I returned to the LMRCNP in October of 2025. The lot had some tinsel or something among the grass. This was the first warning.

Much further, I saw something bright and pink bobbing behind some palmetto. When I rounded the corner, I saw a balloon monster. This was the second warning.

Later, I saw some pretty purple flower spikes in the sun. This was the third warning.

Getting tired, I looped back to the car. That’s when I saw something else shiny – something thinner than tinsel glinting in the sun – something twenty feet across blocking the entire path. Inside this matrix of light sat a balloon-like monster that quickly rose up into the sky, getting bigger and bigger as it did. What did I almost walk into?

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I finally visited the LMRCNP (LMCP sounds better) in February of 2024. The adventure began in trying to find the place. The parking lot is hard to find. It is hidden by trees and looks so much like so many of the private driveways and farm access gates in the area. There is a covered plaque by the start of the trail, but no sign by the road. Apple’s map app shows the entry point much further south where there is a closed (and unmarked) gate. I almost gave up.

I spent three hours walking the mowed trails among the palmetto. I did not see much. It was nice, but boring. It was quiet and sunny. There were some yellow flowers. I kept smelling hot wax. Someone was burning something somewhere. In the third photo, there is a very distant structure that might be a silo or crane. I didn’t bring binoculars, unfortunately.

The signs encourage people to travel in one direction around the loops and at the entry and exit points. Why? Does this limit the spread of viruses, or is the park management dabbling in widdershins?

There are also side trails (both marked and unmarked) not on the map. I didn’t have time for these. Where do they go?

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If you like this blog, be sure to explore my SubStack ChartingPossibilities, where I post thoughts on science, philosophy, and culture, plus excerpts from my many published books, my YouTube channel WayOutDan, where I post weird stories from my life, my science fiction series ChampionOfTheCosmos, and my xenobiology field guide FloraAndFaunaOfTheUniverse. You can support me by buying my books, or tipping me at BuyMeACoffee.

I left early in the morning and arrived at Hardee Lakes before ten. It was clear and cool with no wind or bugs. Of course I took the trails first, but before I entered the woods, a very fat hawk landed on a branch barely thirty feet from me.

The trails weren’t that special, but they were very quiet. I only heard the rare bird, including one that sounded just like a squeaky wheel. Then again, since the trail is shared with horses and bicycles, maybe it was the ghost of a bicycle from long ago…

I took a side trail with puddles in it for a ways until I started hearing noises all around me. I wasn’t sure whether to retreat or if that option had already been cut off. I went just a bit further and saw deer. I decided I had gone far enough and wanted to see what else was in the park.

Eventually, I exited the woods near the campground and walked back to the car. It struck me just how much open space there was. Fields are everywhere. I saw what might have been a bald eagle at great distance.

Once back in the car, I drove to the northern lakes and stopped where I took the top picture. I watched an alligator swim back and forth. It was very quiet. It was very calm. The water color was interesting. Then I went home. I had errands to run.

There was one theme that tied up the day: emptiness. The fields, the lakes, the lack of clouds, and the space between trees in some spots of the forest all supported this theme. Even the parking lot stones were full of holes. That’s what I took with me. Emptiness. Hmmm…Better stop at Taco Bell before I do my errands.

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This place is simple, but almost perfect. The forest is very thin, allowing long distances to be seen. It was completely silent, except for the few times there was loud rushing wind in the treetops. It helped a lot that it was cloudy and mid-sixties (Fahrenheit).

Many trees had burn marks, making me think I was seeing gorillas, panthers, and black bears that would vanish behind the trees as I walked. There was very little real animal life out that day, though I did see three deer as I drove home.

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If you like this blog, be sure to explore my SubStack ChartingPossibilities, where I post thoughts on science, philosophy, and culture, plus excerpts from my many published books, my YouTube channel WayOutDan, where I post weird stories from my life, my science fiction series ChampionOfTheCosmos, and my xenobiology field guide FloraAndFaunaOfTheUniverse. You can support me by buying my books, or tipping me at BuyMeACoffee.

I was in Yulee, Florida on my way back from Virginia in August 2023 and decided to take a detour over to Fort Clinch for a couple hours. It had uneven floors. I imagined myself back in time, inspecting to make sure no one attempted to sabotage the timeline. It gave me some good ideas for an episode of Champion Of The Cosmos, but that will have to wait for later.

Willow Pond Nature Trail:

After visiting Fort Clinch in northeastern Florida in August of 2023, I took some of the trails in the area. The Willow Pond Nature Trail is home to beauty berry, large spiders, green dragonflies, and blue dragonflies. I also saw a babygator.

Very many of the trees also had strange growths. Here are a few:

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In July of 2023, I camped in Wateree Lake State Park in South Carolina. I got there in time to take the nature trail and do some writing before bedtime.

At first, there was nothing notable about the trail to distinguish it from other places I had visited. There were trees, squirrels, and mosquitoes – nothing unusual there. After finishing my walk, I decided there was something, but not the type of thing I could take a picture of.

In one spot, I kept hearing whirring noises around me, but never saw anything. They must have been very fast birds.

In another spot, there was a hollow knocking. Was it from inside the trees?

For a while, mosquitoes surrounded me and I could hear nothing else, but then I passed under one tree and suddenly heard multiple mosquito-like noises in each ear of unusually high pitch and volume. I ducked and ran a few steps and it went away. What was it?

This is a sound forest.

Because there was so much noise, I did not hear the deer (and they did not hear me) until we were almost on top of each other. I saw deer four times. The second time, there were eight or more. They leaped through the reeds to get away from me. Why? Do I smell that bad?

I saw this holy tree:

I saw strange mounds of extra hard dirt. There were many.

A piece of bark was yellow on the inside. It’s much brighter in person than the camera makes it look.

I also put on my weird Dan glasses and saw these spooky, paranormally floating branches:

I saw this tree transforming into a border being. Don’t worry; now that I’ve collapsed its wave function by observing it, it won’t grow any bigger. That’s why I take these trips. I’m just doing my part to keep the woods safe.

I met this friendly alien observer doing the same thing I was:

OH NO!!!! THE PICNIC TABLES ARE INVADING LAND!

More sounds:

That evening, there were more sounds. Right near the campsite was a tree full of vultures who would fight each other for good perches.

There were cicadas, but just as twilight began and the fireflies started up, a new type of cicada dominated the forest orchestra. It sounded like a thousand large trucks backing up with their alarms on. Sometimes they would synchronize and sometimes not.

Just as it got truly dark and the fireflies and cicadas wound down, something else took over. They might have been birds or frogs. I never saw them, but my ears traced them to the trees. Each had one spot and never moved. They were loud.

This is a sound forest.

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If you like this blog, be sure to explore my SubStack ChartingPossibilities, where I post thoughts on science, philosophy, and culture, plus excerpts from my many published books, my YouTube channel WayOutDan, where I post weird stories from my life, my science fiction series ChampionOfTheCosmos, and my xenobiology field guide FloraAndFaunaOfTheUniverse. You can support me by buying my books, or tipping me at BuyMeACoffee.

This is a smallish, open park of mostly grass with only a few trees and a few ponds. There is also a boardwalk by the river, but it was closed when I went. Something gigantic has carved great paths through the grass, but there was no sign of it when I was there.

It was windy and not too hot, so I wandered around looking for interesting things. There wasn’t much. I did see a butterfly, many grasshoppers, and many dragonflies, including one so red that it burned a hole through my eyes and out the back of my head. I also saw this flower:

There were also great piles of grey grass here and there and smaller bits in other places. Where did it come from? Was it an invading army of mutant plants determined to take over the world? I’m going to say yes.

On the way back to the car I saw a tunnel. I later saw a tortoise. That was when it finally all made sense. Tortoises begin their lives as small, burrowing creatures that then grow large on the plentiful grass, grazing wider and wider paths as they grow. Their size is limited by their lifespans, and their lifespans are limited by the amount of grey grass they eat, which is toxic. Eventually, the tortoises die and liquify until becoming the slimy ponds I saw. The fertilized eggs hatch inside the rotting carcasses of their parents and eventually rise from the ponds to begin the cycle again. Young, small tortoises are able to avoid the grey grass and eat only the green, but once they reach a certain size, their mouths are too big to pick around it.

What do you think of my theory?

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If you like this blog, be sure to explore my SubStack ChartingPossibilities, where I post thoughts on science, philosophy, and culture, plus excerpts from my many published books, my YouTube channel WayOutDan, where I post weird stories from my life, my science fiction series ChampionOfTheCosmos, and my xenobiology field guide FloraAndFaunaOfTheUniverse. You can support me by buying my books, or tipping me at BuyMeACoffee.

I visited Paynes Creek Historic Park in Bowling Green, Florida to see what was there. Little did I know that it would be the last park I would visit for over 100 years.

First, I walked along Paynes Creek all the way to Peace River. There wasn’t much to see but a few birds and some fungi. However, I did come across this ancient, crumbling, time portal generator. It was inoperative. I wondered who had put it there.

Then, I turned around and walked the historic trail to the bridge. I saw a rabbit and an ibis. From the top of the bridge, I could see numerous fish over one side and some long weeds over the other. I then walked through the treetops until I reached the other side of the creek.

A bit further down, at the edge of a cattle pasture, was the monument. It was dedicated to George Payne, who was killed by the Seminole in 1849.

I took a picture, but somehow this action triggered some sort of mechanism within to generate a temporal well. I was pulled into the past – to the very evening mentioned – along with everyone else in history up to that point who had taken a photo. Suddenly, we were attacked. It was a massacre!

I was the only one to escape the Seminole, which I did by donning my invisibility mesh I had brought with me. It was several months before I had acclimated myself to old Florida. It was then that I returned to the area with supplies enough to build a time portal generator. I was never able to get it to work. The materials needed simply didn’t exist in 1849.

I finally accepted that I was only to return to the future the long way round. I lived out my days mostly in Florida, but also travelled to New York and California. I even visited Europe and mentored young Max Plank and young Albert Einstein. I marched with MLK. I made a fortune on Microsoft stock.

Eventually, I noticed that no one had yet built the monument that had so drastically changed my life. Not wanting to create a paradox that could unravel all of history, I decided that I had better build it. Then I waited.

On the day I drove to the park, I followed far behind my younger self on my motorcycle. I parked outside the park so I would not be recognized and cut through the woods to lie in wait near the monument. I waited. At last, I saw myself arrive. He walked around the monument, took a picture, and disappeared!

Picking up where he left off, I decided to continue exploring the park. Why not? I might have been responsible for the portal and the monument, but there was supposed to be a fort here. It was the reason for the park. I hadn’t built a fort. Who had? And where was it?

I continued to explore. I saw flowers. I saw plants. I saw a tree that turned red when injured. I saw lubber grasshopper babies.

I don’t know what this is. Some sort of nest? I knocked, but no one answered.

I pushed deeper and deeper into the woods and away from civilization. Few ever went this far. That was when I saw the blue.

Someone or something was reforming the biosphere to suit them. Was it aliens? Was this the reason for the fort? An excuse for having the park? Did they build the park to keep away the prying eyes of developers while they remade the forest to resemble those of their home planet?

In addition to its mutagenic properties, this bluish substance was highly caustic. It even melted right through this log!

I continued to walk in circles, looking for the culprits. At last, I found them! The stenchcrust blubberbogs of Morbidum-5!

I chased them, but they got away. One gurgled something about returning to the fort. I had to find that fort! After searching the entire park, I came to an empty clearing. There was nothing but sand. Nearby was a plaque explaining that archeologists in 1982 had discovered remains of a wooden structure, but that it was gone now.

Yeah right! There was never any fort here! Obviously, it was just a cover story for the aliens’ spacecraft, which was by then light years away, their plans at world building failed.

I visited the history center for more information. Who were these Seminole? I learned that they were wild people that appropriated the cultural dress styles of Scotsmen who were eventually “cancelled” in the third Seminole war. History repeats.

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If you like this blog, be sure to explore my SubStack ChartingPossibilities, where I post thoughts on science, philosophy, and culture, plus excerpts from my many published books, my YouTube channel WayOutDan, where I post weird stories from my life, my science fiction series ChampionOfTheCosmos, and my xenobiology field guide FloraAndFaunaOfTheUniverse. You can support me by buying my books, or tipping me at BuyMeACoffee.

In February 2023, I visited the Marshall Hampton Reserve in Florida. I circled the pond there first.

I saw many birds and a few alligators, including these unformed gators bubbling from the ground, proving my theory of reptilian abiogenesis!

There were also some oddly shaped plants and a very indecisive fish.

Eventually, I picked up the Panther Point Trail heading south. To my surprise, it cut across a cattle pasture. Cows as big as mountains glared at me as I warily passed between them. I should have taken a picture, but I didn’t dare stop.

Beyond this, the trail was much as I experienced it when I explored the southern half. I again saw raccoons. I again saw alligators. There was water on either side with artistically-strewn vegetation.

I eventually made it to the bridge where I had turned around two weeks prior. There were ospreys and pelicans, but the crows had clearly taken over the conference. How can anyone talk about absolutely nothing for so long? Blah blah blah blah blah!

I enjoyed the sun and breeze for ten minutes before turning back. Suddenly, I heard a commotion in the brush. My heart jumped in and out of my chest. My first thought was humans, and I got into a defensive stance. Then I saw it through the gaps of greenery. It was huge! This was no human! This was no bobcat! This was no pig! My brain raced to make sense of the incomplete data and all it could come up with was “short-faced bear,” but I knew they had died out in the Pleistocene – or had they?

Finally, I realized this was an escaped cow that was now meandering through the swamp. How had it got out? Did it not want to be in my next Happy Meal? I held perfectly still and it passed by.

After my encounter with the swamp cow, I was quite shaken and I still had to pass the main herd on the way back to the parking lot. I found that they had moved closer to the trail. They lined either side of it, all looking at me silently. It was just like the junior high lunchroom. Any one of them could have brushed me aside like a fly, but I persevered and made it through.

The walk back was mostly uneventful, but it was hotter than when I left and I was in no condition to explore the other loop. It didn’t matter. I had seen the swamp cow and lived to tell about it. This was something I was going to tell my grandchildren. This was how I was going to pick up women. I was going to build a career on this. I might even sell shirts. “I survived swamp cow” they would say. I ate some trail mix and drove home.

In February, I walked the Panther Point Trail around Lake Hancock in Florida. Starting on the southern end, it follows a raised road bed overlooking the lake on one side and a series of pretty ponds on the other. There were many birds, butterflies, and alligators. In the distance, one could see the artificial mountains left over from the phosphate mines of old. Much of Polk County is like this. There was a strong breeze and intermittent shade that day, so it started off very nice.

Eventually, the trail entered a wooded area. Here were cypress swamps and green puddles forming a barrier with the lake. I noticed barbed wire running along both sides of the path, much overgrown with moss. Was it to keep me out or to keep something else in? Maybe it was the balloon I saw. Was this the one the military shot down? I saw osprey, raccoons, and more alligators.

At one point in the trail, I had a wonderful experience. I smelled on the breeze the exact aroma of butter popcorn Jelly Belly jellybeans. It was sort of a butterscotch smell. What was it doing in the forest?

I also saw a plant with scary-looking leaves and a bunch of prehistoric-looking fish sitting on the ground. Did they beach themselves or were they thrown out after someone was done fishing? Why waste so much good fish?

There was also this wooden animal that did not seem at all bothered by the fish. I should be more like this animal.

Beginning to get hot and thirsty after walking for six miles, I turned back. I saw some of the same alligators in the same places and smelled the same jellybeans in the same spot again. By the time I got back to the open area, the wind had died down somewhat, the sun was brighter and hotter, and I was wild with thirst. The gator-infested pond started to look very inviting.

Time dragged on and on and on. The path seemed to grow longer the more of it I traversed. It was endless. Perhaps it was like an escalator that only went north and I was going against the current. Vultures circled overhead.

What seemed like several weeks later, I got back to the car and drank three water bottles in a row. I’d like to say I learned a lesson, but I probably haven’t.

I visited Circle B Bar Reserve in January of 2023. However, I saw no circles, no bees, and no bars.

The park is a chaotic collection of dry grassy areas, dry wooded areas, wet grassy areas, and wet wooded areas. On the border of Lake Hancock are tall cypress trees that allow long shafts of sunlight through the hanging moss onto the cloudy water below. It has all the right combinations of hiddenness and openness that make me want to dress up like an alligator and live there.

In a few places, the path runs along waterways filled with birds. I saw cormorants, ducks, anhinga, wood storks, ibises, little blue herons, great blue herons, sand hill cranes, and many others I do not know the names of.

These gallinules walked right up to me.

I also saw these strange-looking pieces of rubber on the sides of the path, sitting perfectly still. Did someone blow out their tires and then dump them here?

I counted ten total. There were even more tires floating in the current! Who keeps littering?

Finally, I saw this wooden animal with its head poking above the water. It didn’t seem bothered by the swimming tires at all. I should be more like this animal.

I visited Babe’s Pizza in Brandon, Florida in July. I had read about them online, hearing that they had a toy train that ran around the outer edge of the room, and other nice things about them.

Looking at the menu, I saw that they had double-decker pizzas. These are two pizzas on top of each other so that there are toppings inside and out. I also saw that they had Buffalo pizzas. It had been years since I had eaten the Buffalo calzones I used to get in New Hampshire, and thus the cravings began.

Unfortunately, I could not get Buffalo in the double-decker form. The train was also smaller and less fancy than I imagined. I ordered a normal Buffalo pizza instead.

This was also different than I imagined. Instead of the chicken on top of the cheese, breaded so as to soak up the sauce as I had seen done at other places, Babe’s puts its unbreaded chicken and Buffalo sauce under the cheese. This wasn’t what I was hoping for at all. Still, the dough was good and there was plenty of cheese. Overall, it was a good pizza. It was even better fresh from the refrigerator the next day.

I drove to Fort De Soto Park on Mullet Key in May of 2021. I had to pass through three toll booths to get there, plus the park gate where they charged five dollars. I brought lunch so I could stay a long time and get my money’s worth.

​There are signs pointing out the ferry access, the snack shops, the kayak rental place, the extensive dog beach, and more. I first stopped at the fort. There is a small, one-room museum there, but I did not enter.

The fort originally consisted of twenty-nine buildings, which are now collapsed, some of them into the sea. It was built shortly after the Spanish-American war in anticipation of future wars, but was never used. The guns are hidden behind a hill and the operators could not see what they were aiming at. Instead, artillery spotters in towers had to telephone the information to them. I expect they must have had to do some very fast trigonometry.

I meandered around the various rooms there. I looked inside the big guns from the outside and I looked outside from inside the fort.

There is a beach nearby, but signs warn not to swim due to dangerous currents – which would make a great band name…
​
This was an area of many sandpipers, pelicans, and other birds. There were also signs prohibiting climbing on the few rocks there, which sucks all the fun out of having rocks. In New England, the whole point of going to the beach is to crawl around on the rocks and look in between for crabs and stuff. What good are rocks otherwise? To throw at cars?

​I eventually drove to the western end of the island and walked some short trails. There were ferns and a pine needle carpet. It was hot, but not muggy, and no insects bothered me. I just walked slowly and enjoyed the quiet.

​Soon I came to an area where the trees were all topless. Were they having a topless convention? Was I welcome here? I heard a lot of screeching, but this turned out to be a trio of green parrots.

​Moving on, I stopped at a picnic area for lunch by a cove where waves from different directions interacted in complex ways. A lot of debris had gathered in one end.

​There were trails on the other side of the cove too. These led to mangroves and small beaches and I could see beach spots beyond totally inaccessible by land as far as I could tell. I also found more signs of human construction in the roots of this tree:

​I did visit the beach for a short time, but I’m not a beach person. The sand is too bright to look at, too hard to walk through, the water is too wavy to swim in, and sitting is too boring. When I got home, I found that I had inexplicably sunburned in places that had been well-lotioned and covered at least part of the time. I tend to sunburn even when under a roof, so I should probably stop being surprised at this point. Here’s some other stuff I saw:

I went to Lake Parker in Lakeland in April 2021. It took a while to get there. I took a wrong turn but that was not my fault. Approaching from the south, I saw a long walkway on the shore with many amazing views. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to park.

​At last I reached the park. The first thing I noticed was all the cypress trees. The park is dominated by them. The second thing I noticed were the birds. Ibises, wood ibises, grackles, limpkins, herons, and gallinules were everywhere. They came right up to me and did not seem to care when I approached.

I parked in the first lot near the playground. It had some unique equipment, such as a giant xylophone complete with mallets and drums. There was a simple jungle gym disguised as a sailing vessel on one side. Since I often imagine jungle gyms as ships, it’s as if they read my mind. I saw a chair suspended from a sort of zip line. There were swings. The best thing was the merry-go-round. It was a cage ball with two levels.

I took a walk along the lake shore. It had many plants and birds that squawked constantly. Three gallinules got into a fight, splashing water at each other and yelling. They were soon joined by a fourth.

​One thing I noticed that season were the pink egg masses on the cypress knees. There were dozens of them.

I soon rounded back to my car without further incident. It’s not a big place.

After lunch, I sat under one of the many pavilions and wrote the rough draft for this post.

I visited Bok Tower Gardens in Lake Wales, Florida with my parents on Easter 2021. They had wanted to hear the sixty-bell carillon that plays daily. We sat in a large field of grass. Children and dogs played nearby. I was told to expect recognizable tunes, but all I could hear was rambling cacophony. It was okay.

​Near to the tower, it is obscured by trees, but the top of it pokes above and can be seen from miles away. The hill it is on is allegedly the tallest point in Florida outside of the panhandle.

The gardens and tower are the brainchild of author Edward Bok, who hired landscape designer Frederick Law Olmsted Junior and architect Milton Medary. The land was first made available to the public in 1929.

The gardens themselves are only about a million square feet, but they are surrounded by orange groves and fields cut through by trails. Inside the garden area are many sub-gardens, such as the carnivorous plant garden, the endangered plant garden, and the children’s garden.

There are numerous sculptures too. The Japanese lantern was a gift to Mr. Bok for his efforts in promoting world peace. People have stuffed coins into it for some reason.

​Everywhere are little things that make the place magical, like the bird footprints in the walkway. Even the bee houses are artistic.

​The numerous ponds are full of large fish, but they do not show up on camera. However, I did spy a snake!

​It would be impossible to take pictures of everything, but here are some highlights:

​My favorite section was the Hammock Hollow Children’s Garden. There is a dual entrance. One is just big enough for six-year-olds, while the other fits grown-ups. Just inside is a turtle sculpture. Different sections contain different wonders. I saw a gigantic robin nest, a sandbox, a spider web for climbing, a xylophone and other instruments, and a sand pit filled with smooth stones. On these stones were written words that could be arranged into sentences for hours.

​Near the nest were several tiny houses on pedestals. They reminded me of gingerbread houses, but these were built to survive the outdoors.

​I never did finish going down every trail before it was time to leave. This is a place one can visit again and again. There were so many wonderful things that I dared not blink for fear of missing something.

​BokTowerGardens.org

I visited Alderman Ford County Park in Lithia, Florida in February of 2021. There are at least two different entrances on either side of the road. The paved path between them goes underneath the road twice in a grand loop. It also crosses multiple rivers and tiny streams on wooden bridges. A long boardwalk loop complete with covered benches attaches to one side. Small side trails cut through the jungle. It’s complicated.

There are many good places to watch the river, full of whirlpools and boils. There were also turtles and cypress. I could not take every side path that day, but I had planned on returning anyways. I encountered several strange things:

This tree with an eye:

This tree with a face:

This tree with a lap:

And these scary-looking holes to Hades:

While out on errands in January 2021, I stopped at Edward Medard Conservation Park in Plant City to look around. Not having a map, I kept driving until seeing a large parking lot next to a playground. Once I got out and looked around, I saw that beyond the playground was a land of roots. I had never seen so many. The ground around was hard, smooth, and hilly. It was like something out of a movie. There were probably hundreds of angles I could have chosen to make good photographs, but the two above capture the feeling of this alien landscape.

Beyond this region was a low area of green-covered ponds and frisbee golf structures. I couldn’t imagine throwing a frisbee so close to so many ponds. Who knows what’s underneath?

Christmas lichen was plentiful. Other lichens I did not know the name of, so I had to guess based on the color. I’m probably right.

I was tempted to carve a heart into a tree and claim it was Valentine’s-Day lichen, but I didn’t want to hurt a tree just to make a joke. Trees are nice.

This area was where I also saw a cardinal and several woodpeckers, who made a constant racket. Also hearing roosters in the distance, I pressed on through the woods in that general direction and came to a road. The roadbank was made of bags! This really was an alien planet! What was it doing on Earth?

After climbing up to the road, I decided the direction of the chickens didn’t look that interesting and I went the other way, eventually reaching the road I had driven on and walking toward the park entrance. This is where I saw several interesting things:

The orange leaf was one of three on the ground that resembled nothing above. Where did they come from? Were they alien scouts disguised as leaves to throw me off the trail? I’m going to say yes. It’s the only logical explanation.

I also saw a red-backed wasp, but unlike the bug seen above, it did not hold still long enough to pose for a picture. I searched for information online, but could not identify it. Perhaps it was an alien too.

Near the park entrance is the heavily-branching, looped path leading onto the small peninsula in the lake. This peninsula has high banks from which one can observe the many inlets. These are the bird lands.

It was humid that day, but it was cool and cloudy and a slight breeze blew over the lake. This made for an enjoyable time while I watched the ducks, storks, red-winged blackbirds, anhingas, alligators, and other birds. Birds were everywhere. I had never seen so many anhingas in all my life put together. One of them surfaced right in front of me. Others were perched in trees, drying their wings.

The water was very dark and blocked all vision beyond two centimeters deep. This was one place I would not want to dip my feet into.

The parts furthest from the coast are populated almost exclusively by vultures. This is apparently where vultures come from all over the planet just to poop – a lot. It smells like a gas station bathroom.

Every tree had a vulture or two in it that would rustle their wings as I walked by, causing me to duck and raise my fists. I think they were doing it on purpose.

After spending much time roaming around every loop in the trail and just absorbing the feel of the place, I went back the way I came until passing the playground and pushing deeper into the park.

I found a set of several clearings, divided by tree-lined brooks and connected by wooden bridges. Each of them had one or two humans just sitting there. One of them had a laptop. Another had a fishing pole.

Beyond this was the boat ramp. Beyond that was the fishing pier. That was when I found more evidence of an alien invasion:

The texture of the sand here reminds me of worm poop, but I’ve never seen so much in one place like this or such big pellets. Don’t tell me it’s not aliens!

I visited Lithia Spring Park in Lithia, Florida in January 2021. I was searching online for places to write about for one of my father’s business projects. The information I had was very limited. I knew only that there was swimming and that the address was on Donnelly Road in Valrico.

This turned out to be very false. The address I had was for Lithia Springs Nature Preserve, a completely wild area of the Florida jungle with no maintained trails.

On the other side of Alafia River, about a mile or so away, was Lithia Springs Conservation Park at the end of Lithia Springs Road in Lithia. This is where the fun was hiding.

I walked around and looked at the canoe launch, playground, and picnic tables before finding the main spring. It was closed to swimming due to some virus from China they were unreasonably afraid of spreading. What’s next? Will we have to remain indoors forever just in case of lightning strikes? What was the real reason they had fenced off the spring? Could this be the spring of immortality? Did they want to keep all that immortality for themselves?

I could see the water bubbling up. I could see the greenish water flowing south out of the giant pool. I could see countless fish moving lazily. Unfortunately, I could not get close enough for my camera to see.

Moving along, I did come across this view of the green river and this small fish observation pool:

I imagined the first explorers to this area hacking their way through the jungle until coming across a river as green as the vegetation around it. It was beautiful. With all the vivid greens, blues, and whites and the fact that water seemed to bubble up from nowhere, this struck me as a magical place. The enormous torrents of pale moss hanging off the trees and swinging in the breeze contrasting the green leaves only seemed to confirm this. They reminded me of tinsel-draped Christmas trees. I half-expected gnomes to pop out of their holes and start singing.

The trail was caught between the Alafia River and a smaller stream that progressively got closer and closer until they merged. I ran along the banks of the Alafia and took several videos. Gone was any trace of green from the spring. It had been diluted and overwhelmed by tannins.

As I took my videos, I heard giggling behind me. Were these the singing gnomes? I turned, but could see no one from my vantage point.

All along the banks were tiny castles. Is this where the singing gnomes live?

Eventually the two streams merged and I had to go back to the trail to cross the bridge. Further along, the trail split a few times and I did not have time to explore the whole preserve. In at least one place, the trail terminated at a gate leading to CDD property. Beyond were mansions – homes of the grand kings of Lithia? Or homes of the singing gnomes?

Nearby were mounds of white sand scattered around. At first, I thought they were oversize anthills, but I found no holes and no ants. Was this where the singing gnomes lived?

I finally returned the way I came and saw nothing of interest. Here are some videos I took:

Points To Ponder:
“It is God’s privilege to conceal things and the king’s privilege to discover them.” – Proverbs 25:2

I returned yet again to Little Manatee River State Park at the very end of December 2020. It had changed yet again!

The pigs had been very active since I was gone. It seemed like every part of the soil had been overturned:

There was also more Spanish moss in the mossy area than I ever remember seeing before:

Somebody dropped a bunch of their feathers in the middle of the path. It was now a feather area:

Another area had a very noisy set of trees. They squeaked, banged, clicked, and creaked in the breeze to an absurdly comic and surreal extent like nothing I had ever heard. It was a noise area:

Then there was a stump with bracket fungi on it. This is nothing unusual. What was unusual is that the brackets were fuzzy on the top and smooth on the bottom. They were upside-down! I had never seen anything like it!

Here is some other stuff I saw the same day:

After living in the same house for 106 years, my grandfather died in 2020. I was tasked with helping to sort through the stuff in the house and the barn/garage. Apparently, my grandparents never threw anything away. It was like visiting a museum! Many things were either garbage or commonplace items, but there were also more than a few objects of interest, some of them quite old.

The model barn shown above was under the basement stairs and nobody knows why it exists. There were also a collection of several gas lamps, including one that had been converted to electricity. There were two towel racks of the kind that stick to the wall and splay out. There was a butter churn that I never saw before it was sold, but I am told it was the kind with crank and paddles and it was glass.

Also in the basement was a tabletop grain mill. There was a “demagnetizer.” When he was alive, my grandfather showed me how it would suck a long bolt through it and spit it out the other side.

In the storeroom was what appeared to be a model of a Victorian “fainting couch.” Only later did we find a note indicating that it was once used as a doll couch. There was also a doll in an old carriage.

Paintings found in every room in the house were painted by my mother. Most of them were of birds or landscapes. There were so many, we had to get rid of some of them.

My grandparents also had quite the collection of china sets that they never used, fancy glassware, and fancy candles, such as this snail:

In the barn were cobbling tools. My grandmother used to make clothes for the family, but no one remembers anybody making shoes. There were also milk bottles, potatoe sacks, and nail kegs from companies no one has ever heard of. There were two old metal trash cans. There was a collection of old doors in the slowly-collapsing shed.

There were railroad spikes. There was a railroad lock on the bracket of a shelf in the barn that nobody had ever been able to find a key for. My grandfather did used to work as the guy who put the crossing bar up and down, but this lock was already there when his parents bought the place.

The barn used to be a schoolhouse and we found a single desk hidden in the corner. It appears that when placed in a row and bolted to the floor, the kids would sit on the chair part of the one in back and use the desk part of the one in front. No wonder pigtails were pulled!

Then there were the numerous tools, such as the post digger, and the pitchfork, and the wheelbarrow I used to take rides in as a kid. Look at all this cool stuff!

I visited the Fisherville Brook Wildlife Refuge in Rhode Island sometime in October 2020. I needed to get out and get some air and get away from people. I was surprised how crowded it was.

It smelled like fall and looked like fall. Leaves were falling everywhere. So were acorns. One missed me by less than a meter. Sometimes I think the trees are trying to get my attention to warn me about something. Then again, they may just be mad I walked on their toes.

In a ten-foot radius from one spot I found seven “oak apples.” They looked lonely, so I gathered them together.

Not far from there was a pond on the other side of which was a house with a giant boulder in the yard, a small cemetery, and some grapevines. I took pictures of flowers and things.

By this time, I had noticed a pattern. Many trees had dark, vertical marks on them, which in some cases had swollen into ridges. Could these be allergic reactions to dragon scratches?

On the far edge of the park was a stone wall bordering a small clearing that appears to be at the end of a long driveway. No houses are in view. It’s as if people wanted a secret spot in the middle of the woods to conduct human sacrifices or something and the Audubon put a trail right next to it. The nerve!

Further along the trail, I found a dragon tooth! Suddenly, it all made sense!

This wildlife refuge is where they sacrifice people to the autumn dragon for a bountiful harvest! No wonder it smells like fall here! The dragon’s scent has even caused the leaves to break out in spots!

No wonder the parking lot was so full! It’s not because this is a popular hiking spot; it’s because most people never leave! I should have known all along!!!

I also saw a woodpecker. That was nice.

I visited Queen’s River Preserve in Exeter, Rhode Island in August 2020. It was nice, but nothing too special. There were pines, rhododendron, and sweet fern. In several places, the trails continue onto private property. Existence is forbidden there. The highlight of the trip was when I startled a huge garter snake. On my way back to the car, it started raining. That is all.

Contrary to its name, Providence Coal-Fired Pizza is not in Providence. It is in East Greenwich. I visited in February of 2020 just in time for lunch.

Also contrary to its name, they don’t have pizza – or at least not pizza I’m used to. These are not your usual standby pizzas with tomatoe sauce and cheese, such as pepperoni or sausage, these are crazy pizzas made with steak, spinach, and vinaigrette dressing. I ordered one of these with extra mushrooms. It was very good.

One way they could improve is not to make the crusts so thin. Mine had soggy spots that broke open, spilling my mushrooms everywhere. I had to eat it with a fork – and anything eaten with a fork can’t possibly be pizza.

I also never saw any coal.

I visited The Bike Stop Café in Narragansett, Rhode Island with my sisters in late December 2019. It is less of a café and more of a pizza shop. The stone oven is right near the door and you can watch them make the pizzas. We shared a chicken pizza that was very good. The walls are adorned with bicycles. I have no idea why. Every table is stocked with ten or more types of hot sauce from every company imaginable. There is also a bookshelf in the corner stocked with more. When I placed an almost invisible amount of a carrot-habanero-based sauce on my finger for tasting, I almost died. So, I put it on my French fries next.

Somewhere on the back way connecting South Kingstown and North Kingstown is the entrance to Tripond park. I stopped my car there in late September of 2019. I only found one pond, so I wonder if there is more to the park that has been hidden from me.

​The path enters the woods and runs alongside a pond, but it is nearly impossible to see through the thick vegetation. A short way in, the trail splits. I took the right way.

This path winds crazily back and forth across mud and brooks. I have never seen so many wooden footbridges. The vegetation was thick and it was dark under the trees. The only animal I saw was a lone squirrel. Finally, the path terminated on the side of a quiet road without a building in sight.

Retracing my steps, I returned to the split and took the left way. This path took me all the way around the pond back to where I started.

There wasn’t much to see but roots.