Wildflower Pond, Day 21

March 24. Day 21

I was feeling anxiety about towing Pearl today after yesterday’s adventure. I lay in bed last night trying to fall asleep, hearing the words of people who’d said I was foolish to do this trip alone running through my brain on a repeat loop.

I woke before the sun, went for a walk. It was beautiful.

“It’s too dangerous. It’s too much work for a woman your age. It’s too far. What if something bad happens?  What if….”

Well, something kind of bad did, indeed, happen yesterday. But I got through it. With the help of friends made in a matter of minutes. Or hours, in the case of Scott, the repairman. And while I had no intention of spending the night in a motel in Venice, it turned out to be fine.

I know other things will happen. I am choosing to trust that I’ll get through those, too.

I spent a full hour this morning meditating, giving thanks, visualizing a pilgrimage that will bring no harm to anyone else. Or me.  Then, I ate breakfast, did morning ablutions, braved the day.

The first thing I did after hooking up the chains and brakes, testing the system, and studying a map of the day’s route, was drive into an empty parking lot and practice backing up.  Over and over, until I’d like to say I felt confident.

But I’m going to need more practice.  It’s really a two- person job backing into tight spaces. One driver, one to give hand signals. I’ll keep at it, though, and in the meantime, be grateful for large enough areas to either pull through or cut a circle.

I took Highway 41 for about a half hour to gain some confidence. And make sure everything is working properly. This meant a lot of stop and start at lights and such. Which gave me a good sense of the weight I’m pulling and how to gauge time needed.

Finally, I hit i-75. As bad as I remembered. These south Florida roads are in terrible shape. If they’re still making repairs because of hurricanes, they are working mighty slow.

Ruts, pot holes, lanes ending abruptly, no shoulders, merging lanes coming together at high speeds. I stayed in the right lane. Kept my own speed to 58. Which did not win me any friends.

Even so, it was knuckle whitening all the way to Tampa. Busy, fast,

drivers switching without signaling—at 75-80 mph. Right before St. Pete, high winds came up, which created a sound behind me I hadn’t heard. I figured out it was the wind about the same moment a gust rocked me. I dropped down another 10 miles per hour, which solved the problem.

I needed a break. It had been one hour and I wanted to feel ready for the impending congestion of the Tampa Bay area.  I negotiated a smooth exit, went into a McDonalds to use their toilet, walked around the parking lot for ten minutes.

Back on the road, I did feel less neck tension, plus my grip relaxed. I made it through Tampa, drove another hour. Stopped at a rest stop. Parked with the big rigs. That was fun. The drivers were friendly and seemed to enjoy the sight of Pearl.

More walking. I grabbed an apple from my supplies to reward myself and boost my blood sugar.

South of Ocala I noticed blackening skies ahead. Sure enough, a few drops turned into a steady rain. Thunderstorms over Gainesville ahead of me. I wondered if I’d need to pull over even as the wind increased with the size of the drops.

I was saved by some kind of traffic event which stopped all three lanes.  I sent up a quick prayer for the safety of all involved.  We stopped, started, crept forward for the next half hour or so, by which time, the storm wore itself out.

As I turned off onto the exit to Alachua, it was blue sky again. Albeit, with wet roads and some minor flooding along the sides.  I was happy to be driving the next 20 miles to my destination, Wildflower Farm, along quiet county roads bordered by massive, moss draped Oaks fronting dense fields of Pine.

The last three miles were badly washboarded sand. The kind I remember from life in Wesley Chapel. The kind which forces you down to 5 miles per hour.

Pearl was bucking even at that speed, which worried me, so I slowed even more. I crept along at 3 miles per hour, keeping my windows open so I could smell the fresh air.  Several butterflies checked me out, which I would have missed at a higher speed. Look for the positives.

Wildflower Farm is a lovely 45-acre farm with a year-round pond, which I am set up beside. They put in electric for their family members to come, then decided to add a composting toilet and outside shower, then decided to list it on Hipcamp. Which is where I found it.

If there weren’t a house being built directly across the pond from me–screeching of saw, pounding of nails, loud, jolly Mexican music at full volume for the workers, it would be the peaceful place I was hoping to find.

I sent a text to the host, thanking them for the lovely space. I then added, “By the way, you forgot to mention the construction. Do you know what time they begin in the morning and when they might end in the evening?”

She said she didn’t know.  Was sorry. Would bring by a gift to try to make up for it.

An hour later, her father arrived on a 4 x 4. Tim.

Tim looks to be in his early fifties. Very fit farmer. Handsome, with sandy hair, blue eyes crinkled with smile lines.  He had a dozen fresh eggs for me. Blue Aruacana, brown something. Still covered with the bloom, which means they’ll hold up better without refrigeration.

He explained it was his sister’s house being built. The entire family is going to be living on this farm/compound to “weather the coming times,” he told me solemnly.

Tim was solicitous, expressed sympathy about my hitch adventure, said, “if you need anything at all, just shoot a text. I’ll take care of you.”

I laughed at the thoughts his words conjured.

As I write this, the humidity is dropping because so is the temperature.  But the mosquitoes began hatching out today, according to Tim.  And sure enough, after sitting outside reading, serving as buffet for an hour, I’ve retreated inside Pearl, where it’s cozy.  I have all the windows open (they’re screened) and the door (also screened) and the workers have packed up for the night.

I’m about to make some dinner, then read some more, serenaded by the birds who seem to be as pleased as me at the cessation of noise.

—

Morning came early.  A strange, sorrowful dream involving ghosts and starving cats, David as a little boy heartbroken. I came awake to the low call of mourning doves. Fitting.

I made my way to the tidy little composting outhouse Tim built. Very pleasant inside.

No smell at all. This quirky print is on the wall.

I decided to use the handy sink area to wash some underthings.   

I may take advantage of the outside shower even though the water is not heated. Tim explained that the well water had been tested and is potable. I brought along a filter so I’ll still filter it, but how nice to have the ability to refill my containers.

I made my coffee, ate some fresh fruit and a muffin, drank a glass of water.  Wandered the field awhile, looking for the wildflowers the place is named after.

I think it’s still a bit early in the season because these were the only ones in bloom.

But the trees are lovely.

This is the view from my camping area.

That pond there in the middle is actually kind of low.

This is the view of my camping area from across the pond.

I wanted to spend my first couple of nights in Pearl at a place where I can test my systems before heading off into the Apalachicola Wilderness tomorrow. So far so good. My wifi hot spot works, which I don’t think it will for the next week. Despite the construction, this seems a good choice.

The breeze is gentle, butterflies come and go, goats are singing across the way. Some wind chimes dance me into gratitude.