Florida’s forests are vulnerable to unnecessary pesticides and herbicides.
I was in Mount Dora, Florida this week, taking a welcome respite from our dreary Midwestern winter. Although I lived in Florida for many years, the lush foliage surprised me: variegated philodendrons scrambled 20 feet up trees, leaves the size of dinner plates. Ferns with tall lacy fronds and stout leathery leaves formed glades on riverbanks, and inhabited the rotting trunks of cypress trees. Purple and green striped zebrina, a popular plant for hanging baskets, formed a natural groundcover in the forest.
The forest canopy was as alive and varied as the forest floor. Anhinga birds commandeered the branches of dead trees, spreading their wings to dry in the sun. Spanish moss lent a thousand beards to every available oak branch. Huge platform nests in the treetops provided a refuge to Great Blue Herons, or perhaps another species. The abundance of mature trees and snags gave the appearance of an ancient forest, unchanged for thousands of years. I know that this sense of permanence is an illusion, and that its burgeoning population threatens Florida’s sensitive ecosystem. If every Florida gardener replaces one conventional gardening method with an organic alternative, perhaps our children can enjoy the same hike I took this week.
