I had a chance to take Rusty into the woods at Little Hamaca City Park so I did.
I see clumps of Spanish Moss and wonder who put them there as they seem rather of place at these latitudes and in this heat. I associate Spanish Moss with central and north Florida forests.
Little Hamaca has a reputation as a pick up location for gay men stuck in the closet by circumstances that once were a way of life. These unfortunates are reputed to roam these woods in the middle of the city but all I can tell you is if they exist they are as unlikely to me as Bigfoot is to any rational thinker.
I see homeless tents and bedding abandoned after a winter's residence, periodically moved along of course but returning insistently. Of gay men furtively looking to pick anyone up I have never seen a sign.
Still, these rumors are fine by me as any reason to encourage people to stay away means more silence, more shady open space for me.
When I was recovering from my accident I used to push my walker up and down the paved sections of the park, slightly obsessive possibly and decidedly uncomfortable in wooly slippers, the only footwear that would cover my swollen feet. Those slippers pissed me off every day and made me feel like the stereotype of an old man. All that work paid off because now I can blunder around at will getting scratched and dusty in the shrubbery.
And we do. Rusty used to slow down and pace me as I struggled with the walker but these days he goes ahead and waits for me at the bends in the trail.
I really like having little Hamaca as a small easy to find refuge in the city.
And really it's not as quiet as it might appear as the airport is next door and unreasonably busy.