Brought to you by Peanut.org
Copyright © 1999 by Michael Segers, all rights reserved
Georgia’s neighbor to the south remains one of the most popular states for tourists from the rest of the United States as well as from other countries. For many of those tourists, there are two attractions that account for that. One is a mysterious critter with distinctive round ears on his head, and the other is grainy white stuff at the edge of the ocean. Sorry, I don’t like rodents or sand either, but our sunny southern neighbor still attracts me.
If you’ve read more than a column or two in this series (I keep referring to my mother, don’t I?), you may suspect that I’m just as quirky as my writing. The truth is, I like places in Florida that contrast with its image as a hustling, bustling state of mindless entertainment and serious cultivation of skin cancer. I’m going to make a real sacrifice this time by sharing with you information on two of my favorite get-away spots in Florida. The sacrifice is that they may end up as crowded as that place with the big cheese-eater, nameless here forevermore.
I-4 is one of the busiest roads cutting across the Florida peninsula, and for years, it has been made even worse by constant construction. Natives will go to great lengths to avoid it whenever possible. If, however, you find yourself driving west on it, from Orlando (for whatever reason you may go there) to the cigars, Cuban sandwiches, and grainy white stuff around Tampa and St. Pete, just as you pass Plant City, Florida’s Strawberry Capital (they couldn’t have a Peanut Capital, so they did their best), you see…
…there, on your right… a dinosaur! By the time you see him, you’ve driven past exit 10, so go on down to exit 9, turn around, and head into the deep, dark past at Dinosaur World. Billed as the "World’s Largest Dinosaur Attraction," Dinosaur World is an open-air dinosaur museum with over a hundred life-size fiberglass dinosaur models intriguingly displayed in a lush, almost wild jungle of sub-tropical greenery.
This is not Jurassic Park, full of lean, mean killing machines. These dinosaurs are kid-friendly. No roars, no screams—besides, no one knows if the dinosaurs made sounds. But then, these dinosaurs are not the dull grayish green beasts that I loved in the Fifties. Looking at living reptiles and birds (the closest living relatives of dinosaurs), modern scientists try to determine how color would have functioned for the dinosaurs, and these models are based on the latest research and thinking about the big lizards, which, by the way, aren’t lizards anymore.
There is a museum with a small collection of fossils—best of all, real dinosaur eggs. This is not something you hear very often about vacation sites, but you must go to the restroom, where you’ll find an unexpected gallery of dinosaur art. The gift shop has dinosaur items ranging from twenty-five cents to seven hundred fifty dollars.
The park has no food service, but it does have a covered picnic area. A mile or so away is a legendary old southern style restaurant, the Branch Ranch. There you can get dinosaur-sized portions of food like your mother cooks—at least, my mother cooks, when she’s not reading my columns. Back at exit 9, you can enjoy (?) a variety of fast food restaurants.
While the Swedish family who owns and operates the park welcomes tourists, they stress their commitment to the communities of the Tampa Bay area, its families, and its schools. They recently hosted over four hundred people for a teacher appreciation day, and they have a veteran teacher on staff to coordinate activities with area schools.
In case I am ever nominated Secretary of Paleontology, I don’t want any rumors of conflict of interest, so let me confess that I am that teacher. I work at Dinosaur World… if I can call it work. The truth is, every morning, when I pet the little (about twelve foot) dinosaur that guards the gate, I take a step back in time. Of course, I’m journeying back to the distant days of the dinosaurs, but I’m also stepping back to the almost as distant days when I was the dinosaur-crazed kid that I host on field trips now.
Another step into another past is on central Florida’s Gulf coast, the "Nature Coast." As you take US 19, you won’t see many rodents, but you will see signs warning you about the few remaining Florida black bears. At Old Town or Otter Creek, head for the Gulf. You’ll go back to a time when Georgia and Florida alike were much less developed than they are now.
A pleasant surprise for Worth County folks is that you’ll pass through Sumner. To link to the movie interests of these columns, you’ll also pass through Rosewood, where the massacre in the movie of that title took place. I even remember a reference to Cedar Key, our destination.
And then, you catch the whiff of the tidal flats, the distinct aroma you may recognize from the Marshes of Glynn. It always whisks me away to visions of salt water, great old architecture, and fantastic food. Ahoy, matey! And so, we cross to the main island. To the right, is the residential section of town, to the left is the commercial district, such as it is.
On the Dock is a strip of buildings that look old but aren’t—they replaced a stretch of buildings that were wiped out a few years ago in a hurricane. (The joys of life on an island!) For a block or two, you can alternate among various restaurants, shops, a few offices. Pelicans and herons hold court on the fishing pier, waiting for handouts—either unwanted catches or unused bait. Other businesses in town include art galleries, a charming little tea room, and a book shop which used to advertise itself as the only book shop in the world that sold clams. Now, they’ve abandoned bivalves for a few more copies of John Grisham.
Clams is trumps on Cedar Key now, where the net doesn’t involve computers. A few years ago, the commercial net fishing on which the town’s economy was based was outlawed. Many residents turned to clam farming. If you are lucky, you may strike up a conversation about planting and harvesting, but we aren’t talking peanuts here.
In fact, one of the three great attractions of Cedar Key are the people. I’ve spoken with folks in their eighties who have lived on the island most of their lives. It is amazing how many stories such a small island can hold.
And, the other two attractions are the primitive beauty of the natural surroundings—check out the wildlife preserve on the way into town (if you have a four-wheel drive)—as well as the simple beauty of the architecture. Cedar Key looks like a cross between a western ghost town and a New England village, complete with widow’s walks.
The last attraction, but by no means the least, at least for me, is the food. Seafood, to be specific, and you will see seafood. You mustn’t hurt the pride of the locals, so try the clams in any of their incarnations. Then, there is one of the strangest-sounding foods you’ll ever dread the first time you try it, but will want to have again soon—heart of palm salad. Cut fresh daily from the swamp cabbage palms, the hearts of palm are tossed with canned fruit, dates, and salad greens, and topped with scoops of green peanut butter ice cream or is it frozen dressing? Dessert? Salad? Dessert? Who cares? If you don’t want yours, I’ll help you get rid of it. Just promise to read my next column—on indigestion?
Cedar Key is a great place to visit, and ever since I discovered it five years ago, I’ve been trying to figure out how to live there. But, like other areas quaint in their isolation—the eastern shore of Virginia, for instance—Cedar Key is a great place to retire, to live with an income, but it is not much of a place to earn a living. It’s not the kind of place where the young people can stay, certainly not a place where they can come back after college, no matter how much they may want to.
About the only chance for the economy of Cedar Key is development of its potential for tourism. Yet, as it becomes more tourist-y, it loses those characteristics that make tourists (at least this committed anti-tourist) committed to it. The city park, on the water’s edge, now sports a strip of white grainy stuff, although I used to rejoice that Cedar Key did not have a—oops, I am determined to finish this article on Florida tourism with no reference to the b-word.
While the locals, with some great local leadership and a surprisingly literate voice in the little weekly newspaper, struggle to resolve the daunting problems of the Key, we outsiders can take bitter advantage of their problems and enjoy a surprising range of hotels and restaurants.
So, the next time the moon stirs up your blood, and you feel a need to rove and rave, get off the beaten paths. Georgia has many great little overlooked jewels—the nearby Agrirama, FDR’s Little White House, quite a few native American sites, and the always splendid Golden Isles. There are many other places in Florida as well: Micanopy, known for antiques shops and a strip bar; St. Petersburg’s Dali Museum, with the largest collection of Salvador Dali works in the world; and Cassadega, a village with an economy based on psychic phenomena.
Keep your head high, your feet dry, and your feet full of noble thoughts. And don’t forget the folks at home. Just this week, I got a postcard from a friend of mine who was visiting Bora Bora. Yes, readers, readers, there really is such a place. And, if you can’t rove any further than your computer, here are some pleasant places to visit. Dinosaur World is on the web, as are Cedar Key's, local newspaper and Chamber of Commerce.