Universal Beauty and Marjorie

As I drove down the dirt road in the Osceola National Forest and parked along the side, I immediately noticed that I am not the only person who enjoys this remote location.  The seclusion is part of the allure, for myself, as well as others it seemed.  Recently dumped, scattered, and left, the road was carpeted with red shotgun shell casings and other remnants.  Garbage littered at least seventy five meters of the path.   I was overcome with a feeling of disgust.

I took to the trails I had intended to travel that afternoon, unable to deal with all of the garbage then.

When I returned, I dug out a plastic Target sack from my trunk and made my way down the road.  Over forty shotgun shells, a pair of neon orange ear plugs, numerous Gatorade bottles, water bottles mutilated with bullet holes, little cardboard boxes, and clay targets and their fragmented pieces overflowed and stretched the bag.

 

 

"The destruction seemed to me a symbol of private intrusion on the right of all mankind to enjoy universal beauty" (Cross Creek, 1996 edition, p. 378).

Their actions were selfish and disgusting.  They do not own the land, yet they treat it worse than if they did.  Over the last few pages of Cross Creek, Marjorie discuss the ownership of land: "No man should have property rights over land who does not use that land wisely and lovingly" (Cross Creek, p. 379).  So then, why do some feel the need to treat land that is for all mankind in such a way?  That is what breaks my heart.  We've all seen a stray bottle here and there, but never have I encountered such a deliberate scene like this one, especially in a place that I have grown to cherish these last few months as I have learned the landscape.  It pains me to think that these people got some sort of thrill from leaving their mark in the forest.

 

As it is National Trails Day, I hope that you can get out and enjoy the paths and maybe even have the opportunity to do good.  I suppose that is the thing to take away from this.  There are plenty of people who do not respect the land, but I know many more who do.

 

"We know only that a sense of well-being sweeps over us when we have assisted life rather than destroyed it.  There is often an evil satisfaction in hate, satisfaction in revenge, and satisfaction in killing.  Yet a wave of love takes over a human being, love of another human being, love of nature, love of all mankind, love of the universe, such an exaltation takes him that he knows he has put his finger on the pulse of the great secret and the great answer" (Cross Creek, p.377).

 

 

 

Marjorie continues to impress me with her words.  Stumbling upon beautifully accurate phrases like this and moments like this somehow still surprises me.  It shouldn't, but I am glad I am still discovering new bits of wisdom from Cross Creek.

Enchantment

 

This week has been good for painting.  I finished the oranges, Enchantment, inspired by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings' Cross Creek:

 

Enchantment lies in different things for each of us. For me, it is in this: to step out of the bright sunlight into the shade of orange trees; to walk under the arched canopy of their jadelike leaves; to see the long aisles of lichened trunks stretch ahead in a geometric rhythm; to feel the mystery of seclusion that yet has shafts of light striking through it. [...] Here is home. An old thread, long tangled, comes straight again.

 

I began this painting in late January after a trip home where picked oranges in the yard.  It is one of those memories I will always have of growing up in west central Florida.  Around that time, an article by Jeff Klinkenberg was in the Tampa Bay Times about the citrus industry of the area.  It just seemed natural to paint them.   I completed most of this painting in a week, but let it sit for a month and then I returned to finished it.  I think that I will still play around with a few of the oranges, but it won't have any major changes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marjorie's Manuscripts

Occasionally I scroll through the articles on the St. Pete Times (now Tampa Bay Times) website to catch up on the events at home.  Today, I stumbled upon the newest Jeff Klinkenberg article:  "UF archivist preserves priceless manuscripts of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings and others".  Enjoy!

Birthday Wishes

On this day in 1896, Marjorie Kinnan was born in Washington D. C, quite a distance from the small Florida town nestled between two lakes that she would immortalise in her writings.  Happy Birthday, Marjorie.  You continue to inspire.

Image from UF's Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings Collection

The Creek by J. T. Glisson

            Honestly, when I purchased Glisson’s The Creek, I knew little about it.  I was simply eager to learn more about the people and land of Cross Creek.  The general description on the book seller’s website sounded interesting, and judging from the customer reviews, it was a good story.  I bought it along with a few other rural Florida reads.

 

The Creek is a book of memories from the eyes a young boy, written as a grown man, who grew up next door to Mrs. Rawlings.  Readers are told the tale of young J. T. growing up in rural Florida.  Glisson recounts about the day his family moved to Cross Creek (and those pesky Florida mosquitoes), the medical procedures to fix his clubfeet, fishing in the surrounding lakes, the triumph of breaking his own horse, schooling in Hawthorne, attempts to enlist in the military, and how he handled death within his Cross Creek family. 

Along with his stories of everyday life, the reader also follows the lives of the residents of Cross Creek, namely Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings.  “Miz Rawlings” lives next door to the Glisson’s.  She frequently picks fights with J. T.’s father and frequently reconciles just in time to argue again.  We learn of Rawlinigs’ driving habits and walking routines, her love of children and unique ways of living life all through the eyes of a young friend. 

Being involved in the arts, some of my favorite parts of the book concerned J. T. and his interest in the arts.  (J. T. became a successful illustrator and created all of the images for The Creek.)  I recognize his struggle with deciding to pursue art as a career, and I could relate to his emotions as he dealt with his father’s reaction.  I loved reading about his excitement over viewing illustrated books, such as the Yearling, and I was ecstatic to read of young J. T.’s meeting of the illustrator when he visited Cross Creek.  How amazing would that be?

I can see myself picking up Glisson’s The Creek again in the future, just as I would any book by Rawlings.  He gives a unique perspective on the Florida town that I have come to love.  I believe that anyone interested in recent Florida history will quickly fall in love and appreciate the sincerity of the stories captured by Glisson.

A Morning at the Creek

View of the home, reconstructed barn, and part of the grove

I am a little ashamed that I have driven by the brown sign on 301 so many times and not investigated Cross Creek and the Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings Historic State Park.  Today, I took the time to drive down that county road.

I turned into the park around 9:45am and the parking lot was nearly empty.  Three older couples had just arrived, but were down the trail ahead of me.  We seemed to be the first guests in the park today.

Park guests are greeted by one of my favorite quotes

The park is open daily from 9:00am to 5:00pm, although tours of the house are only given on Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, so plan accordingly.  Beginning at 10:00, 11:00, 1:00, 2:00, 3:00, and 4:00, the tours take guests around to the front of the house and through all of the rooms and porches.

Nancy, a self-described snowbird, was the guide this morning.  She was a wonderful story teller and was open to chatting about Marjorie and the history of Florida in the 1930s and 1940s.  The interior of Marjorie's home was just as I expected it to be: charmingly decorated, flooded with warm Florida light, and engulfed in the sweet, familiar scent of orange blossoms.  It was perfect.  My $3 detour was excellent; I highly recommend visiting the MKR Historic State Park.

I thought that I would be able to take photos of the interior, but cameras are not allowed. 

These are the pictures that I took before I was told of the rule.



Because I am currently unable to run on trails, I did not pack my running shoes.  I am sure that I will revisit to the park when I am healthy so that I can explore the paths on the property.  Nancy believes that there are about two miles of trails.  The surrounding area is just as beautiful as Marjorie described, so you could easily get in a scenic long run while visiting Cross Creek. 

I still had a few hours of driving ahead of me, so I decided to save the visit to Marjorie’s gravesite for another trip.  I look forward to returning to this little piece of old Florida.