The Vanishing Fireflies

            

My fake firefly jar...

When I was a child, there were a lot of things about summers here in the tropics that made growing up in Palm Beach County spectacular. We spent days on the beach or boat. We built forts out of Brazilian pepper trees (don’t do this – they’ll make you itch). We rode our bikes across the village of North Palm Beach to the country club where we flung our sweaty bodies into the icy waters of the Olympic-size pool. We tromped barefoot through freshly-mowed grass and sat in damp bathing suits in the shade on the ground next to our parents who, also in damp bathing suits, relaxed in aluminum lawn chairs with nylon webbing. We sipped Coca Cola ® and ate watermelon while they drank ice-cold beer.

At dusk, we chased fireflies with big, glass mayonnaise jars—jar in one hand and metal lid with holes poked in it in the other. When we weren’t trying to catch them, we danced with swarms of fireflies in the backyard. Yes, danced. We were fairy princesses surrounded by flickering, flying candlelight. It was magical.

Recently, I realized the fireflies are gone. I haven’t seen them in a long time, perhaps decades. My children never got to dance in a cloud of light like I did. I went looking for answers and discovered that fireflies have disappeared from all of South Florida.

 Where did they go? Why did they leave?

There’s a wonderful website called www.firefly.org that has one reasonable, and very sad, explanation. They say that most species of fireflies are “found in field, forests and marshes. Their environment of choice is warm, humid and near standing water of some kind.” And there’s the problem. As South Florida has grown exponentially, a lot of those lovely “fields, forests and marshes” have been paved over in order to accommodate the hordes of people. The United States Census states that the estimated population of Florida in 2013 was 19,552,860. In 1969 when I was ten, it was reported to be a quarter of that, only 4,951,560. That amount of growth requires a lot of pavement.

Is there anywhere one can see fireflies in Florida at all? Yes, there is. Central Florida and locations north still have them. FloridaRambler.com suggests that Blue Springs State Park, about 30 miles north of Orlando, is reported to be a great place to spot them. It’s only a few short weeks in April, but they’re still swarming there. Best bet is to camp overnight or arrange to stay an hour after the park closes.

And for those of who might complain that I’m anti-development, don’t bother. I’m not. But I have always been in favor of balanced development. I’ve always thought the need of humankind need to be weighed against the needs of the environment and the wild animals that were here before us.

I’m not sure if there’s a way to re-create marshes and forests, but I hope there’s someone working on how to bring back the environment the fireflies need. 

            

It would be a shame if future generations of barefoot Florida children didn’t get the chance to dance in that magical flying candlelight.

(copyright 2014 Ruth Hartman Berge)

West Palm Beach Does It Again!

     Well, once again, the story is out of the Palm Beaches--West Palm Beach to be specific.

     This time, however, the story is not about a flubbed election, hanging chads, butterfly ballot, or squabbling candidates. This time, the story is holiday history. Palm Beach County, in addition to the odd election snafu, has a history of unusual Christmas trees. Here's a picture of this year's contender:

     Constructed in downtown West Palm Beach along Flagler Drive, this 35 foot Christmas tree is breathtaking. The day I was there, camera in hand, people were walking around it in awe. How did they do that? Built by Team Sandtastic, a professional sand sculpture company, the tree took 400 tons of sand. And on December 6, they're even going to light it up in a tree lighting ceremony. How's that for ringing in the holiday season?

     Part of Sand and Sea-son's Greetings holiday celebration sponsored by the City of West Palm Beach, the big tree is only part of the story. Spread out around downtown are several smaller sculptures. Maps are available on the fencing surrounding the tree. There's also an "aqua trolley" available to help people get around to see everything, including a sand Santa's workshop in front of City Hall.

     The Sand and Sea-son display is running through the month of December.

     Of course, this is only the latest in local Christmas tree lore. 

     Still going strong is the 100 foot tree constructed on Old School Square along Atlantic Avenue in Delray Beach. This behemoth has been going up every November for twenty years. While it's man made, it's still impressive. The tree literally towers over the school and every building nearby. It's hollow and for a small donation, one can walk inside to see holiday displays.

     The Delray Beach Downtown Development Authority has added a holiday carousel and an ice skating rink to the fun. Ice skating! In Florida!

     You can enjoy this tree until the beginning of 2013.

     Neither of these two fantastic trees were the first in Palm Beach County holiday history, though.

     In 1971, Generoso Pope, founder of the National Enquirer, along with his wife, Lois, erected a huge living (or recently living) tree on the property of the newspaper for the employees. When Pope noticed that people were slowing down as they drove by the newspaper's headquarters on Federal Highway in Lantana, a tradition was born.

     The tree always came by rail from the northwest and every year a larger tree was chosen. 

     It entered the Guiness Book of World Records in 1979 as the "World's Largest Decorated Christmas Tree" when it hit 117 feet. The Christmas displays gradually took over the grounds of the newspaper and grew to include toy trains, faux gingerbread houses and traditional holiday displays. It became THE display that just couldn't be missed and became a highlight of the holiday season for thousands of residents and tourists alike. 

     By 1987, the tree was 126 feet tall, and over 1 and a half million people toured the grounds that year alone. The last tree was erected in 1988. Pope passed away that year and the paper was later sold.

     If you get a chance this December, head over and take a look at the two fantastic trees still standing in the Florida sun. Make sure you get your picture taken next to the tree or trees of your choice. We thought the National Enquirer tree would always pop up every December and never bothered to have our picture taken by it. The Delray Beach tree has a good start, but who knows how long these two will be around?

    UPDATE: Wellington's own Cassadee Pope, now a contestant on The Voice, performed at the tree lightning held at Clematis by Night December 6. All reports are that she was fantastic, as usual. Congrats to Cassadee on her continuing success on The Voice and good luck heading into the finals! 

What a Difference 26 Years Makes

    

I spend a lot of time in the past. Or, at least thinking about the past--I’ve not yet perfected time travel. I keep getting stuck in that whole time-space continuum thing.

My memories of growing up in Palm Beach County are often in my thoughts. Since I've started writing about my memories and the history of this area, I'm finding two things are happening. One is that my friends have started sharing their memories with me, which I absolutely love.

The second is that my friends are sending me some links and pictures. The YouTube link above is one of the neatest things I've seen. Uploaded to YouTube by MeMeVid, it can help those of you who didn't grow up here understand my fascination with the state and its history.

The first time I watched this video, I was spellbound. I knew Jupiter twenty-six years ago. Having grown up about ten minutes south of Jupiter in North Palm Beach, I knew it before then. A simple trip through Jupiter to Girl Scout Camp Welaka near the county line in Tequesta was a trip through wilderness.

By 1986, I was living in Broward County, but still came home to North Palm Beach from time to time. The part of  Palm Beach County I temporarily left seemed quite modern and built up to me. Looking at this video, I can see I was mistaken. The two lane roads! All those trees! It was still a wilderness in 1986.

I hope you enjoy this look at the rural area that was Jupiter Farms Road, alongside the developed area that now exists. If nothing else, this video should serve to remind all of us that we only have one chance to protect the close to pristine beauty of the place we call home - no matter where it may be.

Copyright 2012 Ruth Hartman Berge

Christmas in Dixie



Picture Courtesy of David Joyce

           Although versions of the Christmas in Dixie parade were happening as far back as the 1920s, the parade became an institution in northern Palm Beach County during its run from 1954 until the early 1990s. Spectators had to get to the parade route an hour before it started to claim space on the curb.

          My family settled in for the long wait along the parade route reeking of sunscreen because in Florida, despite the calendar saying December, it’s often hot and sunny.  When cars trickled to a stop, my brother would dash into the four-lane street along with twenty other little boys looking for the start of the parade.

When we could hear faint music, everyone would stand up and elbowing each other, crane our necks around and over each other in order to see the very beginning of the parade. The American flag appeared down the street first in the hands of the color guard, the local R.O.T.C. or the Veterans of Foreign Wars. Everyone lining the parade route would stand quietly, hand over heart in respect. The dad hand would be attempting to reach and smack anyone under age ten who wouldn’t stand still or dared to speak.

          The first modern Christmas in Dixie parade was organized in 1954 in Riviera Beach by Jerry Kelly. By 1969, the Palm Beach Post was calling the Christmas in Dixie Parade the “Biggest Florida parade outside of the Orange Bowl spectacle.” That year, the Christmas in Dixie parade included “clowns, twirlers, motorcycles, floats, fire engines, horses, dogs, six bands and a lion.” Also on board was the “Miami Mummer’s Band.” It may not have been televised like the Orange Bowl which went out over the airwaves to TV sets all over the country live from the streets of Miami, but we sat in awe on the curbs and danced in excitement anyway.

          We did our part as spectators, waving at the kids on the floats and anyone in the parade who glanced our way. We danced when the marching bands came by and we ooed and ah’d where expected. We bought souvenirs from the vendors who walked up and down the street selling cotton candy and other things we tried to convince our parents were necessary to life.

          The Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts marched in uniform, waving at the crowd. Local gymnastics schools had participants flipping down the street. Hordes of baton twirlers twirled as they marched. The local fire departments had their oldest trucks decorated and in the parade. Local celebrities and a Grand Marshall sat with sashes and flowers in the backs of convertibles. All the high school bands performed. They would march by with sweat beading on their faces, proudly playing “Jingle Bells” or their school fight song.

          The luckiest participants were those that rode on floats. Church groups would spend weeks building elaborate nativities and holiday displays on flat bed trailers covered with chicken wire. The children of the church would ride clinging on for dear life while singing Christmas carols at the top of their lungs in order to be heard. For some unknown reason, they were usually put right in front or behind one of the high school bands.

There was a Miss Christmas in Dixie and she and her court had a float all to themselves. The queen and her court were required to wave regally when they weren’t tossing candy to the kids along the route. By the time they reached the end, arms were aching and Christmas cheer was in short supply.

          The very last entry in the parade was always Santa Clause. When kids saw his flat bed trailer decked out with a huge gold throne and eight tiny reindeer mysteriously hovering in the air coming down the street, sheer ecstasy and pandemonium would erupt. It meant that it was finally, officially, Christmas season. We only had a few more weeks to keep trying to be good.

Behind Santa’s float, the real world came back and people who had finished watching the parade at the beginning had lined up in their cars and patiently followed Santa’s float across town. More than one kid riding in the back of their parent’s station wagon would wave at the spectators like they were a big shot in the parade themselves.

          In the early 1990s the much loved Christmas in Dixie parade met its sad end when, in a fit of jealousy over a boy, a teenage girl near the end of the parade route threw a bottle at her rival who was marching in the parade. During the riot that followed, it was estimated that 750 to 1,000 people were arrested. That, along with rising costs, led to the demise of the best small-town spectacle I can remember.