Our big hole in the ground
A red-tailed hawk swooped above with a piercing kee-yar! before perching in a tree to keep an eye on them. A steady chorus of insects buzzing testified to the day’s warmth, but Sophia heard the gurgling of water slipping down the sides of the ravine through the ferns and shrubs. The steady trickling cooled the
surrounding area, even up here at the top. At the bottom, a stream glinted in the sunlight shining full on it, unhampered by the trees ringing the Chalice.
“Where does the stream go?”
“Underground. This area’s full of streams that disappear, then reappear later. But that water’s good. We can fill our bottles as we go down, but we’ll make camp up here.”
.jpg){kind=avatar}
One of my earliest books, and one of my favorites still, The Bride and the Buccaneer allowed me to take a meandering journey through some of my favorite spots in North Central Florida, from St. Augustine to the remains of the Bellamy Road, and in my own backyard, the Devil's Millhopper State Park.
Today I had some time on my hands while waiting on an appointment that happened to be a couple blocks from the Devil's Millhopper State Park, and it was such a beautiful day I decided to walk down to the bottom of the sinkhole. We now have a series of wooden steps, as opposed to scrambling up and down the sides like we did when I was a UF student (we caused environmental damage, so I'm glad there's now a boardwalk and steps.)
It's still a tranquil and lovely spot, quiet in the midst of the surrounding homes and offices, and recharges my Florida nature batteries. I was also pleased that my knees didn't scream at me, since it's been about 10 years since I made that trek.
If you're ever in Gainesville, I recommend a stop at the Devil's Millhopper geological site. One visitor from the UK said to a neighbor of mine, "Let me be certain I understand this: your city's chief tourist attraction is a big hole in the ground." True, but it's our big hole in the ground and we love it.
Comments