Nature to the rescue, bugs included: We need the outdoor therapy in contentious 2024 | Opinion
A first-responder friend soothes his PTSD by frequenting a favorite “naturist” resort upstate.
Me, I keep my clothes on, smear bug spray and head to the Florida Everglades to commune with nature.
From one spectacular sunrise to another, I shed stress walking trails, hopping on a boat tour of the Florida Bay islands or of backcountry mangroves. And I solo kayak for a up-close view of wading birds, root systems and whatever creature makes an appearance.
During the 2024 presidential election, appreciating natural spaces that evoke peace has become a mental health necessity. It’s restorative therapy without the hourly charge.
A recent visit to Everglades National Park confirmed what I’ve known since I joined the Earth Club as a student at the University of Florida: Spending time outdoors is uplifting, soothing and life-affirming. We’re lucky to live in a state that has a diversity of state and national parks, rivers, springs and lakes, unique plant and wildlife refuges to experience — and also imagine Florida in its native state.
While we still can.
Never underestimate the greedy, all too happy to profit from paving every corner of paradise. Development is fast encroaching and soon, in the name of building “affordable” housing priced at more than $300,000 for a townhome and half a million for a house, the southeast entrance to the Everglades’ popular Flamingo Park will be traffic-choked.
But let me return to the positive lane while I can.
To visit the Everglades, preferably during mild-weather months, is to step inside a one-of-a-kind ecosystem of subtropical wetlands. To stay overnight, away from city lights, and gaze at a clear sky adorned by a million stars and bright planets, humbles one.
We are all, even presidential contenders, a speck of dust in the universe.
The feeling of being insignificant comforts me, although we know it would upset you-know-who. Outsized egos aren’t a fit for places like this, more suited to romantics who appreciate the priceless sun setting behind the mangroves of Florida Bay. And those who care that endangered smalltooth sawfish are spinning, thrashing and dying for mysterious reasons.
READ MORE: A very rare fish is dying in the Keys. Scientists are struggling to find out why
Lessons & thrills
No matter how often I venture out to the Everglades, there’s always something new.
Nature doesn’t follow a script.
Last year, Florida politics-weary, I came to try “glamping” at the new eco-tents at Flamingo Park, big and sturdy enough to hold two beds, a night stand and director-style chairs. Communal bathrooms and showers are nearby. Ruggedness with style.
Late this February, I stayed at Flamingo Lodge, the newly-built hotel made from shipping containers, and I adored my quaint but pricey room overlooking Florida Bay. It took weeks of checking for availability on the website to finally land one, and when I got there, I learned why I had finally succeeded.
Others had canceled. A pipe broke and there was no water in the area, a reminder that, despite modern conveniences, you’re still in a fragile landscape. There was no returning to reality for me. I had brought enough water with me. I chose to stay, and the next day, water service returned, albeit with a boil alert.
READ MORE: More sunrises, more stars. Staying overnight in the Everglades at the new Flamingo Lodge
Unlike politics, in nature, I go with the flow — and any problems easily roll off of me. So does stress and the slow burn of sadness that comes with the state of the world.
The wildlife show never disappoints.
The predictable, monogamous ospreys nest in the same spots every year, on top of a marina tower and perched on a tree across from the eco-tent bathrooms.
At the marina, hungry offspring — two eggs hatched this year — uncontrollably squeak and the father flies off to fish for breakfast. He brings something the mother apparently doesn’t like and she swats it off his beak. Off he goes, to try again.
Good man.
Fishing for jumping mullet and tarpon is a hard job. There’s a lazy bald eagle perched on one of the Florida Bay islands that steals fish from the osprey.
Then, there are the gentle manatees in plain view, who I’m told feel safe and provided for in the no-wake zone of the marina basin.
But guess who else feels pretty comfortable there?
“Old Snaggletooth” the crocodile, about 20 years old and huge, and a younger partner who seems attached at the hip.
I come upon them sunning on the dock near the place where I’m supposed to return my rented kayak.
People are gathered around taking pictures — and, excited to capture it all from my vantage point on the water, I forget the rule: Stay 15 feet away from such creatures.
Luckily, they’re in a deep slumber and don’t give a damn.
The human touch
Humans seem to be at their friendly-best in the wild, too.
I came upon motorcycle-riding Dean from Seattle who, sold on no state taxes and conservative politics, moved to this southern tip of Florida.
I’m walking to the campground to get the lay of the land to rough it in my new tent on my next trip. He’s riding slow, chatting with people photographing the osprey nest. With people nearby, I bum a ride, and with permission from staff, he gives me a tour.
People know him; they wave. He hangs around here socializing with RVers and campers. Despite our different points of view, we respectfully and briefly chat about U.S. east coast-west coast politics.
Then, comes a true thrill.
We’re about to leave, when it’s not a car we brake for at the stop sign.
It’s a rattlesnake crossing the road!
Oh, wild Florida!
