Welcome to Florida! by Jane Tolbert

Carl Hiaasen has done his best to scare away outsiders from Florida by writing about political corruption in the state. But the siren’s song about a lack of a state income tax and balmywinters beckons the masses.

Several years ago, my sister held a dinner party for two newcomers from Manhattan, who pursued their dream of exchanging the congested city for lakefront property in Florida. Their conversation with the realtor had gone something like this:

- Do you have pets or children?

- A dog. No kids.

All Floridians know that alligators thrive in small pockets of water, emerging to snatch pets, hunting dogs, children, and grilled food. The lake provides the semblance of a calm, placid site on a hot summer day when crickets and katydids chirp. But come nighttime, those hot-day sounds give way to the throaty bellows of alligators gators. The glow of gator eyes reflect light.



Just as the Manhattan friends told of their relief at having escaped the dangers of lakefront property and purchased a city residence instead and vowed to limit water activity to boating, the Swedish dinner guests arrived. They had just returned from a boat trip, exploring some of the lesser-known Florida springs, those bodies of clear, crystal waters that emerge from the aquifer and maintain a constant temperature of 72 degrees. They excitedly about the dangers of flying sturgeon.

--Sturgeon! The Manhattan group looked up.

A sturgeon is a prehistoric-looking fish covered with hard plates that lives in fresh waters. These fish can weigh as much as 200 pounds and attain lengths of 8 feet. They have an uncanny ability to fly through the air and flip onto a boat, injuring—even “killin”--the passengers.

Over a few glasses of wine, we focused our conversation on sharks, red tide, jellyfish and Portuguese Man of War, avoiding the story of the Burmese python that died while attempting to swallow a live alligator in a Florida swamp. We casually mentioned an early-morning bike ride along the sandy trails of the San Felasco Hammock, which was punctuated with intermittent showers. Deer appeared but also we saw fresh bear prints in the damp sand. According to the National Audubon Society’s Field Guide to Florida (p. 371), the Florida black bear is a “powerful swimmer and climber; can run up to 30 mph. . . will usually flee, but can cause serious injury.”

The next time we had dinner with the Manhattan friends, they announced their recent purchase of Florida cracker house in need of renovation. There were no lakes, streams, or pockets of water near this city house. It was near an elementary school so surely a street crossing guard would signal any wayward gators, flying sturgeons or bears. They talked with gusto about the hands-on experience of pulling off rotting beams and working with the contractor, something they would have never experienced in New York. The brown recluse spider could wait for another evening.