Nobody knows who mailed the first letter. The correspondent may have been Freddie Wood's great-granddaddy, William Drayton Evins, a Confederate Army captain who founded the little North Florida hamlet where barred owls still call from the pines at night.
Let us begin by singing the praises of John Steeber Jr.'s macho butt. It's tough, man, tough like a Parris Island drill instructor, tough like a cast-iron frying pan with bacon grease crusted on the bottom. Every few days he sits the Clint Eastwood of behinds onto a mosquito-sized bike …
Summer has arrived in North Florida, which means the wily Honey Man is waiting patiently at his accustomed spot at the corner of U.S. 98 and State Road 267 south of Tallahassee, every Monday, Friday and Saturday.
The problem with spring in Florida is that summer is sure to follow. We anticipate sand spurs. We know it's going to be hot, buggy and wet. If we're especially unlucky, we'll be threatened by a hurricane.
Welcome to Blue Springs Creek, in the Ocala National Forest, where Lee Allen Young lives on a raft he calls the Huckleberry Finn with a faithful mutt he has named Becky Thatcher.
They once were many, but now are few — George Soffos and other men who know how to play the stringed musical instrument known as the bouzouki and the melancholy tunes often described as Greek blues. In the old days the grizzled musicians sat in crowded cafes, bouzoukis on laps and cigarettes …
Diana Donaghy, wildlife biologist, removes her sunglasses and gazes at the vultures of Myakka River State Park. Soaring like majestic kites, the vultures land on the highest limbs of the oak trees and look around like fat men at a barbecue. • They're waiting for an opportunity to quench appetites …
The quiet man tries to live quietly in the quiet woods, except when he must turn on the power saw. Then for a while things get loud.
Allen Register, retired Navy, values structure. He maintains precise records, dislikes clutter, can always find his tools. It bothers him whenever he notices algae clinging to the prehistoric teeth of his favorite crocodile, Goliath.
On what could well have been the worst day of his life, Glenn Berger felt something hard and heavy crawl upon his back. It turned out to be an amorous alligator apparently hankering for a mate. At that moment, Berger entertained doubts about the wisdom of his chosen profession, diving for lost balls …