I would like the cake? I had no idea. It was a lucky discovery and I’ll be ordering again soon.

After the cake and after a few afternoons of brainstorming ideas for this story, I decided to search for a Florida citrus wine to try. These wines are typically sweet and not what I would normally choose, but this is a story about Florida citrus, and oranges specifically, so it had to be made with pure, 100% fresh-squeezed Florida orange juice.

An internet search found a company named Florida Orange Groves Winery selling several wines that matched my criteria, but especially the Orange Sunshine flavor. So I ordered this wine for its symbolic value, with no idea how it would taste and if I would like it.

According to its website, it takes about nine pounds of fruit to create enough juice for just one bottle of Orange Sunshine wine, using a special process of fermentation, aging and bottling. Most of the wines are enjoyed best when chilled and can pair well with fruit or cheese and crackers. They also have lower alcohol content than traditional grape wines which may appeal to more health-conscious wine drinkers.

Without giving too much away about my wine tasting experience, I wholeheartedly recommend at least trying a Florida citrus wine. The taste is unique and worth exploring and you are supporting local citrus growers and a state-wide industry that needs all the help it can get.

Happy end of June! I hope it was a wonderful month filled with love, heat, happiness, and air conditioning.

The image above is an image that I captured last summer on the west coast of Florida at the Crystal River Archaeological State Park. If you haven’t been to the site yet, I encourage you to make the visit and step back to a time and…

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It’s the final day of May in this year of 2024. Are you ready for the hot summer ahead?

The photograph above is a moon image that I captured on April 20th of this year, so just over a month ago during its monthly lunar cycle. It’s a ‘Gibbosus’ moon when it is more than half illuminated but not quite all the way. This phase happens twice each month during the waxing gibbous phase and the waning gibbous phase. A waxing gibbous moon means it is growing larger, while a waning gibbous moon indicates a decrease is size.

The moon is one of my favorite objects to photograph. When it is visible and clouds are not obstructing it’s view, the moon commands the sky like a silent but all-knowing, omnipresent mystery. It is ancient. It has seen our earth transform over time and it will continue its illuminated reign, in partnership with the sun, long after we leave and billions of years into the future, before the sun decides it is game over.

This image is also going up as a 30x30 acrylic at the Kravis Center this summer for the new and spectacular space event, titled, SPACE EXPLORERS, THE INFINITE, AN IMMERSIVE EXPERIENCE.

If you are in the South Florida area, and are a space fanatic like me, check out this event and take the entire family. It is immersive, out of this world and interactive. It will also be inside and we need that air conditioning.

As an upgraded subscriber, please feel free to download ‘Gibbosus from this page. Or I can send the file your way. It is also available as a 12x12 print with black mat. Please send me an email at lara.chapman@theneighborlyfl.com.

Last month, as we traveled through the middle of Florida along State Road 70, heading west toward Treasure Island, there was undeveloped land as far as the eye could see, spanning a lush green horizon that included pastures, forests, cattle land, citrus groves, horse ranches, and wetlands near the northern shore of Lake Okeechobee.

Nestled amongst the landscape, and seemingly lost in time, were a few Old Florida towns such as Myakka City, Arcadia, Lake Placid, and a ghost town called Pine Level. These are places that are, for the most part, untouched by Florida’s population boom. But not completely.

Within the border of Indiantown, a small village located on the north bank of the St. Lucie Canal, a commercial and residential project by the name of Terra Lago, an 806-acre community with a town center, an assisted-living facility and more than 2,000 single-family homes, townhomes and apartments, is currently underway.

In Manatee County, on the western side of State Road 70, is Lakewood Ranch, the 33,000 acre (and growing) masterplanned community first developed 30 years ago atop empty cow pastures. According to LWR Communities LLC, the development is about halfway complete, meaning aggressive growth is underway in the eastern part of the county where undeveloped agriculture land will be paved over to make way for more homes, more commercial buildouts and more infrastructure. In order to achieve this ambitious plan, as is often the case, zoning changes must be agreed upon.

For the hundreds of thousands of people moving to Florida every year, this is good news. More development and homes available will make it easier to live, work and play in the Sunshine State, while more tax revenue is good for local governments. But for conservation groups, wildlife organizations and concerned residents, rapid and far-reaching commercial and residential development is problematic for the state and its resources including the state’s wetlands and water quality. It’s also creating an issue with Florida’s fresh vegetable crops, but that’s another story for another day.

But even so, and in despite of dire warnings from state agriculture experts and environmentalists, the urban sprawl will continue to encroach rural ‘Old” Florida, contributing to the degradation of land, water and habitat quality, negatively impacting the environment for both humans and wildlife, which includes, of course, the wading bird population.

According to Alex Freeze, Corridor Collaboration Teams Facilitator with the Florida Wildlife Corridor Foundation, urban development is projected to overtake 5 million acres of green space (about the size of New Jersey) by 2070 to accommodate Florida’s population boom, which is growing by an average of 1,000 people per day — equal to one million new residents added to the state every three years.

“The development sprawl built to accommodate this population explosion often creates fragmented patches of habitat, separating wildlife populations by roads, parking lots, and poorly designed neighborhoods,” she said in an email.

Encroachment and migration

In real estate terminology, encroachment is when a property owner violates the property rights of his neighbor by building on the neighbor's land or property intentionally or otherwise. But the term also applies to human activity threatening and overtaking protected areas and natural habitats such as preserves, wetlands, grasslands, forests, and so on, negatively impacting the local biodiversity in a given region.

In Florida, rapid population growth and overdevelopment are two of the driving forces behind these threats, along with encroachment from invasive species and sea level rise. And while similar challenges are happening all over the world, Florida has been particularly hit hard in recent years due to the ‘great migration’ during and after the Covid-19 Pandemic.

As out-of-state transplants have flocked to the sunshine state in recent years, many of the biggest developers and homebuilders have taken notice, as have local governments in need of more tax revenue. Consequently, developmental firms have been purchasing massive amounts of cheap land (often not zoned for residential or commercial building) and then, when the time is right, dangling enormous incentives in front of cash-strapped local governments. The end result is often hundreds or even thousands of acres of undeveloped land, rezoned and ready for building.

While a short term financial stimulus may seem appealing to county, city and village decision makers, uncertain liabilities may lie ahead especially as urban sprawl continues to shrink rural lands and wetlands where wildlife need adequate space, protection and resources.

According to Freeze, wildlife populations such as panthers and birds are facing critical challenges in their historic habitats. “Development pressure in critical habitats can result in fragmentation and loss of access to vital resources,” she said. “When suitable habitat is lost in one area, wildlife could be forced to seek less desirable habitat patches.”

This is a scenario wading birds in the state know all too well. As mentioned in part one of this series, wading birds in the past attempted (albeit unsuccessfully) to move their colonies further in the Everglades to evade plume hunters and the hazardous environments created by man at the time. Though plume hunting is a thing of the past, hazardous environments and habitat destruction are not.

Take the wood stork, for example. These unusual looking birds with a pebbly bald head and little black eyes, nearly disappeared in the 1970s, and according to John Ogden from The Audubon Society, wood storks were on a pathway to extinction by the end of the twentieth century due to agriculture expansion, development and drainage projects throughout South Florida, and specifically, in the Everglades. As a result, wood storks were officially listed as endangered under the Endangered Species Act as well as protected as a Threatened Species by the Federal Endangered Species Act and as a Federally-designated Threatened species by Florida’s Endangered and Threatened Species Rule. 

Like other wading birds, wood storks rely on the sufficient conditions of wetlands, including freshwater and estuarine marshes, with water levels playing a critical role as they breed. If unexpected water fluctuations occur and tactile foraging techniques are thwarted, wading birds will leave in the hopes of finding a better habitat. “Florida's wading birds rely on water levels to support their target prey populations,” explained Freeze. “Loss of habitat and changes to water quality and quantity are both major threats that have resulted in degradation or total loss of nesting and foraging areas for wading birds.”

What will happen to Wild Florida?

According to a 2021 report by the South Florida Water Management District, approximately 43,000 wading bird nests were initiated that year, indicating an above average nesting season, with three bird species (Great Egret, White Ibis and Wood Stork) meeting their targets. In recent years, the SFWMD has gone to great lengths to restore the Everglades and South Florida's hydrology, moving more water to the right places at the right time and reducing harmful discharges from Lake Okeechobee.

But that was nearly four years ago and much has happened to the state since then. In scenarios playing out all over Florida, developers have set their sights on building on and through rural areas including those in close proximity to wetlands. In Wellington, for example, a controversial development by Wellington Lifestyle Partners has been met with intense pushback by residents, local conservationists and a group called Keep Wellington Green due to expressed concerns for wetland preservation and wildlife.

In Martin County, developer Ken Bakst submitted an application to amend the previous zoning restrictions in order to build 175 homes, two golf courses, cottages and more on a cattle ranch. In Brevard County, residents started an online petition to slow down the growth after a developer requested a zoning change in order to build apartments or condominiums. In Marian County, groups such as Save Our Rural Areas and Horse Farm Forever are fighting to save rural lands and farms from developer overreach.

These are just a few examples of what is occurring, a microcosm of Florida’s battle to protect the land, water and wildlife. For organizations such as the Florida Wildlife Corridor Foundation, there have been some success stories.

In June of 2021, the Florida Wildlife Corridor Act was signed into law, formally recognizing the existence of the Florida wildlife corridor, a dynamic stretch of over 190 thousand acres of land that includes forests, swamps, fields, pastures, timberlands, and more. The act also works to safeguard agricultural lands and natural areas from development and to ensure clean water and air.

This is the kind of work that helps to secure a brighter, more sustainable future for Florida’s native flora and fauna, including wading birds. And the Florida Wildlife Corridor Foundation is not alone in their efforts. Everyday citizens in addition to conservation groups are getting louder, and hopefully more persuasive as green space increasingly disappears.

Indeed, the future of Florida is in the crosshairs of overdevelopment with no real end in sight. This will affect where the wading birds live. This will affect where we all live.

Happy end of April! I hope it was a wonderful month filled with themes of spring and warmth and new beginnings.

The image above is a macro view of a blue and yellow macaw titled ‘The Blues.” These beautiful and colorful birds are found in tropical Central and South America, as well as certain islands and in the Caribbean. The blue and yellow macaw can live up to 35 years in the wild and is listed as a species of least concern by Birdlife International. So we get to enjoy this stunning species well into the future. Let’s keep it that way!

Obviously these birds are not native here in Florida. But they’re often found at animal conservation areas as well as local zoos. This particular macaw is from the Palm Beach Zoo, located in Palm Beach, just east of I95.

As an animal and nature photographer, I thoroughly enjoy photographing animals in the wild. However, I equally enjoy visiting well-known and trustworthy zoos and local animal conservation organizations in order to photograph the animals there. In my mind, every animal deserves photographic recognition and admiration, from the lifetime zoo resident to the wild bird in the Everglades.

I recently made this image into a 30x30 acrylic piece of artwork. ‘The Blues’ will be on display along with two other 30x30 tropical bird photographs at the Palm Beach Gardens City Hall later in the month of May. This is a solo exhibit so I will also have about ten other works inside the building.

As an upgraded subscriber, please feel free to download ‘The Blues’ from this page. Or I can also send it your way. Please send me an email at lara.chapman@theneighborlyfl.com.

I have an interesting piece of Florida history to share with you; let’s see if you’ve heard about this before.

Prior to the Florida land boom in the 1920s, the state remained an agricultural and rural hub. Suburbia and busy city sprawls were virtually nonexistent and resources from both land and water remained vast and largely unvarnished. But sometime around the late 1800s, Florida became a favored destination for tourists to enjoy its natural beauty and climate.

Around the same time, Florida also became a popular place for potential investors looking to capitalize on new and rapidly growing industries such as sponge harvesting and phosphate mining. As a result, flourishing economic conditions spurred the state’s transportation and hospitality industry into overdrive. With railroads, city and county roads, hotels, and small towns on the horizon, and as newcomers to the state began their inevitable journey through coastlines, swamps, grassy waters, and forests, Florida was on the cusp of ingenuity, innovation, and unfortunately, doomed for exploitation.

The Everglades, one of the world’s largest subtropical wetlands, once covered more than 2 million acres across South Florida. The swampy region was (and still is) home to reptiles, fish, panthers, hundreds of bird species, and much more. But attempts to drain the Everglades for agriculture and development would prove moderately successful, and around the turn of the 20th Century, Florida’s wild landscape began to shift.

And all the while, as industrialists and state legislators appealed for a drained and dryer Florida, another threat loomed in the wetlands. This time, it was the plume hunters.

The high cost of a feather

Most any fashionable and high society woman in the late 1800s wore a hat. These hats were adorned with feathers of all shapes, sizes and colors ranging from shades of pinks, blues, blacks, browns, and of course, the most vibrant of whites. The Great Blue Heron, Roseate Spoonbill and flamingos were all hunted for their plumes. But because colored feathers faded over time, it was the brilliant white feathers that many women wanted. White ibis, Cattle Egrets, Snowy Egrets, and Great Egrets all fetched a high price in the plume trade. In some cases, the white feathers of egrets, and specifically Snowy Egrets, were worth more than diamonds or gold.

Plume hunters and gunners in Florida were a notoriously rough, albeit ignorant, bunch. According to Death in the Everglades: The Murder of Guy Bradley, they were a mix of settlers and hunters from the southern part of the state and up and down the Gulf Coast. Many were poor and arguably unaware of the environmental impacts of killing birds in such large numbers. They were, quite simply, getting their ‘cut of the action.’ But the big players, or rather, the plume tycoons were often out of state and wealthy business owners, such as Mr. J.H. Batty, who owned a highly profitable taxidermy business out of New York City.

Estimates place the number of wading birds killed during that time at approximately five million. Island sanctuaries, rookeries, and parts of the Everglades —where egrets, ibis, spoonbills, and herons once nested peacefully — lay completely gutted. Entire bird families were wiped out, all at once, shot to death and scalped, with a bloody mess of bodies left behind. A devastating sight, to be sure. But for ten dollars per plume, the death and destruction was worth it in the eyes of hunters and the fashion industrialists who led the way.

In the year 1900, the Florida Audubon Society was created and the state’s first bird protection act was passed in 1901. Killing birds in Florida for the sale of their plumes was now a criminal offense, though enforcement proved challenging in Florida’s wet and wild landscape. A former plume hunter, Mr. Guy M. Bradley, had been hired by the Audubon campaign as a game warden to monitor the coast of South Florida, and over time, his work paid off: wading bird populations increased. But on July 8, 1905, Bradley was murdered by a gang of plume hunters who just couldn’t give up the hunt.

Since then, several state laws and federal efforts have put the plume hunting business to rest. Many of the wading birds continued to rebound, thanks in part to the efforts of national and state conservationists who worked to end the trade, advocating for new laws and protections. And, yet, wading birds in Florida are living with a different type of threat, and one that is equally as devastating: habitat destruction.

The rich, life-giving resources of Florida begin in the wetlands. For wading birds, this is where they breed, live and nest—finding solace on rookeries and hunting fish, amphibians, reptiles, and crustaceans in which to feed themselves and their young. By appearances alone, these low-lying, marshy areas seem hearty and robust; able to thwart deterioration from major weather events or even drought. But Florida’s wetlands, including, but not limited to, the Everglades, are hardly invincible—and drainage attempts have proven just how fragile the environment can be.

Coordinated efforts to drain Florida’s wetlands extend back to the turn of the 20th Century. And there’s a reason for that: a steep population increase and the desire for ‘new’ and dryer land. As mentioned previously, the sunshine state experienced rapid growth as real estate, railroads and highways expanded up and down the west and east coast and throughout low-lying areas in Central Florida. But flooding remained an issue, which is why the Army Corps built a large dyke around Lake Okeechobee in addition to pump stations, levees and over 1,000 miles of canals in and around Florida’s wetlands.

So even as bird populations rebounded after the plume trade, wetland drainage projects caused wading bird numbers to fall dramatically—once again. The need for dryer land and space for suburban sprawls, commercial real estate, agriculture, and even ecotourism was worth the environmental costs, for a little while, at least.

Coming soon! Please be on the lookout for Part 2 of this two-part series about Florida’s wading birds which will expand more on habitat destruction and overdevelopment.

Happy end of February! I do sincerely hope it was filled with hearts and kisses and love and lots of special Valentines. It’s also a leap year so we get 366 days this year rather than the 365, and our sweet month of February is awarded the extra 24 hour bump.

The image above is a very pink and peculiar Roseate Spoonbill. If you’ve never seen one of these wading birds before, I’m sorry. Because you need to. They are some of the most fantastic birds to walk and fly the earth. You can find them in both salt and fresh water areas such as marshes, lagoons, ponds, or mudflats.

During the 1800s, most of these birds were either hunted for their feathers or forced to leave their natural habitats during the land boom. Thankfully they have come back but are still considered less common and not always easy to find.

This bird was found in Wellington Florida within Peaceful Waters Sanctuary, a lovely 30-acre wetland park with walking trails and a variety of wildlife. I very rarely see spoonbills there, however, so this one was a treat.

The photograph is available as a high resolution file for all my upgraded subscribers. Thank you for upgrading and supporting my work.

**If you’re interested in receiving a ‘Photo of the Month’ each month in your inbox, please check out the upgrade options or email me at lara.chapman@theneighborlyfl.com.

Late one afternoon this past January, the Carnival Man stood inside his booth on the midway of the South Florida Fairgrounds. Behind him were six basketball hoops, rows of color-coded stuffed bears, and sports-themed basketballs stacked high on each opposing side. He wore dark sunglasses and a bright blue shirt with a lanyard draped across his neck, holding an ID badge and a cross that dangled below.

The Carnival Man, who looked to be in his mid-60s, was slightly hunched over and expressionless, but seemed enthusiastic enough when calling out to the prospective players before him. “It’s five dollars, cash only, for two chances to score,” he hollered to onlookers on the walkway. “Make one basket, get a prize.”

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It’s a line he’s uttered countless times before to families with young children, rowdy teenagers, couples on a date, or random singletons at the fair. In fact, just outside and beyond the Carnival Man’s domain, other workers stood in their booths, surrounded by similar stuff animals and colorful prizes, calling out in the same way, searching for someone — anyone — to take the bait and play a game.

If these sights and sounds seem familiar to you, then perhaps, at some point you’ve been to the fair. Not just the South Florida Fair, but any other county or state fair throughout Florida or even the United States.

Fun fairs, or carnivals, have been traveling the country since the late 1800s — freak shows and all. But it wasn’t until 1912 when the South Florida Fair first opened its colorful and crowd-pleasing attractions to people of all ages and backgrounds. With each new year, the fair brings promises of adventure, carnival food, fast rides, shows, livestock displays, and a hearty dose of nostalgia.

There’s even a good chance that you’ve met or seen Carnival Man before, like I had. It was exactly one year ago, plus or minus a day or two, in this very same booth, that my husband won a red and black Tampa Bay Buccaneers basketball. Carnival Man nodded when I shared my memory. “Yup, that was me,” he said. “I’ve been working this fair for years.”

The memory was more than Carnival Man, too. It was the food stands: gyros, chicken pitas, corn dogs, fresh baked pizza, caramel apples, curly fries, nachos, fried Oreos, and more. It was the smell of deep-fried and full of flavor desserts, smoked meats and firewood. It was the flags, waving with the afternoon wind, enticing visitors to eat their way through the fair. Each smell, each flavor unlocked a memory bank of flashbacks to last year’s fair and the fairs before that. And while recollections may vary, it’s safe to assume that the scent of fair foods elicit positive thoughts and memories, perhaps from childhood or good times with friends and family.

Nostalgia plays a primary role in the enduring legacy and success of the fair. Though there are occasionally new rides or shows or experiences, the fairgrounds and attractions and even the carnival workers appear to be the same, and at the very least, evoke a familiar and comforting emotional response.

On the midway that afternoon, I noticed very few fairgoers who were staring down into their phones. Instead, I saw several couples walk hand-in-hand, friend groups laughing loudly and eating treats, kids running past kids, moms pushing strollers and dads who carried young ones on their shoulders. Everyone looked engaged. There was joy. There was togetherness. There was a spirit of adventure.

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Among the more adventuresome attractions at the fairgrounds, the big slides, miniature roller coasters, oversized ferris wheels, towering swings, gravity trains, spin rides, and rides that go upside down — the true heartbeat of the fair — twisted, swung and flung riders from the ground to the sky, and back again.

And, then, there were the animals. Baby llamas, goats, calves, ponies, and even a baby camel lounged in a miniature, heavily-shaded petting space, where South Floridians could experience, even if just for a moment, the sights, sounds and feel of farm life. Real animals soft to the touch, to feed and to connect with. It’s not something that happens too often as modern day agriculture is far removed from urban and suburban societies. And, yet, here it was — the storybook version of the farm — at the fair. Just like last year and the years before that.

In the past two to three decades, rapid technological innovation has undoubtedly disrupted human-to-human interaction. We all know this to be true. And likewise, we all know it can’t be stopped. So when places like the fair produce human moments such as togetherness, adventure, warmth and affection, we should consider it a victory for society. So, yes, let’s go back to the fair. Let’s go back again and again.

It’s nearly the end of January 2024, and by now, those resolutions are in full swing or at a full stop. Or, maybe you were like me this year, and never made a resolution to begin with. Either way, I do hope your new year is going absolutely smashing.

This image is of a Great Egret, taken on my recent trip to Anna Maria Island. This beautif…

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From Florida’s East Coast, traveling west on State Road 64, past Lake Okeechobee and through the quiet towns of LaBelle and Clewiston, we steadily make our way to a seven-mile-long barrier island located off the Gulf Coast.

After a short drive up I-75 and through the City of Bradenton, we finally arrive on Anna Maria Island with about an hour left till sunset. First impressions, and once we cross the AMI Bridge, is that the island is a mix of old fashioned and classic— pleasant, charming, and for the moment, free of crowds.

It’s also an easy-going kind of place. Time-worn, but quaint, shopping plazas line the roadside along with low-lying and stilted homes. Golf carts of all sizes and colors are noticeable, whether parked or driving on main or side streets. There is nothing overly commercialized here— no high-rise buildings or billboards; no chain restaurants. Even the Circle K looks like a picturesque island cottage.

Our lodging for the next two nights, the Waterline Villas & Marina, a boutique hotel with condo-style suites, sits on a quiet corner, overlooking the marina where sailboats and pontoon boats sit idle and pelicans rest in trees and mangroves nearby. Just beyond the marina is the bay, boasting expansive water views, a very beautiful sight and one in which we are immensely grateful for. But the real magic comes when we head over to the beach for the sunset.

With a smooth horizon straight ahead and a pristine shoreline below, the beach has a harmonious feeling to it all — responsive, even-tempered, accepting. At our feet, a soft, powdery sand, made up of white quartz crystals, is pure and free of coarse seaweed or broken shells. Whereas closer to the water, the sand is flat and hard and chilled and occasional footprints line the ground.

We find ourselves in the company of others, few and far between, who, like us, are taking in the last of the light, the laid-back waves, and the openness of the ocean. This is, in fact, the shoreline of Holmes Beach, a city district located in the heart of Anna Maria Island, with Bradenton Beach on the southern tip and the City of Anna Maria to the north.

A brief history shows this part of the island was first homesteaded in 1896 with a post office to follow a few years later. Soon a developer by the name of Jack Holmes set his sights on the area and eventually built a 600 acre community, as he chopped down and maneuvered through Sabal palmettos, banana and coconut trees, mangroves, sea grape, pine trees, and more — a dense jungle brimming with wildlife like snakes, panthers, birds, and wildcats — now a developed (some may say overdeveloped) and renowned tourist hub.

Even further back, and prior to European arrival in the 1500s, Native Americans inhabited parts around the island in addition to locations up and down the Gulf Coast and Florida peninsula.

Good views and vibes along the way

The next day, we rent a golf cart and explore the seven mile long island from Bayfront Park Beach and the Bridge Street Pier to the Bay View Plaza and sightseeing along the way. It feels like utopia, in a sense, where social cohesion and an immense feeling of safety create an undercurrent of harmony and good vibes— whether real or perceived. You won’t find the decadent mega resorts, pretentious restaurants or the masquerade of wealth and class distinction on Anna Maria Island. In fact, it is more like a hodgepodge of communities, all coexisting as one, where expensive homes with Gulf views mingle among miniature cottages, and trailer parks nestle between three-story vacation homes.

That is the beauty of this low-key island: though tourists initially come for sightseeing and attractions, they arguably return for the vibes. Which is not to say the sights, sounds and fun things to do aren’t enough to keep people coming back. But it does indicate that the spirit of Anna Maria Island adds a great deal to the appeal. Take the Rod and Reel Pier, for example, a super casual spot for fishing and a bite to eat. Other than the views and good food (like many other seaside restaurants) this modest eatery continues to be a major destination on the island since its inception in 1947, proving that the essence of a place often matters the most.

To fully live up to its hype, however, the island needs to be a safe haven for native Florida species, such as plant life and birds. And for the most part, it does deliver, despite the island’s prevalence of concrete infrastructure (all part of the previous and recent building booms). On our day journey, we do manage to see several brown pelicans, egrets, gull birds, sanderlings, white ibis, and herons.

Mangroves, which are essential to Florida’s coastal areas, are another common sight around the island. These salt-tolerant shrubs and trees support nearby marine ecosystems and protect the land from extreme weather events. They also provide life-sustaining resources and habitat to birds, reptiles and amphibians. Mangroves are protected by Florida law, and any attempts to remove or destroy the plant will result in an investigation and possible fines.

The highlight of our trip involved not only the sights and sounds of the island, but also its character. We simply took it all in: the natural marvels like crystal sand and incredible sunsets were but one of many layers that make this island so unforgettable.

It was a reminder of all the good things about Florida on one tiny stretch of land. Long live Anna Maria Island and every bit of good vibes it delivers.