About Florida’s Fall.

Fall always has been this Floridian’s favorite season — for reasons both natural and psychological.

  1. Florida seasons are 180 degrees different from seasons north of us. Summer, for example, is our most challenging season just as winter is the harshest season in, say, North Dakota. In colder climates, spring is celebrated. Winter is over. Here in Florida, fall (eventually) heralds the end of heat, humidity, biting insects and hurricanes. We can open our windows in late fall. And winter is heavenly. Think about it: our fall is like a northern spring. Our winter is like a northern summer. Fall in the north is a little bittersweet: nice, but everyone knows dreaded winter and snow-shoveling is on the way. Spring in Florida is similarly bittersweet. We enjoy it while it’s here, but soon we’ll be worrying about hurricanes and zika.
  2. A lot of folks who move to Florida, and even a few natives, never outgrow their attachment to what constitutes “Autumn” in other places, namely the changing of leaves, pumpkins growing in patches behind wooden fences, men in flannel shirts chopping wood, apple butter slathered on homemade bread. Get over it.
  3. Our fall is different. It’s about bird migrations, fish migrations, the lack of humidity and rain, the occasional cool crisp mornings. Folks who seldom venture into their backyards — who don’t know a cardinal from a crow — probably won’t recognize fall. Likewise, a diner who habitually orders salmon in the restaurant might not be excited on Oct. 15 when stone-crab season begins. Stone crabs are another sign of fall. So are mullet, schooling by the millions, getting ready to spawn.
  4. I feel the same way about citrus. I don’t want to eat oranges from California or Mexico. Nothing wrong with them, but I am a Floridian. I look forward to the first navels of the season in late September and early October. To me, native navel oranges speak volumes about fall. For the same reason, I never drink orange juice concentrate. Fake juice. It has to be fresh-squeezed fruit from a Florida tree. It’s something I look forward to every fall.

In The Mountains

We first came to the mountains when I was a boy. Floridians then, we camped in Great Smoky Mountains National Park on the way to visit relatives in Chicago. Later, my dad rented a cabin for a few weeks every summer. Back in the day, Floridians rented in Franklin or Highlands because they were the easiest to reach on the bad roads. Later, he rented in Glenville and Black Mountain. He had already started thinking about buying a little piece of property for retirement. My dad was always slow to spend a buck and to make a decision. Before he could pull the trigger he died of complications of leukemia. Only 64.

In 1987 I began renting in the Waynesville area for a few weeks every summer because of its proximity to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, the Blue Ridge Parkway, and Asheville. In 2013 we finally bought a place on the park border. We’re here for a few weeks during the seasons and the rest of the time we rent it. The mountains have always been an especially great summer getaway for Floridians — Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings spent escape-the-heat time here — and on some days I see as many Florida plates as NC plates.

Sometimes I see bears in the backward. From time to time we’re visited by the elk that travel up from Cattaloochee Valley. In the summer our feeders are attacked by greedy hummingbirds. In the morning, I look out the window and see what I show in this photograph.


How Debbie Downer spent her Sunday

Debbie Downer, who lives in St. Petersburg, has been studying the Hurricane Irma forecasts. You know, Debbie. Every glass is half empty. So she is preparing! Spaghetti models show a storm that may be late making a right turn — and hit Florida, possibly sideswiping the east coast. But you know Debbie. If the storm continues to dilly dally and turns north even later, she is thinking (pessimistically, of course), it might just skirt Florida’s west coast — the worst possible scenario for gulf coasters. Such storms push water into Tampa Bay, making coastal flooding even worse — and exposes citizens to the strongest winds.

1. Debbie has her shutters ready to go. She knows how to fortify her garage door.

2. At Publix on Sunday morning, she bought cans of food for her hurricane kit and ten gallons of water. Because she is always anxious, she refilled her prescription for Xanax.

3. At Lowe’s, she bought a new assortment of batteries for her hurricane kit. At home, she checked her radio. Working!

3, She’ll continue monitoring the forecasts. If they get worse — and Debbie Downer always expects the worst — she’ll begin freezing water in her freezer for later use. She’ll fill galvanized tubs with water for post-hurricane toilet flushing. And at some point she’ll fill her bathroom tubs with just-in-case water.

4. Debbie doesn’t happen to live in an evacuation zone, which means flooding is unlikely to be an issue for her. Still, if she loses her nerve, which is somewhat likely, she’ll evacuate. And because she expects the worst, she won’t wait until the last minute. She knows what the bridges and interstates will be like should thousands of panicked souls all flee at once.

Chances are, the storm will miss her west Florida town. It might even miss Florida’s east coast. Who knows, maybe it will drift out to sea. If those things happen, Debbie will be grimly happy. At least until she turns on the Weather Channel.

Debbie seldom looks on the bright side, but she caught herself doing precisely that just a while ago.  If dipping into her hurricane supplies turns out to be unneccessary, she won’t have to shop for Christmas presents! “All my friends are going to receive cans of Hoppin’ John and Baked Beans in their stockings,” she told her mirror with a well-practiced frown.

September Blues

September has always felt like the Florida year’s longest month to me. For the love of God, haven’t we suffered enough? I mean, the heat wave started in April. And now it’s the ninth month and in our hearts we know we might not experience a cool breeze until November, and we’re crazed, as crazed as can be.  Where I live in West Florida we were gulping Gatorade until December last year. Don’t worry. I didn’t hurt anyone.

Still, the signs of the coming fall, even in humid September, are unmistakable. During my bike rides in St. Petersburg I start to see migrating bald eagles and other birds of prey soaring above my city or perched on the tops of pines.  I see thrushes chowing down on the fruits of Beautyberry shrubs on street corners. Songbirds on the way south, including warblers and even the occasional rose-breasted grosbeak, sometimes stop at a favorite place of mine, Fort DeSoto Park, for chow and rest. Watch for folks toting binoculars. On the beach, you might see sanderlings, black-bellied plovers and least sandpipers, just back from raising families in the frozen north. But prepare to sweat off the mosquito repellent you applied only an hour ago. A Florida September is not a Gershwin tune. It’s the blues.

One more thing makes the month drag on for men (groused the cantankerous old bastard!). It’s the tropics, which also stay hot in September. Northern friends and relatives are wearing flannel shirts, drinking apple cider and watching their pumpkins get bigger. Me, I’m wondering if I might have to put up shutters one more time.

I love Florida as all of you know. But do you mind if I dream of a slightly cooler future?