Posted in Life

More houses, fewer wooded lots

The steady beep-beep-beep echoed down the street at 7:15 am. Not just one, but two excavators were at work clearing lots for new homes on my street. The heavy Case equipment easily uprooted thirty to forty foot tall pine trees, leaving behind an impressive pile of logs ready to be hauled away.

Twenty-eight years ago, as we slowly drove up and down these streets in search of a place to build our home, there were twice as many wooded lots as houses. Ironically, most of the trees in Palm Coast were tall, skinny slash pines, accompanied by a few cedars and palm trees, and surrounded by palmettos. From what I remember, all the lots pretty much looked the same. We picked one on a street where most people took good care of their homes.

When we built our house, we were surrounded by undeveloped lots. While schools, church, and stores weren’t far away, we were living in the woods. There was plenty of space for BMX bike trails, forts, and wildlife. The surrounding trees provided welcome shade in the summer, dusted our cars with green pollen in the springtime, and dotted the yard with pine cones in summer.

We knew it wouldn’t stay this way forever. Every once in a while a lot would be cleared for new construction. New neighbors gradually filled in the spaces between existing homes. More cars drove down the street each day. Little by little, the woods disappeared.

Besides trees, I’m interested in what contractors find on the property. Once a lot is cleared, a pile of old tires often appears, along with furniture, boards, buckets, metal and pieces of concrete. Vacant lots are popular dumping grounds for all kinds of trash.

When we cleared our lot, we left about fifteen feet of wooded area in the back yard. Now, every single tree is taken away. The land is stripped bare to become a blank canvas for fill dirt, concrete, sod, and landscaping.

On the plus side, there are fewer trees for hurricanes to blow around. But I miss the green. The deer and bunnies have moved out, too, as relentless waves of people continue moving to Florida.

Posted in Life, Travel

The darkest darkness

Photo by David Gabrić on Unsplash

For our autumn getaway, see some color, enjoy some cooler weather trip we found a remote cabin on a hillside in western North Carolina. To get there, we had to drive to the end of a twisty mile-long gravel road, where there was no one else in sight.

Each night I made sure we were back from hiking or small town exploring by dark. The access road was difficult enough in daylight. No way I was going to tackle it at night.

But each evening before bed, I did have to take the dog for one last walk. On one occasion I switched off my flashlight just to see how dark it was. It was dark. It was the darkest darkness I’ve ever experienced. Cloudy skies hid the moon and stars. No far off light from a nearby town reached this area, because there was no nearby town. I couldn’t see the road I was standing on. I couldn’t see the trees around us. I couldn’t see the cabin. It was around the bend. I couldn’t see the white dog at the end of a leash. I couldn’t see anything.

I remember thinking, “If my flashlight quits, I’m not sure how I’ll find my way back.” On subsequent walks, I made sure I had my phone in my pocket for a backup flashlight. Maybe my eyes would have adjusted. Maybe I’d be able to see a little bit. Maybe not.

I remember asking a group of middle school students, “What is the darkest hour of the night?” It was one of the few times they said, “That’s a good question.” It is a good question. Poetic wisdom says it’s always darkest before the dawn. And how do you measure darkness, anyway?

Anyway, the darkness was impressive. Not eerie, not scary, just complete. Where else is it really dark? A cave. A closet. Inside a refrigerator with the door closed. When the power goes out at night. When you shut your eyes at night?