Gone, Gone, Gone

Carillon Tower & Suwannee River

June 3, 2009

We pulled out of the Rooftop Resort parking lot around 7 a.m. on June 1st. After months of discussing the idea of full-time RV living, scouring every available resource to find the right unit, packing, repacking and putting our affairs in order it was exhilarating to feel the forward movement towards our new way of life. Ironically, for me, it was the ten year anniversary of moving to the area from South Bend, Indiana; which I found fitting in my belief it is important to complete life circles. There were no tears, high-fives or fond farewells to the neighborhood. In later discussions we both shared feeling no sense of sorrow or regret in the leaving. We will miss the beautiful vista of the Atlantic ocean we enjoyed every day, but the work and general lifestyle in S. Florida had worn us both out.

The Eastern coast of Florida is a tropical paradise of warm weather, beautiful vistas and superb exotic foods all underscored by an eclectic mix of cultures. But there is an ugly underbelly to the region that, after a time, proves to be a slow infestation on the soul. Once beyond the wow factor of no more cold, exciting new places to go and ocean views, it hits like a hammer to the head that there is indeed always a yin to the yang. Violent crime rates, horrendous traffic patterns (especially on-season), transient populations and hurricane seasons can eventually leave one feeling it is more of a place to be endured than enjoyed.

Most of the day was spent on I-75 heading North. First across Alligator Alley then up the West coast. We actually did see one gator floating in a canal. It looked like a gray-white log with a tail. The trip was smooth and uneventful with surprisingly few rattles or shifting of our stuff. We did a good job of packing things for constant transport in a moving vehicle considering we're virgins at it. The Pace Arrow drove solid for her age. After brief stops at a Flying-J for fuel and a Wally World (Wal-Mart) for foods stocks, we arrived around 5 p.m. in White Springs, Fl. for a 7 day stay at the Stephen Foster Folk Culture Center State Park.

Upon entering we knew the right choice had been made for the first stop in our new journey. Slowly making our way along winding roads to our campsite, we were greeted by lush woods filled with massive oaks draped in Spanish moss. The place just screams antebellum Old South. After a few wrong turns we found our site, set up what we needed and watched nature unfold. While squirrels foraged, an amazing chorus of bird songs and the hypnotic, slow sway of the moss kept us spellbound for hours. After the atmosphere we had left only hours earlier, it felt like nirvana. We sat, ate, opened a few windows to continue enjoying the bird chorus and slept like infants.

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June 7, 2009

Our time here has been relaxing and more informative than we could have ever imagined. Home to the annual Florida Folk festival, this park provides a perfect balance between nature and Florida's cultural heritage.

One of our first hikes was to the Suwannee River, Luckily, we hit a week when the river has been at its highest peak all year. It is a "black water" system that starts in the Great Okefenokee Swamp and winds its way for eventual release into the Gulf. The blackness of the water comes from the tannic acids of cypress trees and decaying vegetation. Fed by hundreds of underground springs that, at one time, poured half a billion gallons of fresh water into the system daily, the river lightened as it reached the Gulf. Unfortunately, the amount of fresh water has diminished tremendously of the years due to shrinking water tables, now causing the river to remain murkier at all points. But it still remains a beautiful, largely unspoiled natural area that is unlike anything else in the state.

The centerpiece of the park is the world's largest carillon tower comprised of 97 tubular bells. From 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., it chimes the hour including notes on every quarter hour. At 10, 12, 2 & 4 it also fills the park with renditions of Stephen Foster tunes. They are some of his lesser known works, but still beautifully melodic. The sounds of the bells became a very relaxing part of our days.

One of our more fascinating visits was to the Stephen Foster Museum that is housed in an antebellum mansion typical of those that existed in Foster's era. The first thing that strikes you upon entry are the beautiful oil paintings of Foster overhanging fireplaces in both of the grand rooms. Dioramas depicting interpretations of scenes from his best known songs fill the building. There are reproductions of his sheet music sitting on pianos of the era, plus the desk upon which he wrote "Old Folks At Home".

As far as anyone knows, Foster never actually saw the Suwannee. He was a prolific composure from Pennsylvania, born into a wealthy business family, who had neither the inclination or patience to be a businessman. In all, 201 of his songs were published. While he was writing the lyrics for "Old Folks At Home" he showed up at his brothers office frustrated that he could not find a two-syllable Southern river that fit the tune. After suggestions of the PeeDee in South Carolina and the Yazoo in Mississippi, both of which Foster disliked, his brother pulled out an atlas and suggested the Suwannee. Foster liked it, dropped it from three to two syllables (Swannee) and an American Classic was born.

It was also interesting to learn the history of White Springs. Now a sleepy little town, it was once a major tourist destination for its mineral springs spa. The old spas concrete skeleton sits at the entrance to the park and, beginning in the early eighteen hundreds until the early seventies, became a place to "take the waters". Rich in sulphur, the spa waters touted cures for everything from the gout to dandruff to mental disorders. It also offered colonics, warm blanket wraps and massages. Admission was 25 cents and ladies were permitted to bath without stockings: a bawdy atmosphere for the times! Because of this single business, the town once boasted 14 luxury hotels and numerous boarding houses.

On Saturday, we experienced an absolutely wonderful evening at the Arts In The Park Coffeehouse held in the auditorium. It was hosted by a fiddle player who entertained with tunes like "The Opossum and the Skunk". For two hours we listened to local artists share beautiful songs; most of their own composition. Some guitar, some piano, a colorful three-piece Old Opry trio, a storyteller and Ranger Larry. Most proudly proclaimed themselves "Crackers" and sang of a Florida lost and days when local waters ran plentiful. Many would argue about the use of the word "Cracker", but to those native born it is a term of pride. The word comes out of history. Old-time cow handlers would drive great herds of cattle across Florida to shipping points, popping long cowhide whips so loudly they could be heard for miles around. It is a link to their past. We reveled in the songs, sang along to an acapella version of "Amazing Grace" and felt a true community connection to those around us.

Tomorrow we head down the road to a park outside of Savanna, Ga. This place will be missed. We have rested, re-learned outdoor cooking, become familiar with our new home and met nice people. The fellow campers have been friendly and the facilities superb with beautifully maintained grounds and a top-notch staff. Between the people, the daily carillon bells and the setting it has felt almost ethereal at times. We are more rested and better people in both body and spirit because of our time here.

Photographs by Debbie

copyright 2009 Lane A Geyer