Bill Belleville's latest book of essays challenges Floridians to explore their own backyards
Published: March 24, 2011
Salvaging the Real Florida: Lost and Found in the State of Dreams
By Bill Belleville
University of Florida Press
In Salvaging the Real Florida, Lost and Found in the State of Dreams, Bill Belleville, a Sanford-based author and eco-filmmaker, attempts the near impossible: to get people off of their asses and out into Florida's natural places.
The book is a collection of essays spanning the swamps and hammocks, rivers and springs; it's a selection of easily digestible and approachable writings that document the places and things in Florida that hold a certain allure for Belleville.
This is not a trail guide or gear book; rather, Salvaging the Real Florida is the kind of book that will enthrall devotees of Henry David Thoreau and Ed Abbey, and even appeal to those who would rather not jump into a kayak at the crack of dawn just so they can see a majestic heron as it hunts its breakfast. Reading Salvaging the Real Florida is a bit like going on a field trip with your favorite science teacher: fun because you get to be outside and get your hands dirty, and wholesome because, despite your best efforts, you actually learn something.
The collection of essays isn't heavy on the guilt-inducing "get out there before nature is gone" diatribe, but it's impossible not to soak up Belleville's concern for a sustainable, healthy environment - especially for Florida's waters, which he says are being destroyed by development, misused and systematically polluted.
"At some point, every reasonable adult has to ask that question: How do we keep these things functioning the way they were always meant to function?" Belleville asks during a phone interview. In "What if the Shaman is a Snail," he examines how the tiny mollusks are a barometer for water health. He tells us there are some snail species that congregate around certain springs in Florida that aren't found anywhere else in the world. Belleville has his own collection of goldenhorn marissa snails that he's found during his travels, and he watches them in his home aquarium to see what they do. By the end of the essay, we learn that the little guys have a tough time outrunning the pollution that spills out of storm drains or the pesticides and fertilizers that seep into their domain. We're told that "future Floridians will pay for the contemporary sins of our water-sucking developers and their political toadies."
In appreciating natural places, we become better observers, Belleville says, and his essays are a relaxed study in observation. He describes sitting at the mouth of Mammoth Springs in full dive gear, some 30 feet under water, looking up at a glass-bottom boat full of tourists in the essay "Silver Springs: A Troglodytic Myth, Realized." Belleville accompanies his friend, a cave explorer, on a mapping expedition dive of the spring, a 100-foot slit in the bed of the Silver River that gushes about 250 million gallons per day. The discoveries in that cave are so ancient and real compared to those of the tourists in the boat. We can't help but think we'd rather be down there with Belleville dusting sediment off undisturbed rock in the hope we find something extraordinary.
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