MY FLORIDA nestles somewhere between science and folklore and breeds a reality that is both transcendent and preposterous. Its great meaning comes from the fact that it rarely makes sense to its largely transient population. Spanish explorers came, astronauts used to leave, but Florida's game will always be about "Location, Location, Location." The vast majority of its players come here to retire and die; relax and vacation; set up a scam; or, seek some kind of tax shelter. For those of us who have a generational history on the peninsula and no real underlying motive for being here, well, we sometimes seem as off as the very landscape that has shaped us. So here's my story on my Florida. And I'm sticking to it.
“If it was up to me, you should not be able to call it a hunting plantation if you didn’t use traditional mule-drawn wagons,” one of the Red Hills mule men told me last fall. “They can go places a four-wheel drive can’t, you’ll see more wildlife, and you’re just gonna get way better thoughts …