Fifty stout roots reaching
out from the shallow water to touch the undersides of their host tree,
short, quick ripples lap each root an inch high above the beach's apparent
water level; the sole mangrove enjoys its own breezes on Shell Key in the
Florida Keys. Just one of Clyde and Niki Butcher's vast collections of
photos of Florida's greatly feared wildlife and profoundly undiscovered
wetlands. Greeting its patrons, the studio boasts a life-sized photograph
of a fork in the middle of a water-roadway and an alligator peeking through
the sawgrass blades at the photographer by the far end of it: the essence
of the Everglades.
I walked through the aisles
of the studio and through the hearts of all the 'gators in their own
homelands, while I smelt the breath of each multi-toothed reptile as they
sunbathed, their jaws wide open. Every angle, the lens pondered to get the
perfect shot. The Ghost Orchid breathes in and out in synchronized
perfection: blooming buds arrested at birth. As my path turned through the
gallery, and the collection spread, quietly the twelve seagulls gathered in
fellowship to wash their clothes in the bay just before sundown, while the
clouds watched angrily on Butternut Key.
I never realized how much
lush land Florida has but seems not to flaunt. The journey was long and
tiresome to meet the tropics hidden along the Tampa - Miami connection.
The beginning saw the burning eyes of nightlong gamblers, whose boots braved
the soil outside the casino at Krome Avenue. Beyond The Miccosukee Indian
Casino, there were no more tall buildings, no Publix Supermarkets, no ATM's,
just blue sky kissing green and brown earth. For someone like myself, who's
accustomed to city-slicking convenience, I got a bit agoraphobic, wide
spaces for miles. Forty-five minutes and thirty-seven miles later, the
bleached blue one story rooftop was not misplaced. It wasn't the homemade
thatch roof like the Indian village, nor was it the 21st Century low-rise
commercial structure I had expected. Its interior however revealed an
unlikely collection of timeless masterpieces.
Cuba's wing is mountainous.
The Wildlife Federation named 2002 the year of the mountain, and Butcher
was prime suspect for capturing the spirit of the hills, the rocks, the
plateaus, and the cliffs in our communist neighbor's territory. There's a
grassy natural "replica" of the Mayan Pyramids about 100 miles south of the
studio and less than 12 inches from my face, the black & white pictures are
so colorful, every detail visible. Dazzling, while fresh, cottony clouds
hovered over the herd of blacks and grays, offsetting their grave, yet
sharp presence in every window. Along with Cuba and many of America's
beautiful postcards, I visited every part of Florida with every turn. My
pants cuffs were wet as I walked away from the Loxahatchee tributaries and
the sun met my acquaintance on the Rock Island Prairies. Some majestic
rivers I've never known existed are just a few miles away from our back
yard.
My eyes welled for a few
moments just before the receptionist flurried around the bend to see about
me and my questions. I wondered why we as Floridians allowed for so much
of our natural land to dissipate. Had we ever acquainted ourselves with
our own local attractions? Have foreigners been the chief appreciators of
our backyard?
Since we haven't valued our own gardens, exotics along with upstate snow
flurries flock to our rainy Septembers, blossoming buds, congregating seagulls,
roaring panthers, snapping 'gators, and our famous warm Decembers; while we
collect their funds, sit back and remain unconcerned about our backyard
diamond.
Consequently, time and
energy are now being spent to undo our damage of neglect. Recognition of
this treasure has been overlooked, apparent in the search and research of
Clyde's photos. If our lives weren't as filled with capitol gains and
fictitious pursuits of wealth and unused education, then we could be more
whole individuals and stronger peoples, much like the Miccosukee Indians.
Developers want our
treasure. While the natural ecosystem of the Everglades is essential to
its inhabitants and its longevity, their dollars-in-hand argue that land
equals money, just as in the situation of the "Miami Circle," a recent
Downtown discovery of a possible Tequesta Indian tribe artifact at the
mouth of the Miami River. The discovery of the artifact caused a huge
uproar between archeologists, naturalists, conservationists, and developers.
The developers, of course, wanted to develop and keep on track with the 100
million dollar scheduled twin tower residential high-rise; however they met
with due opposition. If we are not careful, the Everglades will fall under
the same scrutiny and the outcome may be different from what most might
expect.
I left the building,
bidding the attendants a fair day, when six pairs of peeking eyes spotted
me from the water. Also, there was a 3½ foot alligator at the roadside
along with a red-bellied woodpecker, who walked me to the road. Only if I
had some kind of camera extender to take a real close-up, would my day be
full.
After making friends with
the birds and the alligators, I went along my way. Experiencing the
Everglades and bonding with its natural fossils, history and culture is a
nice back rub: relaxing your soul and rejuvenating your mind enough to
invigorate your spirit. The once abandoned backyard had now been discovered
by me, an unlikely city-slicking college girl who otherwise would never
have met the sawgrass and its peeking eyes.
