Month: March 2017

We took a drive last weekend and while looking for a particular road sign I wondered where some of these streets got their names and what was going through the minds of the people who named them. For instance, Rattlesnake Hammock! Here in the southeast the word hammock is given to a stand of trees that is in contrast to the surrounding ecosystem, so I have visions of rattlesnakes either hanging from these trees or infesting the ground around them. You don’t need a road to meander through that type of hammock! What you need is a sign, “Warning, Rattlesnake Hammock”

We have Radio Road, which I thought was pretty cool. It drives right into the airport, so I figured it had to do with radioing the airport tower. Nope! It was actually home to Naples’ first radio station. A functional moniker, not an exotic one.

Then there are the roads that have hyphenated names. We have a couple. Goodlette-Frank, named for once upon a time county commissioner Richard Goodlette, and Ed Frank, a businessman who started the famous swamp buggy races. I wonder if Frank ever feels slighted, because nobody takes the time to say, “Goodlette-Frank”, simply calling it Goodlette? Then there is Airport-Pulling. Obviously the airport is on Airport Road, but Pulling was added later to honor a major land investor by that name. Seriously? Reminds me of how often ballparks change their names based on who pays the most money to have it named after them. Airport-Pulling goes the way of Goodlette-Frank, and everyone just calls it, “Airport”. So much for feeling important.

We have Pine Ridge Road and for anyone familiar with the state of Florida you know there isn’t a ridge to be seen anywhere on the peninsula, but I can’t vouch for the panhandle. Neapolitan Way always leaves me craving ice cream. Go figure! And we all know who lives on Wisconsin Drive and Yorktown Road….snowbirds!

Here’s my all-time favorite, No Name Street! How awesome is that! What, just ran out of creativity? No more names came to mind? I mean, you have to draw the line somewhere and apparently it was at this poor street. Sorry, no name for you!

In La Plata County, where we came from, they have twelve roads named Aspen, seven Oak, five Columbine, five Cottonwood, and three Bear Creek. Good luck UPS and Fed-X. If your mail gets delivered to the wrong address, you have only yourselves to blame! Someone get them a flora and fauna book so they can branch out !

There lacks a certain creativity when roads are numbers instead of names. Are those people boring, or just too busy to be bothered? Then there are those towns that are just way too creative. They can’t settle on one name, so instead they choose two for the same road, like Poinciana Drive if you’re on the west side of Airport or Grey Oaks Blvd if you’re on the east side. Better yet is Horseshoe Dr. N and Horseshoe Dr. S, because Horseshoe Drive really is a horseshoe. It’s almost like we’re testing people to see if they get lost!

So, what’s in a name? Everything! Great names are remembered! They fire the imagination, make you laugh, wonder, roll your eyes, and sometimes roll your tongue trying to pronounce it.  You see shadows of people long past, brainstorming the perfect name like Tamiami Trail, Alligator Alley, and yes…Rattlesnake Hammock.

Last weekend Kim & I decided to go hunting for Megalodon teeth on the Peace River. Megalodon is the prehistoric ancestor to our modern-day Great White Shark, though some scientist think it was more closely related to the Mako. I’m not a fan of swimming with any sharks, don’t really care who they’re related to, but this great granddaddy of whomever would keep me far from any water outside a swimming pool, or bathtub.

Megalodon lived 23 to 2.3 million years ago and measured upwards of 60 feet!  The largest tooth ever found is just over 7 inches. A Great White, by comparison, can be as large as 20 feet and the largest tooth found measured just under 3 inches. Get the picture? Big and much, much bigger! Now, to find us one of those 7 inch teeth!

Mariah and Dusty were onboard. The spot we were seeking on the Peace River was only about an hour from their house. We piled into the truck, off on an adventure that started by spotting two bald eagles hanging out in their nests. The GPS guided us off the highway in search of running water. I’ve talked about the need for paper maps before in another post, and this time was no different, because it didn’t take long for modern technology to lead us to nowhere! We got turned around and guided ourselves, by our own sense of direction, and it wasn’t long before the GPS guidance system caught up with us. Sure hope our military has access to a more sophisticated satellite!

Finding what we were looking for, we set off for the water with shovel in hand. We needed a sifter, but not being able to locate one to purchase, employed Yankee ingenuity and built our own out of wire, 2 sticks and zip ties. Not pretty , but it worked. Mariah turned to me at the river’s edge and said, “You know, if this was Colorado we would be thinking right now about how cold this water is going to be. Instead, here in Florida we’re scanning the water and the shore wondering if we’re going to be lunch!” Alligators had been on my mind too, but the water was shallow and very clear. The banks were open, and though alligators might find them attractive for sunning, at least we would be able to see them. There were also a fair number of other tooth hunters nearby, and if ever there was a time for safety in numbers this was it! Our reasoning may be erroneous, but it resonated well. Yet to be sure, we were careful to maintain situational awareness and not get too wrapped up in the hunt.

We scored several fossils, some identified, some not, all interesting. We claimed three shark’s teeth, but small in nature and way too small to be even a Megalodon baby. It didn’t matter, they only served to stoke tooth fever! Kim’s sandals blew out, leaving him in the middle of the river with nothing but flapping soles and frayed webbing strapped to his ankles, virtually barefoot! The constant bending over, scooping sand and gravel, and crouched sifting left our legs and backs sore from the effort. My neck is still aching from a day’s worth of looking down into the river. Totally worth it! Megalodon had eluded us, but we’ll are already planning our return. The hunt is on!

Twice a year, in the wee hours of the morning between Saturday and Sunday, most of the country changes their clocks by one hour. Forward in the spring, backward in the fall. The trickiest part sometimes is remembering which way you’re going. There can be a lot of grumbling over this exercise, but we get ‘er done, and within a week all is forgotten and life resumes as if nothing ever happened.

70 countries around the world and every state in the U.S. participate in Daylight Savings Time, with the exception of Arizona and Hawaii, because they like to march to the beat of their own drum. Within Arizona there are exceptions to the exception. The Navajo Nation, most of which lies within the borders of Arizona, chooses to observe DST, but the Hopi Nation, which is completely surrounded by the Navajo Nation, does not. Which means that in one state there is a time zone, within a time zone, within a time zone. Confused yet?

Technically you can’t save daylight, whether you change your clock or not. We can just control which specific hours of the day enjoy natural light. There are people who hate the time change and others who embrace it, but love it or hate it, what most struggle with is the adjustment. I think the best way to deal with the malaise is to stop converting! We spring forward and when the alarm sounds in the morning at 6:00 we say, “But it’s really 5:00! Ugh!” In the evening we note that the clock reads 10:00, but say, “It’s really 9:00, so I can stay up another hour”, which is why at 6:00 a.m. you are back to “Ugh!”

We treat Daylight Savings Time like the metric system. When I was in elementary school somebody decided that it would be a good idea if we learned how to use metric. Their nefarious goal may have been for a complete conversion, but it never really caught on. We Americans like our feet and inches and when we’re faced with a kilometer, or celsius we want to know what that means in miles and fahrenheit. However, there are several professions that use metric or other forms of measurement. My son, the pilot, uses centigrade, nautical miles, and knots. My son-in-law, the paramedic, uses milligrams and kilograms, but what they don’t do is convert. They use the measurement as is, without changing it to what we’re familiar with. Therefore it’s normal and natural to them. Right now it’s 3:00. Just 3:00, not “really” 2:00!