Doing nothing is better than being busy doing nothing.
--Lao Tzu
Today was a day of no adventures, a day of doing nothing. I’m staying in a town called Titusville (yes,
that’s the real name) which is near Port Canaveral, Florida. I found a spot in an enchanting little park
with the comical name of Manatee Hammock Campground. At first I pictured an actual manatee
swinging peacefully in a hammock, but then I found out that “hammock” simply
means a grove of trees. Manatee Hammock,
Rattlesnake Hammock, and amusingly Banana Hammock (that really exists in Fort
Pierce, Florida).
No manatees in hammocks, but a lot of shady trees here |
But enough of the childish humor in funny names; I’m making
my way up the eastern coast of Florida and found this beautiful park to stop
in. Originally I chose this spot because
I was considering going to the Kennedy Space Center which is just across the
water from Manatee Hammock, but when I arrived here I decided a day of nothing
would be an excellent adventure of it’s own for a change. It’s a very peaceful environment here: a tall canopy of trees shades the campground
and it’s right on the shores of the Indian River. The trees are apparently full of cicadas or
other singing insects, and they fill the air with a constant, almost electric-sounding
buzz. I know that sounds like it might
be an annoying noise, especially since it continues non-stop all day long, but
it really isn’t. They create almost a hypnotic
background hum that is loud enough that it drowns out any noise from the road
or other people in the campground, but it’s quiet enough that it’s not
overbearing and is actually a bit soothing.
If I could bottle up the essence of this place it would make an
excellent product to sell to people that live in the hustle and bustle of big
cities, or even or someone who just wanted to slow their life down a bit.
That's not his tongue! |
I set my folding chair up outside my van and was able to
finish Travels with Charley in
between a couple of small naps. There were an amazing amount of critters that
kept me company while I was reading and napping. Little lizards kept scampering through the
leaves on the ground and jumping up onto the picnic table. They’d run for several inches, then stop and
puff their necks into brilliant red and yellow balloons, and then run
again. Squirrels chased each other
through the branches in the treetops above me, while a few hawks swooped down
into the campground. I think the
squirrels took note and they’d race into thick patches of leaves or into holes
in the ground when the hawk would fly through.
Out on the water, giant blue herons hunted for fish. They’d stand like
statues in the shallow edges of the river with the water halfway up their long
legs. Their heads would turn slowly, and
then suddenly lunge forward into the water, sometimes returning with a fish in
their beak. There also were some funny, stout white birds
with long, curved orange bills that wandered the campground. They looked
similar to the sand pipers I see at Pismo Beach, but they were a bit larger and
fatter. None of the animals seemed to
take particular notice of me—I think they were pretty used to people being
about.
I like the way the sun caught this cloud in the evening |
It ended up being a nice relaxing and sleepy day. Without any adventures I thought it would
pass slowly, but somehow it slipped away and before I knew it, it was evening
again. Tomorrow I’m heading a bit farther north to
Fernandina Beach. From there I was
planning to start making my way back west, taking a southerly route through
Missouri, Louisiana, and Texas but all the storms and flooding in that area
have got me rethinking my route. I
suppose I still have a few days to figure it out, but perhaps I’ll head up the
east coast a little bit more and see what happens to the weather in the south
in the meantime. Until then, I have a
few more hours left to do nothing.
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