I Went to the Woods
Ginnie Springs, FL
February 18, 2018
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
– Henry David Thoreau, Walden
Greater love than this no man hath, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
Greater love than this no man hath, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
Or…
…that he drive six hours for a two-night camping expedition in the north Florida woods, with an abundance of insects, a dearth of red wine, and a relentless parade of park guests featuring body art containing more ink than the New York Times dispenses in a year.
As Thoreau escaped to Walden and Tiberius to Capri, this weekend David and I have secluded ourselves at Ginnie Springs on the Santa Fe River in central north Florida.
The only intrusion on the serenity of the scene is the accompaniment of more than a dozen rowdy members of David’s Boy Scout troop…and a separate conglomeration of nearby revelers that by all accounts is reaping the rewards of a successful tunneling from the local WalMart.
The only intrusion on the serenity of the scene is the accompaniment of more than a dozen rowdy members of David’s Boy Scout troop…and a separate conglomeration of nearby revelers that by all accounts is reaping the rewards of a successful tunneling from the local WalMart.
The pure, cool spring water for which this place is known and named is of such clarity that had it encompassed Orly Field to a radius of several miles, Lindbergh would still have had visibility sufficient to warrant landing rights.
It is the obvious attraction that enticed David’s troop to return after an initial visit last year.
The view of my outstretched hand thru the air of an Atlanta summer afternoon is more obscure than is the unhindered perspective of the rocks, caves, and caverns embroidered ten to twenty feet below the surface of this aquatic tapestry.
After pitching our tent under a canopy of Spanish moss that filters the warm rays of the Florida sun, and hanging David’s hammock beside the bank of a shimmering inlet upon which the remnants are reflected, the camp cook was beckoned to conjure lunch.
Knowing like Napoleon or Frederick the Great that any army marches on its stomach, David sprang to action and dispensed an assemblage of cold-cuts, chips, and fruit to mollify fraying teenage patience and assuage collective pangs of hunger.
Satiated, the boys proceeded to one of the larger springs for an initial immersion.
This baptism, in waters cool by Florida standards, lasted several hours, providing me an opportunity to return to the park trading post to replenish our supply of ice and preserve our supply of beef.
Settling back at camp, with the boys still at the springs and the day-trippers vacating the park, I settled on the banks of a suddenly peaceful Dogwood Spring to bide time and gather thoughts before we gathered for the evening repast.
Dogwood Springs
Despite my instinctive aversion to camping, to water-based activity, and to large crowds of raucous roisterers, the food to this point has not disappointed, infusing a redemptive quality to this rustic outing.
Succulent pork chops for dinner last night and the bacon, scrambled eggs, and fresh coffee this morning did much to enhance the experience (and the aroma) of these grounds.
One thing that does not enhance the experience of these grounds is the ground.
While my tent and sleeping bag are comfortable as far as they go, they unfortunately go no further than the solid earth to which my back was subjected for the eight hours preceding the welcome arrival of dawn’s rosy fingers.
At the end of a night that progressed slower than a snail moving backward on a turtle moving forward, I creaked forth slowly and somewhat painfully from the tent to a remarkably cool, fresh, gorgeous morning.
As adults savored the breakfast previously described, David again assumed the role of sous-chef to the camp and executive chef to the scouts by concocting for the boys a feast of pancakes, eggs, sausage, and bacon.
The re-energized troop then slipped into either wetsuits, tubes, or kayaks for another foray into an assortment of springs or the main body of the Santa Fe.
After lunch, the scene shifted several miles east to the Ichetucknee River, another crystalline stream hosting or watering a multitude of wildlife, including herring, water mocassin, vultures, gators, and manatee.
The original itinerary called for the entire troop to kayak, tube, or float downstream. When a few boys balked, they were told that those not on the river must complete a five-mile hike.
What was conceived as a threat was received as an appealing option, and half the troop took to their heels rather than their fins. David was among those in the water; I opted to remain on land.
Once more tonight we gather beside the spring and around the fire. Once more in the morning we wake as the sun rises and the dew falls.
Soon thereafter, we shall pack, and depart…reminiscing fondly on a wonderful couple days with my son, anticipating eagerly a welcome reunion with electricity and plumbing.
JD
