For the past 50 years or so my family living here have been protected( to a degree ) from many storms and hurricanes , as this adjacent lot was covered in old Oaks, Cherries, Mimosas, Crepe Myrtles, and other large mature Hollies, Boxwoods,Azaleas and just about every tree known to this amazing part of Florida.
This past summer trying to survive an abnormally hot summer without an air conditioner , this lot also provided me with shade and cool breezes.
When I first started coming down here to see my Dad and Grandparents in the late 70's, an old retired nurse, Mrs. Johnson lived alone here in an old wooden shack
After she died, the lot was abandoned for more than 30 years owned by members of her family out of state.
Then several years ago a couple from Tennessee bought the lot so that they could vacation here in the winter with their RV. They carefully removed the vines and undergrowth, hauled a lot of trash away but kept all of the beautiful trees. They planned to keep it as a sanctuary ,but could never get the county here to give them electricity, (without a permanent structure) so we did.
Well a few weeks ago I got a text telling me that they had sold it. The very next day I was awakened from my nap by the sound of heavy machinery got up and watched in horror over the next few days as they literally ground most of the lot into the ground.
I have always had a
strong connection with trees and the land, as I know that trees are living beings that feel everything.
Again, I feel powerlessness in the face of greed and so-called "progress".
Over the past few years, I have watched one lot after another on our road, be clear-cut in such a way to make room for cookie cutter houses for people from (mostly) south Florida.
In many cases, large 500 plus year old live oaks are removed to make room for mega mansions and grass, which in my eyes will always be a really bad English tradition.
I am reminded again of a quote by Chief Seattle:
And all I can do is cry .
"When the green hills are covered with talking wires and the wolves no longer sing, what good will the money you paid for our land be then?
How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to
us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how
can you buy them?
Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every
sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing and humming insect is
holy in the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses through
the trees carries the memories of the red man.
The white man's dead forget the country of their birth when they go to walk
among the stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it is the mother of
the red man. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers
are our sisters; the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The
rocky crests, the juices in the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man ---
all belong to the same family.
So, when the Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our
land, he asks much of us. The Great Chief sends word he will reserve us a place
so that we can live comfortably to ourselves. He will be our father and we will be
his children.
So, we will consider your offer to buy our land. But it will not be easy. For this
land is sacred to us. This shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is
not just water but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you the land, you must
remember that it is sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and
that each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of events and
memories in the life of my people. The water's murmur is the voice of my father's
father.
The rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst. The rivers carry our canoes,
and feed our children. If we sell you our land, you must remember, and teach
your children, that the rivers are our brothers and yours, and you must henceforth
give the rivers the kindness you would give any brother.
We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of land
is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and
takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother, but his
enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his father's
grave behind, and he does not care. He kidnaps the earth from his children, and
he does not care. His father's grave, and his children's birthright are forgotten. He
treats his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things to be bought,
plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads. His appetite will devour the earth and
leave behind only a desert.
I do not know. Our ways are different than your ways. The sight of your cities
pains the eyes of the red man. There is no quiet place in the white man's cities.
Chief Seattle 1854
