Abrus precatorius
Whether Latrodectus or Micrurus, some red flags are more duotone. This one’s popping in the backyard.
Abrus precatorius
In the words of Amy Stewart, author of Wicked Plants, “The poison at work within rosary peas is abrin, which is similar to ricin, found in castor beans. Abrin attaches itself to cell membranes and prevents cells from making protein, which kills them.” Stay away.
Coccoloba uvifera
Coccoloba uvifera
Coccoloba uvifera
For a sea grape jelly recipe and more, click here.
Sansevieria trifasciata
Sabal palmetto
Don’t they look like something out of a Dr. Seuss book?
A futile dune and sea oat array in Flagler County now protect residents and wayward tourists along a stretch of A1A from the Atlantic Ocean.
A bicycle tour south through Bradenton Beach and Longboat Key begins with great egrets, brown pelicans and an opportunistic gull.
After grooming atop a pole, an agile resident settles into a standing split.
Vying for scraps, a laughing gull plops down on a pelican’s back as it dives for mullet.
Next is a ride through the Robinson Preserve.
Stretches of paved path yield to elevated sections winding through mangrove forest.
Hidden breaks in the forest lead to amazing vistas of the bay.
A flock of white pelicans slowly bobs up and down until one notices a school of fish.
An awkward orange, black and white ruckus erupts. The collective briefly takes flight.
Crashing down onto one another, the frenzy lasts maybe a minute (but it doesn’t appear that many catch a snack).
Compared to Robinson, Perico Preserve is a smaller and younger restoration project. Bikes are restricted to a small loop, but the route includes curious flora and fauna, including fallen trees and sharp turns.
Drivers and cyclists on Manatee Avenue are forced to take in the view as a yacht lumbers through the drawbridge over Anna Maria Sound.
More avian natives eye tourists from a weathered jetty on Coquina Beach.
Taking such subjective advice in Florida (and across the US) is hard these days.
A dune daisy blooms below one of many towering resorts occupying Longboat Key.
The day’s ride begins and ends on Palma Sola Bay.
The fastest animal on earth perched beside a warm stucco wall soaked with a day’s sunlight grooms himself seven floors above A1A. Barred feathers float slowly.
Aquatic wanderlust began developing around puberty. Oblivious to the primordial black water flow beneath Highway A1A, my friends and I started crossing the bridge over Lofton Creek in 1992. A couple older brothers with cars finally convinced us devout skaters to give surfing a go, so whenever waves broke on Amelia Island, we loaded up the surfboards at the crack of dawn and piled into Bill’s orange VW Vanagon (with the pop top camper), or Gabe’s brown Buick Station Wagon (with our favorite rear-facing “way back seat” to make faces at cars behind us). Fugazi’s “Repeater,” or Bob Marley’s “Legend” blared from open windows while we envisioned rare perfect waves at the end of the familiar 40 minute car ride. Bleary-eyed, we noticed little else along the way.
Landlocked in North Georgia now for almost two decades, I surf only a few times a year, but kayaking has become the surrogate sport. After a few hundred trips across the same bridge, Lofton Creek (not the Atlantic) was the first destination when I migrated home to the coast this summer.
Paddlers slip boats down the Melton Nelson Boat Ramp into a prehistoric world (more so once out of earshot from highway traffic). Many of the haunting spanish moss draped cypress trees that give the tannic water its signature sweet tea hue are over 500 years old. Paddle north to meet a cypress that’s been growing for over 2,000 years.
Viridescent pickerelweed clumps subtly announce narrow entrances to Lofton Creek’s labyrinth (where wayward paddlers easily get lost).
A sole cardinal flower rises above pickerelweed.
Southbound, the hardwood forest gradually transitions into salt marsh soundclouds.
Canopy submits to blue sky.
