I imagine there are a fair number of people on Big Pine Key who aren't too fond of J.C. Watson, a man credited with reviving the expiring breed of deer known as Key Deer, which currently thrive on Big Pine and the Torch Keys. Key Deer are known to their critics as "small white deer," where biologists tell us the little deer are actually a sub species of the white deer genus. In any event Key Deer are one of those species that take precedence over development, and that includes construction on individual lots, which creates friction when people feel their needs are taking second place to an animal they'd rather eat than preserve.
And let me tell you they are not the dainty creatures you might imagine- I heard this little doe clumping around in the silver palms long before she appeared in the open, where she paused long enough for me to shoot her... with my pocket Nikon. J.C. Watson must have had his work cut out for him.
His legacy lives on in a splendidly well organized Nature Trail almost a mile long. I did as I was told though this might not have been the trunk the sign writers envisioned:
I decided to pay a visit to this outpost of nature in the heart of Big Pine Key about an hour before sunset on a Sunday evening, and I was rewarded by a walk all on my lonesome. The trail winds prettily between the pines and the palms, the surface a loudly crunching gravel path:
My clumping size eleven dinner plates sounded for all the world like a regiment of infantry on maneuvers, or a large child chowing down on an even larger bowl of cereal. I went crunch-crunch-crunch as I strolled through the silence of the pine forest.
It was a quite glorious evening and I was revelling in the silence (aside from my feet) and the incredible skies. I love the big sky of the Florida Keys and even though it isn't quite yet summer the heavens are starting to show signs of heavy dark clouds so typical of the rainy season here:
The trail wound its way through a variety of trees and shrubs that grow in the higher, drier ground of a tropical hammock. The buttonwood, very similar to a black mangrove, tortured and twisted as though in agony:
And on the drier ground the long straight trunks of the slash pines that are growing at the southern limit of their range:
There are other plants worth knowing, including the rather nasty poison wood tree, known across the Caribbean as the manchineel (man-chin-eel) which has some profoundly irritating sap. It's easily identified by the black splotches on the trunk: 
and the leaves:
There are stories of travelers in the tropics of taking refuge from sudden downpours under manchineel trees, and coming out from under the tree with their skin in a pitiably reddened state, such is the strength of the poison in the sap- it will react with the skin even when watered down by rain. I try to avoid it. Then of course there are other less noxious plants properly labelled:
This I think is Cat's Claw:
And this should be Blackbead: 
but I continue to insist I am no botanist, so I offer these up in hopes that I have it more or less right . Besides which I am not that terribly keen on labeling things all the time and birdwatchers and plant aficionados always seem to feel the need to stick a label on things and then record the sighting. I am more of a wanderer. Here's another one:
Much to my astonishment I peered into the "muddy area" in the low spot, and damned if there weren't tracks of some mysterious, and likely deadly predator:
On reflection I suspect they may have been the most un-ferocious Key Deer.
However I did actually find the edges of the trail, and irritatingly said trail showed signs of continuing on into the mysterious West, however managers of this natural resource have decided that the rest of us aren't fit to see the delights beyond the sign:
But I do have to give credit to the sanctuary managers; they provided a very nice map of their resources on Big Pine Key, which was a somewhat eccentric location as I was already where the map was guiding me to:
And all that remained was for me to get on the Bonneville and take off down Key Deer Boulevard, while keeping it down to a sedate 30-ish miles per hour. Sheriff's deputies are positively ferocious when it comes to enforcing the speed limit on this long (5 miles) straight road.
A cool southeasterly breeze, no mosquitoes and a sun that doesn't set till almost 8pm. A perfect time to explore beyond the boundaries of the city of Key West.
When I wrote about Leon Street recently I noted that someone like me who likes to commute enjoys trying to find different routes to work. As my ride to work has to be down Highway One the variations on the daily theme come into play in Key West. The fast and obvious route to the police station from the triangle is down North Roosevelt, but approaching from South Roosevelt along the scenic route along Smathers Beach puts me on White Street. One of my preferred turns is onto Duncan Street, no least because I like the green wall pictured above.
A walk along Duncan Street looking east of a summer's afternoon lengthens the shadows most delightfully:
And as I arrive at work around ten minutes before six post meridian, this is the view I generally get to see, long shadows and chiaroscuro contrasts:
I like noticing that in Key West mundane bike racks get well used:
One would like to think the volume of bicycles in a residential neighborhood might reduce dependence on off-street parking. Fat chance:
Duncan is narrow and short and it packs lots to see in the blocks just off White Street. Well, lots to see if you have modest ambitions like me. A tall dude walking a small dog:
A vine covered cottage:
A mansion (Key West sized mansion) for sale:
And of course, another example of outdoor living:
I found this sign somewhat amusing in light of the vehicles crowding it out:
I found no signs of Art at work but before I turned the camera off I found some wild decorations on a car port:
And Nature adds it's own artistic effect to the little street:
Call it neighborhood pride but someone added a flower bed to the base. 
It is a whole bunch of developments imaginatively called:
And happily decay and decadence is already penetrating the manicured perfection of the place:
They drove out Houseboat Row so this place could get built and overlook Cow Key Channel without being bothered by little people living on boats.In that, they were only partly successful:
The complex has bunches of high rise buildings grouped around a central traffic circle (roundabout):
There's the Grand Key Hotel equipped they say with a nice pool and bar open to locals at no hassle:
Las Salinas consists of more-or-less affordable apartments: 
And the newer Seaside Court apartments lining the entrance off South Roosevelt Boulevard:
These are not designated affordable, not in the least. They were charging something like 1.4 million dollars when land speculation was at it's height a few years ago and these units are not terribly spacious. Imagine paying that much for an apartment you use but a few weeks of the year...
But they are within spitting distance of saltwater:
I had planned to do a little exploring especially as I like to know the lay of the land when I'm at work sending officers out to these places in the middle of the night. But peeking through the gates gave me the idea that short of a few Stepford Wives there wouldn't be much to see:
I should have liked to have seen whatever it was that caused these spectacular skid marks...
I was quite cheered up to see an actual person walking an actual dog in this place:
If anyone has a notion to buy into this community there is a real estate office ready to serve on the premises:
There is also a deli in the little business complex next to the traffic circle:
In looking at the building and then the sign advertising it's presence I find it to be a perfect irony that the symbol they use, a houseboat, had to be destroyed to make way for this clump of buildings:
Houseboat Row is gone: long live the memory of houseboat row!
Fifteen miles per hour was too slow to escape this manicured place.
Over the past three years I have come to enjoy returning to my roots, a place where I wasn't at all happy growing up and whence I never returned in 25 years of emigration. Our family home, all 50 rooms of it, has stood brooding for eight hundred years in the village where I grew up, more history than I really wanted to deal with then, or now. My 700 square foot stilt home on Ramrod Key is old because it was built in 1987:
Morruzze has seen very little excitement over the centuries, just seasons of growing and harvesting. Our home was taken over by the German army in World War Two as the allies advanced up the Italian peninsula. My grandfather went into hiding and helped allied airmen and resistance fighters to escape the round-ups, so they posted a plaque on the wall of his house in gratitude to celebrate his bravery. Since then the village has been as quiet a spot as you could wish. It always seemed to me to be a good place to run away from.
I spent my summers in my hat playing in the dirt with my buddy Diego and riding mopeds with Giovanni, which is what I still do when get together, here avoiding a downpour on the road to Spoleto. Giovanni is a good deal grayer and the mopeds have become a good deal bigger since then:
I'm ready for a vacation, be it ever so short, and I'm ready to ride some twisty roads with whatever BMW Giovanni has managed to line up for me. My family history? I'll try not to let it interfere with my riding pleasure.