St Augustine, Florida
What better place to spend my 50th
birthday than at the Fountain of Youth.
I wanted a grand adventure, something exciting and special that would
help me to feel young and daring when hitting the mid century mark, and I began
dreaming of exotic locations over a year ago.
Unfortunately the dream trips to Europe, Finland and or Peru and
Argentina were beyond my reach. After
trying to work out a visit to Costa Rica or even a simple visit to Montana for
hiking, I gave up. I was sure I was
going to turn 50 in a movie theater or a shopping mall. But at the last minute my dear husband
suggested a camping trip to the Florida Keys.
I was thrilled.
On my birthday we started the trip,
and our first destination was St. Augustine, Florida. I usually am not interested in touristy
attractions, but I couldn’t pass up a chance to drink from the “Fountain of Youth” on the day I turned
50. We paid our admission, late in the
day, and walked through the park. Our
first stop was at the fountain; a natural spring that we were told had provided
water for the local Indian tribes. I
waited in line, took a plastic cup from a provided stack and collected a full
glass of the water. My husband snapped a
photo of me drinking, while my kids looked embarrassed. The water was awful, horrible, and foul. It had a sulfur taste to it, along with the
salty beach water flavor. I decided it
was better to grow old, and I poured out the rest of the magic elixir.
We moved on to a demonstration of
the matchlock gun that had been used by the early Spanish soldiers. A historian taught us how the gun
worked. A matchlock is a complicated
machine, using a soaked cord and a small covered pan filled with
gunpowder. It is safer than a flintlock
if the shooter followed all the correct steps in the right order. I couldn’t
imagine following all the steps carefully in the heat of battle. He lit the
soaked rope, spoke all his commands in Spanish, struck flint and shot the
rifle, with a loud bang and a blast of smoke.
Peacocks strutted all over the grounds, beautiful but annoying birds
with strange calls. The historian wanted
with all his heart to have just a little ammo in the gun, to take out the
birds.
After walking the grounds we made
our way to the cannon demonstration, shadowed by dark and heavy clouds. Thunder rolled, the sky darkened and a man
dressed in red wool covered the cannon with a tarp. He shook his head at us, and pointed to the
sky. At that point rain began to fall,
and we ran quickly to a covered pavilion, entering just in time. The sound of the rain, the hot air, and the
giggles of those of us that were dry together made me feel like I was in
another world. The rain was beautiful to
watch, and at first cooled the air, but soon the humidity and heat returned.
Of course the visit was fun, and
the pictures of the marsh and harbor were beautiful, but the history left a
little to be desired. It was Ponce de
Leon who supposedly searched for the Fountain of Youth, and yet he never
actually set foot in St. Augustine. He
was an explorer, and searcher of gold, but not really interested in a myth. He
landed on the banks of Florida near Daytona Beach, in 1513, years before the
pilgrims had reached our shores.
In the study of history we have to
trust our sources, we have to know whether the things written were actually intended
to be taken as pure history or as fanciful story telling. I recently read the book “A Voyage Long and
Strange’” by Tony Horowitz. He wrote of
the Spanish settlements and explorations, and he visited many of the places,
writing as a travelogue. He uses travel
as a method of introducing history and geography, much like many of us like to
do as we travel. Part of visiting a
place is learning the history, walking in the steps of famous people and seeing
where momentous actions took place that affect the present. Unfortunately we have to be careful of what
we accept as truth, like with anything.
The local Indians of St. Augustine
were the Timucuan Indians, and it had been rumored by the French explorers that
these Indians had lived up to 250 years, and that they were taller than
normal. Of course, their true history
disappeared as these Indians died out from disease and mistreatment. The tourist attraction we enjoyed was mostly
focused on the fountain, a giant globe, the peacocks and the gun and cannons,
but a small section had been devoted to the Indian remains that had been found
on the property.
That night we found a KOA just
across the bridge from downtown, and selected an air-conditioned camping cabin.
These cabins are small, usually come with one large bed and a set of bunk beds. The “campers” bring sheets or sleeping bags,
but the most important thing was the air conditioner. The
heat was stifling, and we just couldn’t imagine tent camping. For supper we drove to the beach and selected
a tiny restaurant that had only three indoor tables, and maybe the same number
outside, where we enjoyed a good seafood dinner. We walked along the beach and the pier, watching
the rough waves. Surfers were having
good luck, but swimming was tough. The
shore dipped down where the surf had eroded it away. Walking with just my feet in the water, a
wave washed over my knees, hit the rounded shore and bounced back over my
stomach, drenching me.
The moon was full, and lovely over
the water. We walked out on the pier
after dark, watched kids playing on the sand with glow sticks, and for a few
minutes we sat with the serious fishermen who were set up for the night.
In the morning we ate our breakfast
on our little porch looking over the tiny campground pond. I saw a long necked bird swimming, his entire
body under water. The head looked a
little like a snake, and as we were watching, he tossed up and swallowed a
minnow. This was the snakebird, or
anhinga.
We stopped at the Castillo de San
Marco and explored under the burning sun.
After missing the cannon demonstration yesterday we hurried to see the
forts version. Several cannon were aimed
at the harbor filled with sail boats. A
group of men marched past us in heavy hot wool coats, again shouting their
instructions in Spanish.
The cannons fired, and wads of
bread showered over the harbor waters.
In touring the fort I learned a lot about Florida’s history, things I
either never really knew or had forgotten. Pedro Menendez landed with his ships
at St Augustine in 1565, and claimed la Florida for Spain. After the French and Indian war Spain ceded
Florida to Great Britain, and then regained the state after the Revolutionary
War. In 1812 Americans living in Spanish
Florida and in Georgia started a revolt, planning to add Florida back to the
United States. They captured St. Augustine, but lost it when the Seminole
Indians stepped in to help the Spanish.
Later, in 1821, Spain signed a treaty giving the state to the United
States and the fort was renamed Fort Marion.
During the Civil War the fort was first captured by Confederates and
then taken by the Union. Only recently
has the fort been renamed Castillo de San Marco.
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