The Beginning
I’m not sure where this story really started, any more than I am certain of the beginning of a thunderstorm; One only knows when the deluge begins, not when atmospheric dust and water vapor came together to make clouds. There are therefore any number of correct answers as to the beginning of this story: 1996 (When I first came down to Orlando as a dreamer), 2008 (When Grace and I fled Orlando for the Florida Keys), or even 2013. One of my favorite references for the beginning, would be the November 1973 (nearly four years before I was born a Kansan) issue of National Geographic.
There isn’t much that I have said, or thought on the subject of Floridian Koyaanisqatsi, that isn’t well-documented herein, nearly 40 years ago.
Nat Geo’s commentary on the genesis of Central Florida is 40 years ahead of its time.
Supposedly, when this part of I-4 and 408 was built, one worker turned to the other and asked, “Where’s all the traffic going to come from?”
And thus was more SR-436 sprawl crapped out. The Altamonte Mall was opened in 1974; We’re very likely looking at its construction here.
What is more or less freely documented by myself, is that we fled Orlando and the mainland in 2008, seeking less traffic, less population density, and at least nights without gunfire. The island life and clear waters just made the decision that much easier. And I’ve furthermore made no secret of my conviction that it was the right decision, even as I continue to pay for an address in Orlando that will be equitably upside-down until well into the next Presidential administration. In 2008, it was incredibly easy to pat ourselves on the back for this; Life in the Florida Keys was really slow-paced, especially in the summertime, and the evening power-outage hours only served to drive the point home. Sure, things picked up a bit in the winter, but the biggest impact was that it gave us pale-looking mainlanders to make fun of.
Somehow, in just five all-too-short years, summer stopped coming.
Keys Energy Services had hardened the electrical infrastructure with concrete, Category-2 hurricane resistant tieline poles, and sailboats were restricted from most anchorages where the possibility existed of a vessel adrift hitting the tieline. The result, to Keys’ (and FKEC’s) credit, is that electrical service in the Keys is now at least as reliable as elsewhere. I still remember the day last year when Verizon’s LTE high-speed wireless coverage was turned on throughout the entire Keys, instead of just Key West. And more people than ever before drove down and filled hotel rooms year-round. Nobody expected to make a left-hand turn very quickly in early January, but by 2013, it wasn’t even possible in the summertime.
As you might imagine, this created some level of tension. The sentiment reached its zenith in late July 2013’s Lobster Mini-Season, as vacation renters kept us up until 2am on a work night, hooting and hollering, after having gone out several times in their boat, very likely resulting in the capture of some multiple of their legal limit of lobster. I wrote a poem that appeared at the top of bigpinekey.com that day, maybe you read it.
As our annual summer vacation weeks got nearer, we decided they’d be best spent in search of greener pastures. If any place still existed in Florida where you could play an informal game of football on the main highway without having to take many timeouts for cars, we were going to go there. And of course, it would be best if it were located on saltwater, for the love of saltwater that was instilled in us in the Keys is a love that does not die. We settled on Levy County, Florida, and its coastal gem, Cedar Key.
“Levy county is _not_ desirable,” intoned one well-intentioned friend, insisting that it contained primarily impoverished rednecks. Another friend of mine confirmed something similar. “I don’t think they’ll enjoy Cedar Key,” said one sister-in-law. Add in tales of the Rosewood Massacre (and yes we watched the 1997 movie), and maybe you begin to form a doubt in your mind. Were we venturing into Deliverance itself? Would we return home with the most terrible red-state tales of all?
The Middle
I hesitate to tell the world what we found. But where would we be if Samuel Taylor Coleridge had kept Xanadu a secret?
Informed, but not deterred (even by the fact that our 5-year-old car battery was in its death pangs), we drove some 500 miles, starting with the Overseas Highway, then the entire length of Florida’s Turnpike, and finally some two-lane, 60MPH roads that took us through Dunnellon, Goethe State Forest, and finally Cedar Key. We set up camp at a guest house near the airport, itself not a bustling hive of activity, but rather the shortest public airstrip in Florida, used by approximately six Cessnas, and bisected at one end by the road going to our neighborhood. There was a boathouse behind the house, providing enjoyment of the bayou, where we caught over two dozen blue crabs one night. Also, the sun rose over the bayou near the Cedar Key water tower. You might not believe me if I told you we saw a bottlenose dolphin in that shallow bayou one day, but we did.
We got up early on the first morning to discover that our Honda’s battery had turned its last crank. It had had just enough cranks left in it to restart at the gas stations along the Turnpike, but not one more (even the battery charger that we had brought with us, was unable to persuade it with protracted charging sessions and starter-assist mode). We took the house’s golf cart into town and talked to a very helpful, and very barefoot, auto parts dealer, who dug up the only battery he had in our size. He asked if we had a core for him. I replied that the Honda wouldn’t even make it out of the garage right now, but that I’d come right back and drop it off. He said that was just fine, and when we came back to drop off the core, he’d test our alternator too.
It worked exactly like that. The new battery was swapped in, and the fellow verified that our alternator was putting out plenty of juice when Grace pushed the gas pedal. We continued out of town to explore Chiefland, a Levy County city most famous for containing the nearest Wal-Mart, not to mention a Hardees. The Honda didn’t give us any more trouble.
We got pretty familiar with most every street in Cedar Key by golf cart, and only somewhat rarely had to pull over to let cars pass us. 700 people live in Cedar Key, and they estimate that the number only moves up to about 1200 in the winter.
On our eighth anniversary, Grace and I walked around the Lower Homosassa Shell Mound Trail, until the persistent insects and the serious-business growls of a nearby wild boar drove us away. Then Marve called Grace and asked if I was ready for a plane ride. I am not one to resist a short ride in a Cessna 170.
A quick inspection of our ride…
… and we were off. The tour took us around the Cedar Key area at about 1550 feet, from which vantage point you can see the entire area.
Yes, there are still plenty of mangrove islands
Cedar Key, with Dock Street in the foreground and SR-24 (the former Florida Railroad right-of-way) going off towards the mainland
Seahorse Key
Northern Cedar Key neighborhoods
More islands…
Atsena Otie, the original Cedar Key
Cedar Key, with the original Florida Railroad bed visible in foreground
All too soon, the air tour was over and back on Terra Firma, we still had a city (and county) to explore.
We drove miles and miles of back roads. We visited with realtors and discussed the possibility of moving (hint: It is both possible, and incredibly reasonable). We did do Dock Street one day, and although it looks delightfully like something from a Secret Of Monkey Island game, the commercial/bar scene isn’t our destination. We met up with a young couple from Gainesville who were, sadly, not rednecks at all, but rather more of an educated libertarian mindset. We were the only ones at both bars we visited.
We spent more time geocaching and exploring. Grace made the most wonderful blue crab, clam, and scallop dishes. Did I mention that clams are about $18 for a hundred? And man do we love clams. The blue crabs, of course, are free.
The most amazing dinner to be had in Cedar Key, or anywhere else for that matter (I mean I’ve seen nothing in Monroe or Orange counties that even compares), is to be had at The Island Hotel, home of perfectly-cooked escargot, crab imperial, steak… even the sides and garnishes are exactly perfect.
And of course, the sights on your golf cart ride home are endearing as well:
Unfortunately, the sun arose on the day we had to leave the guest house and drive all the way back home. Once more we, our luggage, three dogs, and several dozen clams and crabs, all piled into the Honda Element and went through Dunnellon, down the entire length of the turnpike, and back home.
The End?
We’ve been back home for a full day now. Average wait time to turn left to get to the grocery or drug stores is on the order of five minutes. Even a right hand turn takes nearly as long. Don’t get me started on the parking-lot confusion, once you manage to get there. Here at home, my across-the-canal neighbors are busily feeding key deer (illegal) and allowing their family members to stay in their illegal downstairs enclosure (uh huh). And just wait till they start giggling and yelling at 2:00AM, once they get a good buzz goin. To a family with their choice of zipcode, it is difficult to justify double the housing cost and double the food cost to endure this year-round.
To the amazing people and places of Levy County I say, we’ll be back.
As to the title of this article, what exactly is wrong with Levy County? Do me a favor and forget everything I’ve told you. It’s my terrible secret. Avoid it at all costs.
Apres moi, le deluge.
