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.

Join me, and together, we’ll climb. One step up, then 50 more, till we reach the top, and look down on the ground below where water, land, marsh, and trees remain largely undisturbed. The scene is expansive — a bird’s eye view of nature — as we stand layer upon layer of sand and shell, constructed by ancient humans thousands of years ago. We are, in fact, on top of a temple mound within the Crystal River Archaeological State Park.

The story goes like this: Sometime around 2,500 years ago, the people who inhabited the Crystal River region decided to build. With resources readily available such as sand, shells, rock, animal bone fragments, and perhaps even stone tools, temple and midden mounds steadily rose higher and served distinct functions within the tribal community.

The largest mound, Mound A, was built approximately 1,400 years ago, in a location that is said to align with the sun and stars during specific times of the year. Though massive as it may be, Mound A is reportedly a fraction of its original size and scope. Like many recurrent themes in modern history, when these parts were first discovered by new settlers to Florida in the 19th and 20th centuries, attempts to reconstruct the sacred and abandoned land unfortunately succeeded. Or, rather, partially succeeded, as the previous owner of the mound site removed the ramp and half of the east side, drastically reducing its magnitude. Despite the desecration, most of Mound A and remaining mounds have been preserved.

Mound A, of course, is just one of six mounds located at the site. There is Temple Mound H, the second largest of the mounds, followed by midden mounds, J and K, and burial mounds, C and F. The complex also contains a plaza area designated for large gatherings and ceremonial purposes

So that’s the story. A bunch of people lived here a long time ago and built things. Except, there’s always more to the story. Much more. And, yet, what do we know exactly about this area? For starters, it is estimated that ancient people have used the site for about 2,500 years prior to European arrival. It is estimated that 7,500 people visited the site annually. And it is estimated that 1,500 ancients were buried within the complex, which underscores Crystal River Archaeological State Park as not only a gathering of souls, it’s a land of living memories.

In search of way back when

On a recent trip to the North Florida area, and in search for signs and symbols of an ancient civilization, my family and I decided to head out west, driving along State Road 121, toward US 19, then south to our exit, W State Park Street. The journey was peaceful; passing through undeveloped and untamed land, flush with large trees and plants — pine, oak, palm, and more — that lined the roadside between bright green meadows and pastures. The further we ventured west, the older and more animated the land appeared to be — raw, unvarnished, pure.

We first learned of Indian mounds at Crystal River Archaeological State Park a few months ago. An admission I’m not particularly proud of being that I spent my adolescence 30 minutes south of the mounds in Hernando County, home of Weeki Wachee Springs State Park and Buccaneer Bay, where live mermaid shows and a charming waterpark accurately represent Old Florida and “the way things were.” And yet, these attractions are in no way old, not by a long shot.

But the mounds and artifacts found at the Crystal River complex are old, extremely old. Take, for instance, a few arrowheads found at the site, dating back to around 9,000 BC when Paleo-Indians inhabited the region, followed by later cultures, through the Fort Walton period.

But even with archeological digs and fragmented artifacts, the mound complex and its previous inhabitants remain a mystery. And the truth of the matter is that it takes more than academic research to understand who these people were and what made this specific location so sacred. Since the area was abandoned years before European arrival (another perplexing question) there are no written records or even oral stories passed down from one generation to the next. But someone, or rather, something knows what happened on Temple Mounds A and H, or inside the plaza, and around the complex. They know who was buried here and they know who buried them. Indeed, there is a record kept — a memory locked away — and the answers to our questions are waiting to be discovered. If only we could speak the language.

Lost in translation

Walking through the grounds that day in July, we found several sloping hills, covered in smooth green grass, and large oak trees with hanging moss next to Sabal palms. The mounds were distinct from the smaller hills — fuller, more rounded, taller — part of the land itself, and yet peculiar, unnatural even; they were manmade, after all. We followed the paved foot path to Temple Mound A, climbed to the top, and took in the view. The air was still humid, but different, thinner, and enjoyable, despite the summer heat. We stood on the platform and stared at the land and river below. It was just us in that moment: No other tourists were on site, nor visitors walking the trail. It was only the four of us, surrounded by an infinite number of living souls — souls weaved within the earth itself: grass, trees, rocks, water, and weeds. And they’ve been watching the entire time.

According to Native American teachings and traditions, the earth is alive, not simply in a physical sense, but spiritually, with a soul, or souls, that exist alongside our human selves. Thus, no heartbeat is necessary for a living creature to exist. It’s called animism; a belief in which many tribes consider the universe and everything within to be living organisms, or beings, with an inhabiting spirit that transcends modern limitations of what it means to be alive. In other words, Mother Nature has eyes and ears; she can tell us stories and connect us with our past. Her memory runs deep, and yet, we often fail to notice.

As we strolled through the mound complex, never straying from the designated foot path, to the midden and burial mounds, and pushing further in to Temple Mound H, the stifling summer humidity kicked in and the crickets chirped louder as temperatures continued to rise. We had crossed the grounds, stopping occasionally to read the signs, and now we were unquestionably on sacred land. As we stood there talking, the sun grew brighter, and from the trees and the grass and marshy puddles nearby, the bugs came, slow at first, then quick, without mercy. Large horseflies, mosquitos and mystery bugs we couldn’t see, came for our arms, our legs, hands, throats, neck. They buzzed in our ears and around our head. It was an onslaught.

The bugs chased us back, past the mounds and through the plaza. Our once leisurely stroll turned into a fast walk, then a jog, then a sprint. We made it back to the museum, sweating and panting and cursing the bugs. It looked as though we had lost a battle, red marks on our skin from bites and self-inflicted hand slaps. It looked as though we didn’t belong, as if we were the unwelcome guests, rejected, turned away. And, so, we left.

We left that day because we were hot and getting bit. But mostly because we were getting bit. In hindsight, though, and we failed to notice at the time, but the bugs didn’t start biting until we stopped at the burial mounds. The hungry bloodsucking horseflies, mosquitoes, and mystery bugs didn’t bother us on our initial walk through the plaza or at Temple Mound A. Surely, that was a coincidence. Right?

Our day visiting the sacred land was cut short. Had the bugs not been so bad, we would’ve stayed longer; we would’ve seen more. For when we left, and though we did learn a few things about the area, the land and everything that happened there, long before explorers washed up on Florida’s coastline, remained a mystery. There is an answer, but it involves a greater level of understanding. If only we could speak the language.

🎧 🎤 BEHIND THE STORY PODCAST: FINDING NOSTALGIA IN A FLORIDA THEME PARK

LOCATED in the Islands of Adventure theme park, part of Universal Studios Orlando, where virtual reality rides and roller coasters determine not only foot traffic but the instant gratification guests clamor for, there is a place between – an ode to nostalgia – where people walk in, then out, called Comic Strip Lane in Toon Lagoon.

The Sunday Funnies, Betty Boop, Cathy, The Phantom, Heathcliff, Popeye the Sailor Man, and more. Signs of a forgotten era and cultural symbols lost to the drumbeat of progress and the Internet of things, as physical books, newspapers, magazines, and cartoons, have been all but replaced by glossy LED screens, computer generated imagery, artificial intelligence, and algorithms; a true Brave New World with ever-shrinking attention spans and lightening quick swipes –left, right, up, down – that reel us into a future of more, faster, shorter, easy, and eventually, another discarded past. For better or worse, this is, in part, technological determinism.

If you’re unfamiliar with the term, technological determinism is — in a nutshell — the idea that culture, and cultural shifts, are defined by technological advancement and communication innovations; it’s the theory that human nature and existence change as new technology is introduced into our society, and that these changes, whether positive, negative, or even neutral, can’t be stopped. Technology, then, is what drives us forward and determines our present moment. It has the ability to erase or accentuate past artifacts. It even powers our ability to selectively remember.

But nostalgia is more than remembering; it’s a longing. It’s when the idea of going backwards, through passionate retrospect, to another place and time, offers more value and endearment than a present, or even future, moment. And yet, according to a few doctors and psychologists, nostalgia is dangerous. It can lead to both mental and physical disorders where people try to revive a past, or a snapshot in time, in order to reinvent the future.

While these assertions may be true on some level, nostalgia is essential, perhaps now more than ever, to remember who we are as humans, and the good things in our past, before the encroachment of electronics, social media, and digital technologies.

So take a walk with me on Comic Strip Lane inside Toon Lagoon, where nostalgia is on full display; big, bright, colorful, texturized, fun, and a reminder when times were different, and in some ways, worthy of passionate retrospect.

The Sunday Funnies

Near the turn of the 20th Century, when journalism was on the cusp of a golden age, and literacy rates were widely expanding, it was the Sunday morning funnies that both kids and adults wanted, snatching the full-color section of paper back and forth, over cups of coffee and orange juice, laughter and lazy yawns – children sprawled out on the living room floor, parents at the breakfast table.

Just like the oversized and daring three-dimensional art overlooking Comic Strip Lane, the Sunday Funnies were brightly-colored and bold, with subject matter ranging from adventure, humor, mystery, and drama. Though, not everyone was amused. Early on, several women’s groups and religious organizations sought to ban the strips, and Frederic Wertham, a well-trained psychiatrist, thought comics contained too much adult content for children.

And yet, Sunday Funnies and comic strips endured. Even today, in an era of digital news and mobile technology, syndicated comic strips can still be found in newspapers across the country, smaller in size, but still, a vivid reminder that good things do carry on.

Betty Boop

When Betty Boop first arrived on the comic strip scene in the early 1930s, she was part canine and part girl – with floppy ears and a black button nose – before transforming into the fully female character created by Max and Dave Fleischer of Fleischer Studios – who were, indeed, rivals of Walt Disney. In fact, in 1933, Fleischer Studios produced their very own version of Snow White, four years before Disney, featuring the now cultural icon, Betty Boop.

Betty was a star from the moment she appeared on screen, always the focal point and main character of the show, scantily dressed with a round, doll face, perhaps simultaneously aware, and unaware, of her sexual appeal, playing roles such as a circus performer, Poor Cinderella, a judge, Red Hot Mamma, and more. Betty was a magnet, not only for the viewing audience, but also for the male characters who starred alongside her.

But Betty’s magnetism was also her downfall. Her character was purposely provocative, with voluptuous curves and a garter belt, and she almost always outsmarted and evaded the men who tried to brazenly and shamelessly overtake her with vigorous – and often physical – unwanted advances. And yet, unfortunately, Betty couldn’t outsmart the Hays Code, a set of censorship guidelines requiring filmmakers to comply with rules regarding nudity, scenes of passion, lustful kissing, and other related subjects. According to Mark Fleischer, Hays Code ended Betty’s buxom bravado, when she transformed, once again, but this time, into a modest character with a longer dress and domesticated motif.

Although Betty Boop and her toned-down cartoon character ultimately survived through merchandising, the old Betty, along with her legacy, long legs and cleavage are on full display overtop Comic Strip Lane inside Toon Lagoon.

Popeye the Sailor Man

In 1929, when Popeye was first introduced to the world by cartoonist E. C. Segar, he quickly became a lead character in comic strips and was soon featured in cartoon shorts when Fleischer Studios produced a series called Popeye the Sailor in 1933. After Segar’s death in 1938, cartoonists and scriptwriters including Doc Winner and Bela Zaboly kept Popeye alive and animated, propelling him even further into American comic and cartoon culture.

Popeye, the scrappy, tough-as-nails, one-eyed sailor, with superhuman strength courtesy of a can of spinach, enlisted in the US Navy in 1941, during the height of World War II, and starred in several propaganda films to promote patriotism and support for the war effort. His outfit even changed from a skipper’s hat and black rolled-up shirt into an all-white navy sailor’s outfit with a white sailor’s cap.

Though Popeye went through several changes and stages, his attitude never did. Tenacious, testy, and fiercely loyal to his love, Olive Oyl, Popeye will always be “I yam what I yam, and that's all what I yam,” and most certainly, one of the great cultural symbols showcased in Comic Strip Lane.

Cathy

Cathy, the comic strip drawn by American cartoonist, Cathy Guisewite, debuted in 1976, as it chronicled one single woman's struggles with love, food, work, and her mother. Cathy loved – most dearly – chocolate and pizza and her mother’s cooking, and yet, she was always on a diet, obsessively weighing herself and cynically trying on bathing suits. She struggled in the romance department and through the work demands that almost got the best of her.

Though Cathy appeared in 1,400 newspapers, good natured and hopeful, oftentimes, she just couldn’t win. Whether it was defeat by a fattening brownie, an argument with her mother, or another bad date, Cathy’s common struggle represented the struggle of her readers. Perhaps not quite the modern feminist many would claim to aspire to, Cathy, nonetheless, became a cultural icon of the everyday woman, before social media influencers, the ‘Me Too’ movement, and Twitter and TikTok feminism. Like so many other women, Cathy simply wanted more from life. When the comic ended in 2010, Cathy and her husband, Irving, were expecting a baby.

The Phantom

Before the debut of Superman (1938) and Batman (1939), and long before Spiderman (1963), another crime fighting hero conquered the comic strips — The Phantom. Published by American cartoonist, writer, theater director, Lee Falk, in 1936, The Phantom was the first superhero to wear skintight clothes and a mask to match, and though he had no actual true hero powers, he relied on the myth of his immortality along with his natural strength and intelligence.

The 1930s was a trying time as the Great Depression left little money to spare and the Dust Bowl drove many farming families into foreclosure. Unemployment stood at 20 percent. Unsurprisingly, though, many Americans sought escape and cheap entertainment through movies, radio broadcasts, and comic strips. Superheroes such as The Phantom, Batman, and Superman provided the reality break society desperately craved and gave readers the champions and protectors needed to get the bad guys and save the day.

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Glowing colors and bold elegance blend and move through the works of the Florida artist Karen Schremmer. As a multidisciplinary painter, creator, and designer, she has produced abstract and visionary mixed media paintings and products layered in themes of pop culture and self-Indulgence, where ornamental luxuries like jewels, sequins and accessories pose under a rich coat of resin; in all of them is a spirit of freedom and a remarkable attention to detail.

Much of Schremmer’s work reimagines the iconography of celebrity and modern culture in a kind of unconstrained exhibition. She likes to begin each piece with intuitive creative energy – an imaginative idea – balancing multiple themes at once and building a collage concept from contrasting images. Though much of her art is mixed media, she considers herself ‘just an artist’ with a compulsion to create.

“I’ve been an artist my entire life,” Schremmer said in a phone interview. “From the moment I wake in the morning to the moment I fall asleep at night, it’s a compulsive desire to make art and feel the joy only art can bring.”

Besides their thrilling and visual intensity, the works’ integrative materials demonstrate Schremmer’s innovative style of expression through each layered enhancement and hidden intricacy. Whether it is a painted black and white portrait of an iconic celebrity or colorful and highly stylized butterflies, birds, flowers, animals, Gucci symbols, and more, the connection between Schremmer and her work centers on high energy and an obsessive quality that appeals to her audience.

Though the mid-90s marked the beginning of her art career – operating out of her own studio inside a storefront off Central Ave. in Downtown St. Pete, making the same type of vibrant creations that define her style today – a shift in life circumstances and having a child meant finding more stable employment. “After having my son, I needed a steady paycheck and insurance, so I went back to school and became a pediatric echocardiographer, and I did that for many years,” Schremmer said. “But, in turn, I ended up with repetitive work injuries, and eventually, felt like G - D wanted me to do something different.”

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According to Schremmer, one life challenge after another led to her becoming, what she calls, a ‘miserable couch potato,’ and out of sheer boredom, her attention suddenly turned back to art. At first, she began making digital works with her iPhone (a gift from her family) by playing with photography, drawing and painting, and, eventually creating, she said, a new and innovative type of mixed-media collage. As her passion to create grew, so did a desire to work as a full time artist.

“I told myself that once I sold five paintings, I’ll quit my job, and do art full time,” she said. “I quit when I sold two.”

That was about five years ago, and Schremmer has since expanded works’ to include within her repertoire, not only mixed-media collage paintings, but also furniture, accessories and sculptures. Each image, or item, is hand-finished with traditional paint and brush-strokes and further harmonized by adding layers of materials including crystal rhinestones and smaller sculptures handmade by Schremmer. What unites them all is an immaculate sense of color, rhythm and design, each one so lavishly textured, giving the work a sculptural quality, where additional materials reflect and play with the light.

Schremmer is, in a way, an Instagram artist. Though you can find her collection in several local and international galleries, she initially started out on the photo and video sharing platform and regularly sells her work because of relationships and connections with her followers.

“Instagram is like a dating service for friends, matching you with other people that have an uncanny amount of things in common,” she said. “And that’s how I started to get to know people and build trust. It’s actually quite magical if you think about it.”

When the social media platform moved from square photos to more reels and videos, Schremmer, who goes by @karenschremmerart, moved along with it, sharing snippets of her day and behind-the-scenes reels that prove to be just as fun and stylized as her art. “I’m a very shy person and a bit of a homebody,” she said. “But through my posts and stories and following others, I have met so many wonderful people, many of whom I now know in person and speak to on a weekly basis.”

Over the last five years, since she’s been on Instagram, Schremmer’s developed a following of nearly 62,000 simply by showcasing her work and staying active on the platform. But while she dedicates much of her outreach there, she is looking to expand more in galleries within the United States and abroad.

Although bringing art to new locations is the intention, Schremmer said, the best part of the journey is bringing the joy of art to people’s homes. “The art is about joy and being happy,” she said. “So many people get art for different reasons like a change in marital status, a loved one passing, or even buying their first house. When my artwork brings them joy, I get a tremendous amount of fulfillment from that.”

“It’s been quite gratifying for me to be able to do that for someone.”

For more information about Karen Schremmer, please visit her website or become a connection of hers on Instagram.

Story and Photographs by Lara C. Chapman

On a sunny spring day in 2004, I found myself, along with hundreds of other wedding guests, descending on the small island community of Boca Grande for a weekend in paradise. The area, then, and surely now, was a blend of Old Florida charm, beach luxury and natural wonders spanning from shore to shore. I can remember the crystal blue waters like it was yesterday.

I can also remember the iguanas. Though I can’t say for certain when I first noticed the spiny reptiles– they were hiding in plain sight – but most likely, it was when one fell from a tree – with a loud thud – a mere inches from my head.

At first, the colorful iguanas offered a sort of exotic appeal to the island. It didn’t occur to me that there might be a problem until I saw a woman with a broom, smacking the front door of her cottage home in the historic district, red-faced and exasperated. She was yelling, frantically, at someone, or something. But what? Then I saw the iguanas.

From lowlands and wetlands to swamps, canals, residential swimming pools, and backyards, the southern end of Florida, for years, has been home to these subtropical, nonnative reptiles, creating a new type of habitat — and depending on who you talk to – a new set of problems.

In a New York Times article dated Sept. 3, 1995, iguanas were affectionately called “the pet of the 90s” as imports to the United States increased to 500,000 from approximately 40,000 back in 1987. A top concern then, as it remains today: salmonella. Iguana feces carry the toxic bacteria, infecting humans through contaminated water or food, and causing reactions such as diarrhea, stomach pain, vomiting, and in some cases, death.

But that was 1995. Fast forward 28 years, to 2023, and most southern parts of Florida aren’t dealing with a few neighborly house pets or occasional salmonella poisonings. Iguanas are now well-established and permanent fixtures of the Florida landscape. So how did this happen?

From pets to invasive species

As the number of pet iguanas exploded in the United States, so have numbers of pet owners who can no longer care for them. Upkeep is increasingly difficult as iguanas grow in size – some up to six feet long – and behavioral changes during mating season can quickly turn aggressive, forcing owners to make a choice, and in many cases, the reptiles are set free.

In Florida, specifically, iguana populations are thriving – reproducing at startling rates – with an average lifespan of 10 to 20 years. Some even live into their 60s. With no natural predators, their presence in the state invariably leads to changes in the ecosystem through the consumption of flowers and plants such as Gray Nickerbean – the host plant of the endangered Miami Blue butterfly – in addition to bird eggs and even the endangered species of tree snails. They also harm infrastructure by digging burrows under sidewalks, foundations, seawalls, berms and canal banks.

To try to control iguana numbers, the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, in 2019, encouraged property owners to humanely kill green iguanas on their land or hire professional nuisance wildlife trappers, such as Redline Iguana Removal, to do the job.

Perry Colato and Blake Wilkins co-founded Redline Iguana Removal five years ago after seeing the environmental and infrastructural harm caused by iguanas in South Florida. As life-long outdoorsmen, Colato and Wilkins – who also grew up catching iguanas – are working to improve the local ecosystem and help homeowners better manage iguana populations. “We love Florida and we love the outdoors,” Wilkins says. “When we saw what was happening, and with our background, we felt like this would be something we’d enjoy.”

According to Wilkins, iguanas reproduce quickly and congregate near waterways such as the intercoastal or manmade retention ponds and canals, with significant populations residing inside large HOA communities.

“Since they’re nonnative and don't have any predators here, iguana numbers can jump pretty quickly, especially now as they’re laying eggs,” he says. “Just recently, we pulled 52 eggs from a single clutch.”

For South Florida’s nature-minded residents, opinions are mixed. Some are unfamiliar of the iguana’s nonnative status while others believe the creatures cause little to no harm. Critics, such as Kitty Block, CEO of the Humane Society, claim there’s no science-backed evidence to show that killing iguanas will work to solve the state’s problem.

Regardless of varying viewpoints, maintaining iguana populations is crucial for a thriving Florida ecosystem. And unless you are dealing with an iguana problem yourself, Wilkins says, it’s hard to imagine how troublesome they can be. “Homeowners, and certainly our elderly customers who may have trouble handling an iguana problem, are relieved when we complete a job for them, especially if iguanas are in their roof or leaving excrement by the pool,” he says. “And we’re happy to help any way we can.”

For information about Redline Iguana Removal, visit their website to learn more.

ON a warm afternoon in early April, traveling on the backroads of a quiet Central Florida city, where open fields sprout wild flowers and mini ranches boast horses, goats, emus, and a few zebras, there is plenty of space– and even more opportunity.

This is Ocala — located in Marion County, 65 miles northwest of Orlando and just south of Gainesville — named officially in 2007 as the “Horse Capital of the World,” a title not simply given, but earned. Countless championship horses were bred, born and raised here, going back to 1956 when the first Florida-bred horse, Needles, won the Kentucky Derby and Belmont Stakes. Triple Crown winners, American Pharoah and Affirmed, also have deep roots to the area, solidifying the county’s long and lasting legacy in equestrian events, competitions, and legendary horses.

Now, there’s a few reasons why a place like Marion County produces robust animals and a thriving equestrian industry. One reason lies in the soil, specifically limestone, an important mineral for whole-body health and strong bones. In this specific area of Florida, the land is rich with it, similar to the Bluegrass region of Kentucky– the heart and soul of Thoroughbred breeding in North America.

But there’s more to Marion County than soil; there’s community. For decades Ocala has been a home to not only championship horses but to a booming equine industry, hosting nationally recognized equestrian events and facilities such as Horses In the Sun (HITS), the Live Oak Combined Driving Event, the Sunshine State Games Equestrian Classic, and others.

More recently, in 2021, a new complex, the World Equestrian Center (WEC) opened its gates – opening up opportunities – to local and international equine professionals and horse owners, setting up Ocala as a top contender in shows like hunter/jumper, dressage, eventing, polo and various breed programs. Sporting events, expositions, and canine events also take place at the 300-acre facility where 15 outdoor rings and five climate-controlled indoor arenas provide ample space for competition and conventions.

The drive to the facility is typical for these parts of Florida where nondescript backroads — bordered with plots of undeveloped land, roaming cattle, and ranch homes sitting quietly by — paint a picture of an unassuming, peaceful life. But after taking a few left and right turns, there lies, just ahead, a large construction site before the facility’s main entrance, and in the near distance, an expansive and rather lavish, white hotel, which by design, sets a powerful tone for a place in obvious pursuit of greatness. To be sure, there is nothing ordinary about the World Equestrian Center on NW 80th Avenue. It is, in fact, extraordinary.

Prior to building the World Equestrian Center in Ocala, the late trucking magnate Ralph L. ‘Larry’ Roberts Sr. and his family created the World Equestrian Center Wilmington (formerly known as Roberts Arena) in addition to the Golden Ocala Golf & Equestrian Club, a 1300 acre luxury golf and equestrian community. With his roots in the Ocala region well situated, Mr. Roberts embarked on a journey to build a world-class, multi-indoor and outdoor venue with cutting edge amenities, including the The Equestrian Hotel, a 248-room resort offering luxury shopping, fine dining, and more

But those are just words. In order to fully experience the site, you need to visit and walk the grounds, either during an event or on a quieter day like today. In fact, without the sights and sounds of live horse shows or crowds milling about, the facility feels curiously like a museum or national landmark. Maybe it’s the flag entrance and towering warhorse sculpture of ‘Staff Sergeant Reckless’ that greets you at the 128,000 square-foot Grand Outdoor Arena, creating a sense of awe and wonder and power.

Perhaps it’s the large LED walls on either side or the extravagant views just beyond. Maybe it’s the Indoor Florida Show Arenas or Jumper Village to the north and Hunter Land to the west. Or could it be The Equestrian Hotel’s grand lobby with its 20-foot ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and Italian porcelain throughout, invoking a feeling of greatness and splendor.

Maybe it’s all of these things and something else not yet mentioned — the presence of God.

Throughout the facility, stretching over the grounds, and woven into the infrastructure itself, are messages of the eternal and divine. In every corner of the complex, you’ll find baskets of hand-carved wood crosses available for visitors to take home, creating the impression that the Roberts family has a bigger mission in mind – hearts and souls. There’s also a large outdoor cross standing tall and sturdy in an impeccable green-grass lawn behind the hotel. And, then, there’s the stone chapel.

The Chapel, located on a site chosen by Mary Roberts, features stained glass windows, Swarovski crystal chandeliers and pointed arches, where every detail of architectural design demonstrates a meticulous level of care and reverence to the heavens. Visitors – whether equestrians, spectators or locals – will find doors that are always open.

Larger Visions for Ocala

Despite opening its facility during the height of the COVID pandemic in 2021, the WEC is now a focal point for equestrian sporting events and horse shows in Florida, a state undergoing substantial population growth with an increase between 2021 and 2022 of 1.9% to 22,244,823, as reported by the U.S. Census Bureau. Ocala is going – and growing - right along with the trend.

According to the Director of Equestrian Operations at WEC, Christina Baxter, Ocala is one of the fastest growing areas in the country, emerging as a place that will continue to prosper for years to come.

To meet the region’s needs, WEC is quickly expanding not only in size, but in scope, appealing to equestrian athletes, professionals and retirees looking for more space and opportunity to grow.

On the southeast corner of the venue, a 400 room hotel along with an event center, including restaurants and meeting space, is under construction and two additional arenas on the west side of the property are now complete, with plans for more development on the way, Baxter says.

Of course, the facility offers more than equestrian sports and shows, although horses are the number one priority. “WEC hosts many other events such as volleyball tournaments, car and boat shows, dog shows and different industry expos,” Baxter said. “We provide the space and amenities needed for large events and meetings.”

While Ocala is growing – and fast – finding space and real estate isn’t yet a problem, unlike the higher-density regions of South Florida, making this part of the state attractive to horse professionals seeking a quieter life with high-quality equestrian facilities and community support. “WEC has built a brand where it welcomes the best equestrian athletes in the world to compete,” she said. “But it’s also a place of community for local residents and horse lovers as well.”

Indeed, growth, as most Floridians will tell you, is inevitable, and as the state’s population continues to rise, the horse community will grow along with it. The World Equestrian Center, without a doubt, is planning on it.

For more information about the World Equestrian Center, visit their website.