The Florida I Remember: A Childhood Shaped by Sand, Sun, and Storytelling

Florida beach

A recent episode of the podcast Southbound about Jimmy Carter and his fishing trips transported me back to a place I hadn't visited in years—not a physical location, but a memory, a feeling, a Florida that seems to exist now only in my mind.

I grew up in South Florida, in an era when Spanish moss draped from the trees, orange groves stretched as far as the eye could see, and mangrove roots wove intricate pathways along the water’s edge. Mass development was creeping in, but there were still pockets of untouched nature, and those were my paradise. West of I-95 was still "out west," and summer days were meant for picnics, afternoon thunderstorms, and the kind of adventures that could only be found in the wild places still holding on.

I remember alligators sunning themselves on the side of the road, their prehistoric presence both thrilling and routine. My friends and I would sprint across the burning sand, the soles of our feet barely touching down before we reached the relief of the ocean’s embrace. Low tide would leave behind shimmering pools where tiny creatures made their homes, and if you were quick enough, you could catch sand fleas before they burrowed deep into the shore. The beaches were lined with more seashells than any bucket could hold, each one a tiny relic of the sea’s ever-turning story.

Listening to that podcast episode, I almost felt as if I were back sitting on my porch with binoculars, watching the birds hunt for fish in the pond behind my house, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and the distant chirp of crickets. It reminded me how powerful storytelling is—not just as entertainment but as a portal to the past, a way to revisit the landscapes that shaped us. Some of those places have changed, paved over and transformed into something unrecognizable. But in memory, they remain untouched, forever bathed in golden light.

So, to the creators of stories—the podcasters, the writers, the artists—thank you. Thank you for the time, care, and consideration you pour into your work. It is a gift to be able to step back, even for a moment, into the places and feelings that made us who we are.

And to those reading this: what landscapes live in your memory? What places do you revisit when a scent, a sound, or a story pulls you back? I'd love to hear about the worlds you carry with you.

-Tegan