Autumn in Florida

wildness, flowers, and other lovely beings

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This is my second autumn in Florida, and I’m learning to love its variations.

I’ve spent autumn in many places, from Seattle to Nepal to Syracuse to Denver to San Bernardino. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, I became accustomed to the sweet and mossy smell of damp, decaying leaves and soil soaked through with rain.

One year, when I was eighteen, I collected fall leaves from as many different deciduous trees as I could find and taped them up on my bedroom wall, surrounding myself with different shades of red, canary yellow, tangerine, dull orange, and maroon. What I loved most was the uniqueness of each leaf— each with its own midrib that had once been connected to a branch, a nutrient-absorbing conduit taking in minerals from water funneled upwards through the tree’s capillary system while also feeding the tree through its own water absorption and photosynthesis. I loved the veins of the leaves and their color variations. Eventually, of course, all the leaves dried and browned, but watching the process; noticing how each leaf changed with the passage of each day, was a lovely experience.

Now I live in Florida’s panhandle. Some people call this “South Georgia,” maybe because of the Spanish Moss (called brishome by the Miccosukee) and the giant oak trees. Because of the searing hot (and humid!) summers, autumn doesn’t really feel like autumn until late October. We had our first cold snap a couple weeks ago, and the lowest temperature didn’t drop below freezing until last week, when it barely dipped down into the low thirties.

In a lot of ways this region of Florida reminds me of the Pacific Northwest. Epiphytes like ferns and moss hang from thick tree branches. Everything is green. Here it’s just warmer, more crowded with plant-life, including many different kinds of vines. It’s chock-full of bugs (admittedly not my favorite).

This part of Florida is also a haven for invasive species, which Jeff Vandermeer writes about in Audubon Magazine as well as in Orion.

Right now I am sitting outside my little cottage, camping out with my laptop at my cheap little Ikea table. It’s partly cloudy and about 75 degrees. Birdsong is everywhere; so are the sounds of traffic and the shouts and screams from the high-school next door. Whenever a breeze comes through my windchime sings.

I hope you’re finding moments like this, whether it’s warm or cool or cold or hot, wherever you are.

Here are some photos I’ve taken on my walks over the past week.

Today I saved this lil Luna moth catterpillar from getting squashed by traffic. Aren’t they beautiful? I love the tiny hairs on their skin. For some reason they look demure? :)

There’s a giant oak tree (lots of them, really) not far from my cottage. This is exactly how lichen looks in the Pacific Northwest, too, except it’s often accompanied by lots of soft green moss.

All of the camellias are beginning to bloom right now.

So many flowers! And some ripening lemons.

I see all of these flowers (and fruits and everything else) on my walks around my neighborhood. Every day I try to go for a couple walks, especially on days I’m sitting and writing for long periods of time.

When I first moved here from Seattle I was so upset that there weren’t as many lush, varied landscaping features here. There were no flowers at all! That’s because it was late summer, when nothing much can bloom in the heat (though everything grows like wild). I think my flower radar has gotten sharper in the past year.

All of these beauties wilted and fell when it got cold a few days ago.

Do you go on walks around your neighborhood? Or do you have a forest, swamp, desert, or park you love exploring?

I know that it’s winter. Somewhere it’s snowing! Not here, though. So what’s it like where you are? Are you getting outside? What are you finding there?

This was taken a few weeks ago outside of the university parking lot. Everything here grows like this if it’s not cut back, which I personally love (although the kudzu is not great!)

As always, thank you so much for reading and sharing. I’m grateful for you.