BROWARD CHAPTER of the
Florida Native Plant Society

     Our first Autumn walk at North Jupiter Flatwoods Natural Area was triumphant. Not only was a picture-perfect Lilium catesbaei waiting for us along the trail, but we also observed hundreds of native and indigenous trees, shrubs, and perennials. A highlight was resting beneath the covered Cypress pavilion where we basked in the buzzing songs of native cicadas and relished the tranquil breeze rushing by.
 
     One moment in particular along the walk really struck a chord, and it put our entire visit into perspective. Halfway along the loop, nearing the Northern boundary of the site, we quickly felt a change of scenery looming ahead of us. Through the waning canopy of Pines ran a different current - a sweltering heat from an adjacent development. A weedy fire break delineated the frontline between these two worlds - one side reinforced with barbed wire and a tightly-mown threshold, while the other guarded with Swamp Mallow and butterfly-loving Phyla nodiflora. Gone, however, were the butterflies we were exulting over - along with the bird song, dancing crickets, and rustling bluestem. This frontline was stricken with the seething sound of scorching St. Augustine and the eerie silence left in the wake of hedge-trimmers.

     While we had travelled over an hour to witness the great work done to preserve this gem of an ecosystem, the neighbors of the Natural Area seem to have different priorities. The entire boundary was lined with blasé residential lots, neatly stamped along a decaying channel and fire access lane. The clear-cut lots must have been close to half an acre each, at least, with impressively quite a bit of yard space provided. Some had fence to fence lawns - uniform enough to give the impression of a lifeless green carpet. The hedge of choice between them ranged from sturdy yet stuntly Clusia to sickly and saddening Areca Palms. I also spotted solid cubes of ixora and croton painted with acrylic-like splashes in the distance. Some even opted to block their view of the adjacent oasis we had just emerged from. It was no wonder we saw not one soul playing in the sweltering sun, despite us comfortably sauntering beneath the adjacent canopy.
 
     Finding ourselves on this fringe many questions arose within us and also many emotions... shock at the stark contrast between these two spaces, and even anger at the utter disrespect for the life that was teaming beyond their fence lines. Ultimately, we were washed with an aching sorrow for the loss this land has witnessed, all in the name of so called luxury-living.
 
     In reality, we ourselves came here for luxury. I myself drove north, passing decades of development along I-95, intending to escape the grip of my city's wrath. I came all this way to experience the luxury of having access to such a beautiful life-giving system - something I do not have in my neighborhood. Providing us with Pine Flatwoods, Scrubby Hammocks,  and Sunken Cypress Domes this park went above and beyond for us. We could give it nothing other than our adoration and the occasional litter pickup. As for the people living in the houses we found, what have they given in return for the soil they are built on?
 
     Imagine an alternate reality... The forest is still there, the fire break may still exist yet the barbed wire does not. The prim lawns are still glades of saw palmetto within a matrix of wire grass. Seasonal Liatris and Lillium emerge from a sea of sedges, along with countless forbs and the occasional Smilax-covered snag. Berries of all sorts weigh heavily as birdsong echoes through the woods. Homes are here too, often morphed in and around the Pines, lifted on short stilts to avoid roots, with shaded patios providing shelter where a tree or two were harvested for the minimal construction. The closer you look, the more you see, as is in the prairie. Scanning the layered neighborwood you realize that many humans live here, each stewarding a piece they’ve borrowed during their time on this land. The “Natural Area” still exists too, although it has never carried that name. Homes are not built on its side but the boundary between the two is blurred. Abundance aligns on all fronts as the individual lots act as a seamless system. Drifts of native wildflowers create playful patterns across the landscape, inviting children and their guardians to excitingly explore the paths made by Gopher Tortoises and the network of branches frequented by Blue Jays. A natural clearing, around half an acre, houses the community’s vegetable garden, trips are often made here by foot, only occasionally is a store visit needed. Disturbance lives here too, as small and regular fires in the flatwoods, and as selective clearing and shredding beside the homes and streets. Imagine the sounds in the morning, and the orchestral praise in the evening. If only we didn’t need to imagine.
 
     Thinking back to our arrival at the park. I take exit 87A, make a left following the signs to Jupiter Community Park. I enter the park and drive by a sea of parking lots and ball fields. Tucked in the corner I find a small booth denoting the head of the trail. There are many people here; many sounds - hollers of joy and family spirit cheering the youngins. I approach our colorful group, hoping to also see these sounds emanating from along the trail, but it is just the five of us. We greet each other as a hundred or more folks pile their way to and from the sports fields and SUVs. This trail seems a side note to their frequent visits here. I wonder if any of them know it is here. In fact, I wonder if we call it a “trail” to entice them. I’d much rather call it home. In retrospect, I wonder if any of them live in those houses on the border, and if they too have ever called this forest home.
 
     I suppose I should feel grateful, and I do. This ecosystem still exists, and we are blessed to be able to access it. I am grateful to have others who enjoy exploring these lands with me, to show me places I haven’t seen, and to teach me the names of the beings who do call it home. I hope the folks across the lane saw us bending over and pointing at the bees. Perhaps they heard our laughter before we came around to witness the scourged boundary. Maybe we showed them there is something worth exploring beyond their fences and manicured deserts. Maybe they’re out there today realizing what we already have.. Nature heals, and she gives selflessly. I thank her for that.

Sabel Palm Haiku

It's Florida's state tree
So big and so tall resting
It can be booted