The Frog Leg Festival started Thursday. They predicted attendance of about 80,000, in a town of no more than about 4,000. It's not even big enough to have it's own grocery store. I've never been here before at Frog Leg Festival time, so I'm curious.
I'm no stranger to frog legs. I was born & raised in Florida of parents whose ancestors were here for generations. When my father got the urge he would go gigging and we would have frog legs for dinner. I freaked out the first time I saw frog legs cooked. They jump about in the pan exactly as if they are trying to get out. Creepy. My father sat me down and explained the anatomy of frog legs which cause them to do this bizarre dance. Frog legs were the first food I was told "tastes like chicken". It doesn't, it is, however, a mild flavored white meat. I've eaten frog legs in Florida and also in France. Funny, all the "f's" there, frog, festival, Florida, France. Food, too--one of the two things humans are reported to like best. I think the other one of the two also begins with "F". But I digress.
On (F-word)Friday, both sisters and I took ourselves off to the Festival. First (omg, another f-word), you walk in through the vendor area. It was mostly the usual carnival vendor stuff. Unusual in the amount of what was called authentic Native American products. There were three booths devoted to it and most of the others had a corner devoted to It except for the few booths devoted to something in particular. There was more Native American arts and crafts than I've seen at actual pow wows. Call me cynical, but either Native American craftsmen are getting far less skilled at what they do, or somebody is playing a little fast and loose with their terms.
Two booths interested me. One was a family run affair selling bottled hot sauces made from recipes the grandfather brought from Trinidad. I got some of the one labeled "Hot Pepper Sauce". It's mustard based, complex, and has a good kick.
The other grabbed my attention with a sculpture of a dragon clinging to a rough, slender, tree trunk. all natural colored. It was a very detailed, European type dragon without a trace of sentimentality. No "Puff, the magic...." here! Unfortunately, his smaller ones were completely mundane and full of vivid colors. He had many other types of sculptures including a small frog (every booth had at least one frog related item) with a stout plug crosswise through it's center. When you turned the plug, the frog croaked. It was well-modeled and fit nicely in the palm.
The young man selling these sculptures was the artist. He explained that he is a furniture maker and uses his sawdust mixed with a glue to form the statues--including the 5' dragon clinging to the tree.
Next came the food booths. All the usual carnival stuff: corn dogs, philly cheese sandwiches, hot links, blooming onions, funnel cakes, the whole list. I kept looking for the local booths featuring frog legs in various flavors. You know, the ones run by civic groups, usually for a good cause. Like the ones at the Gilroy Garlic Festival, back in my vicinity. Or the ones at the Calamari Festival, the Artichoke Festival, the Clam Chowder Cook Off, even the Burrito Bash, or any other food related festival. But no, there was none of this. If you wanted any of the fabled (oops, another f-word) frog legs, you got in a line, walked up to a table, paid your money, and walked off with a styrofoam container to the tented area full of chairs and tables. In the meantime, I treated myself to a corn dog.
I wanted to see what the legs were like. I had been told that they were very, very, small. Now, all the frog legs I've ever eaten or seen were bull frog legs, half again as long as a chicken drumstick, but more slender. They probably had about as much meat on them as a chicken drum. But the patrons here were eating leprechaun frog legs! They were tiny and the pair were still hooked together. They were the size and shape of small butterfly wings, not Monarchs, small butterfly wings. They couldn't contain even one good sized bite of meat, but the people had to take three or four bites to get it all. I don't think I can ever convey the humor of watching big people pick up little butterfly wings out of huge styrofoam containers, daintily hold them between thumb and fore finger, and nibble, nibble, nibble. Kabuki theatre without make-up. I had to leave before I laughed out loud, knowing that once I started, I wouldn't be able to stop.
The only thing left was the midway, none of us were interested. On Friday and Saturday nights there was also a rodeo. On Sunday there was a Mexican rodeo. I'm not now nor have I ever been a fan of rodeo. I don't know the difference between a Honky rodeo and a Mexican rodeo, except that the price of admittance to the Mexican one was $24.00 more than the Honky one. I was told that this was because the rodeo was only that, a rodeo; while the Mexican rodeo was apparently a variety of entertainments including a couple of live bands, thus, the price difference. Well, I still don't know the difference between the two having opted out on both.
The weathermen had been telling us that a cold front was creeping toward us and should arrive late Saturday. Saturday morning however, dawned bright and warm. There was a warm breeze out of the south that was pushing fluffy, designer clouds, full of moisture, across a bright blue sky. It was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold, just right, with a pleasant breeze. And I'm thinking, 'hmmmmmmm, south wind, moisture laden clouds, cold front moving in from the north....I might yet get the thunderstorm I've been hoping for.' This is not the right season for thunder storms, but since they are such a rarity on Monterey Bay, I'm always hoping for one when in Florida.
The whole day remained balmy. But just after 7:00 it clouded up and I began seeing flashes, definitely lightning. I could not see the actual bolt, but the sky would light up. It was so far away, there was no thunder. It kept happening off and on. Around 10:00 it started to rain. It was so loud I thought it was hail and turned on the back lights to see. But no, it was just rain. And in the far distance I could occasionally hear the lightest rumbling of a rolling thunder long after a sky flash. Well, it was a thunder storm if only a tired one. Then at 11:00 a real golly whumpus opened up on us. I turned on the lights again. This had to be hail. I couldn't even hear the TV. But, again, just rain, really, really, hard rain. The kind that could bruise if it hit you. I went out on the lanai to enjoy it. I had forgotten just how hard it can rain in Florida. The sky kept lighting up closer and closer, but if there was thunder, it was drowned out by the hammering of the rain.
I watched a lone car driving down our little dirt road, very, very, slowly. Then, it stopped. Left the motor running and the lights on, but just stopped in the middle of the street. I waited for someone to get out and check under the hood or something before I remembered: "Oh yeah, it's raining so hard they can't see at all, even with wipers going full." This type of rain blinds drivers as completely as a snow white-out. There's nothing to do but wait it out. Ten minutes later the driver was on hir* way. The sky was still lighting up and I got one (count 'em)--one-- good bone shattering thunder clap. The it was back to sky lighting and occasional distant rumble. Still, I'm counting it as a thunder storm, since I got that excitement and adrenalin rush.
It's been a good week.
*Not a spelling error. Hir=His/Her.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Snowing in Florida
The sunset sky
So sheer an apricot,
Blue behind it shimmers through.
Not quite tropical, thinks me.
Suddenly it turns
Electric Mango.
We've had three, or is it four?, cold fronts since I've been here. Apparently, in Florida, a cold front is anything that causes the temp to drop beneath 80. But this time they mean it. Low for my area is predicted to be in the 20's. And I've just transplanted a new bed. They're all fairly hardy and I would have no concern at all if they had just been in long enough to become established. But they haven't.
The plants I put into the bed along the porch might be OK. There are some pansies in full bloom with their sweet and delicate looking little faces. But I think they'll be fine--much tougher than they look. And the sunset colors oxalis
(relax, it's not at all invasive) with it's tiny, short stem yellow flowers also in full bloom. And, uh-oh, two glorious chartreuse coleus with deep, deep, purple, almost black, blotches at the base of each leaf. They are never going to survive a dip into the 20's without help. I got a couple of empty plastic pots and covered the coleus.
Then there are all the ones in their containers waiting for transplant: four coontie, two starburst clerodendrum, one starfruit tree, and one grapefruit tree. Not worried about the grapefruit. It's about five feet tall, too young for fruit, and perfectly capable of standing up to a drop in temp. But the wind has already blown it over. So I put it inside a large, pot-bellied, terra cotta pot. All other container plants into the garage which gets closed at night. They'll be fine.
Now to the back bed with the new transplants. Three sheets, some bamboo stakes, and clothespins make a tent for them. The north wind is blowing like mad already, so just visualize the action trying to spread sheets and then keep them where you want them. It took me four different re-visits to the tents with additional clothespins, more stakes, and additional weights for the edges before I got it to my satisfaction.
Nothing left to do but to try and protect the two newly planted elephant ear type plants inside the pool enclosure. They hate both wind and cold. One is an Alocasia, African Mask type, with small, rather thick leaves. The other is a Colcasia, a black elephant ear. Leaves are about 12" x 8", held on foot high, slightly drooping stems. The slightest breeze sets them to swaying. Now, it's pillowcase and bamboo stake time. The African Mask is easy, the pillowcase just pops right over it. The African Mask requires more finesse. I have to take each separate leaf (4 in all) and carefully sorta roll and stuff them inside the pillow case. These leaves are thin and delicate. But, I do get them all safely inside the pillowcase.
A ferocious wind blows directly out of the north. But they say this is a good thing because it will prevent frost. It will freeze but not frost and apparently frost is more damaging than freeze.
Day dawns quite cold. It's time to check the damages. Garage pots all good, but it's still very cold and very, very, windy. I leave them there. Pansies and oxalis don't seem to have noticed anything.
Both still in full bloom and no leaf burn or wilt at all. The coleus planted in the corner was shielded from the north wind by the garage and sustained a little leaf burn, but clearly, will recover. The one on the other end of the bed has been blasted. All leaves curled and crunchy, except for a couple of very small ones right at the center of the plant. Maybe it will recover.
Grapefruit tree, blown over, terra cotta pot and all. Wind still blowing, pick it up tomorrow.
The tents on the newly planted bed have been half ripped off. I go ahead and finish the job. All the blooms and buds on the white hibiscus and the pink Turk's cap have been blasted. The flame bush was also in full bloom, but has retained most of it. The poor little red salvias and white salvias really took a blast. All of the plants in this bed have burn on some leaves, blast on other leaves, but will recover, except maybe the salvia--but they're annuals, so no big deal. Everything just looks a little sad and scraggly right now.
It's still cold and the wind is so bad I decide to leave the pillowcases on the elephant ears. Later it rains. Next day I'm faced with trying to remove a soaked pillowcase without breaking the delicate leaves stuffed inside. Fortunately, thanks to the bamboo stakes at the corners of the pillowcase, it comes off easily, without any harm to the plant. The oldest of the big leaves is pretty well toasted. It was already on its way out before the storm hit. The others each have a scalloped etching of burn along their margins.
I think it's a lovely varigation. I would love it if I didn't know it's injury caused. The pillowcase on the smaller, thicker leave, African Mask comes right off without incident. It appears to be virtually unharmed.
That was over a week ago. The pansies continue to carry on as if nothing happened. The protected coleus is looking very good. The blasted coleus is struggling to survive. The plants still in pots have all been planted out except for the grapefruit (which is now standing up again) and the star fruit. They both have to wait for their beds to be constructed before they can be planted.
The plants in the newly planted bed keep showing new damages and looking very scraggy, but they are also setting new bloom. Even the salvias are rebounding and putting on lots of leaves and one of the white ones is showing a bud.
The Black Elephant Ear is about the same. The African Mask only started showing it's damage a couple of days after the event. It's extensive. All leaves are wilting and mushy and showing brown splotches. The only hope is one small, as yet unfurled, leaf. Fortunately I also have a bunch of knee-hi sweet peas in that pot that help to camouflage the ugliness. They seem to have reveled in the temp drop.
So sheer an apricot,
Blue behind it shimmers through.
Not quite tropical, thinks me.
Suddenly it turns
Electric Mango.
We've had three, or is it four?, cold fronts since I've been here. Apparently, in Florida, a cold front is anything that causes the temp to drop beneath 80. But this time they mean it. Low for my area is predicted to be in the 20's. And I've just transplanted a new bed. They're all fairly hardy and I would have no concern at all if they had just been in long enough to become established. But they haven't.
The plants I put into the bed along the porch might be OK. There are some pansies in full bloom with their sweet and delicate looking little faces. But I think they'll be fine--much tougher than they look. And the sunset colors oxalis
(relax, it's not at all invasive) with it's tiny, short stem yellow flowers also in full bloom. And, uh-oh, two glorious chartreuse coleus with deep, deep, purple, almost black, blotches at the base of each leaf. They are never going to survive a dip into the 20's without help. I got a couple of empty plastic pots and covered the coleus.Then there are all the ones in their containers waiting for transplant: four coontie, two starburst clerodendrum, one starfruit tree, and one grapefruit tree. Not worried about the grapefruit. It's about five feet tall, too young for fruit, and perfectly capable of standing up to a drop in temp. But the wind has already blown it over. So I put it inside a large, pot-bellied, terra cotta pot. All other container plants into the garage which gets closed at night. They'll be fine.
Now to the back bed with the new transplants. Three sheets, some bamboo stakes, and clothespins make a tent for them. The north wind is blowing like mad already, so just visualize the action trying to spread sheets and then keep them where you want them. It took me four different re-visits to the tents with additional clothespins, more stakes, and additional weights for the edges before I got it to my satisfaction.
Nothing left to do but to try and protect the two newly planted elephant ear type plants inside the pool enclosure. They hate both wind and cold. One is an Alocasia, African Mask type, with small, rather thick leaves. The other is a Colcasia, a black elephant ear. Leaves are about 12" x 8", held on foot high, slightly drooping stems. The slightest breeze sets them to swaying. Now, it's pillowcase and bamboo stake time. The African Mask is easy, the pillowcase just pops right over it. The African Mask requires more finesse. I have to take each separate leaf (4 in all) and carefully sorta roll and stuff them inside the pillow case. These leaves are thin and delicate. But, I do get them all safely inside the pillowcase.
A ferocious wind blows directly out of the north. But they say this is a good thing because it will prevent frost. It will freeze but not frost and apparently frost is more damaging than freeze.
Day dawns quite cold. It's time to check the damages. Garage pots all good, but it's still very cold and very, very, windy. I leave them there. Pansies and oxalis don't seem to have noticed anything.
Both still in full bloom and no leaf burn or wilt at all. The coleus planted in the corner was shielded from the north wind by the garage and sustained a little leaf burn, but clearly, will recover. The one on the other end of the bed has been blasted. All leaves curled and crunchy, except for a couple of very small ones right at the center of the plant. Maybe it will recover.Grapefruit tree, blown over, terra cotta pot and all. Wind still blowing, pick it up tomorrow.
The tents on the newly planted bed have been half ripped off. I go ahead and finish the job. All the blooms and buds on the white hibiscus and the pink Turk's cap have been blasted. The flame bush was also in full bloom, but has retained most of it. The poor little red salvias and white salvias really took a blast. All of the plants in this bed have burn on some leaves, blast on other leaves, but will recover, except maybe the salvia--but they're annuals, so no big deal. Everything just looks a little sad and scraggly right now.
It's still cold and the wind is so bad I decide to leave the pillowcases on the elephant ears. Later it rains. Next day I'm faced with trying to remove a soaked pillowcase without breaking the delicate leaves stuffed inside. Fortunately, thanks to the bamboo stakes at the corners of the pillowcase, it comes off easily, without any harm to the plant. The oldest of the big leaves is pretty well toasted. It was already on its way out before the storm hit. The others each have a scalloped etching of burn along their margins.
I think it's a lovely varigation. I would love it if I didn't know it's injury caused. The pillowcase on the smaller, thicker leave, African Mask comes right off without incident. It appears to be virtually unharmed.That was over a week ago. The pansies continue to carry on as if nothing happened. The protected coleus is looking very good. The blasted coleus is struggling to survive. The plants still in pots have all been planted out except for the grapefruit (which is now standing up again) and the star fruit. They both have to wait for their beds to be constructed before they can be planted.
The plants in the newly planted bed keep showing new damages and looking very scraggy, but they are also setting new bloom. Even the salvias are rebounding and putting on lots of leaves and one of the white ones is showing a bud.
The Black Elephant Ear is about the same. The African Mask only started showing it's damage a couple of days after the event. It's extensive. All leaves are wilting and mushy and showing brown splotches. The only hope is one small, as yet unfurled, leaf. Fortunately I also have a bunch of knee-hi sweet peas in that pot that help to camouflage the ugliness. They seem to have reveled in the temp drop.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Beautiful Coontie
Took a jaunt up to Dade City, about 3 hours north and west, to visit my sister-in-law, Jackie. I forget how lovely that part of Florida is. It's sort of rolling. Yes, yes, I know it's Florida and Florida is flat, but up there it's sort of rolling. I would not go so far as to call them hills, but the land has some curves. There are large meadows/pastures dotted with magnificent live oaks showing off their sturdy trunks, horizontal limbs large enough to sleep on, and their satisfyingly rounded crowns. I remember that in spring these meadows are literally covered with wild phlox in multiple colors. We don't get that as far south as Indian River County.
On the way up we (Debra and I) went through Plant City. I suppose it's the closest thing I have to a home town, although I feel little affection for it. Now, I hardly recognize any of it. At the center of downtown there are still some of the old buildings that I remember. None of them serve the same purpose they did when I was a kid. We drove past Tomlin, the old junior high, now sitting empty for many years. It's situated in what's probably the best neighborhood in town. I remember treacherous bicycling on those little brick streets, especially in the rain. Bricks can be very slippery. The houses are grande olde Victorian dames and oaks dripping with Spanish moss line and cover the street. The perfect picture of what many see when they think of the south, but not what they see when they think of Florida. I'm the same, when I think of Florida I see beaches, palms, hibiscus. It made me smile to see that little bit of my past.
When we got to Jackie & Buddy's my brother-in-law, Marty and his two daughters, were also there. I met Marty, and Jackie, at the same time I met my husband, while attending USF. So we had a little trip down memory lane, remembering those we knew, those we still know, and especially those who have passed on. We told stories and embroidered them quite prettily and naturally, remarked on how the politics of then (60's) seems to have returned. We are all very concerned about ecology and the ruination of our only lifeboat.
Jackie and Buddy have a plant nursery focusing on Coontie, Zamia pumila, a true Florida native. There seems to be quite a lot of disagreement here about just what constitutes a Florida native plant. The majority rule seems to be anything growing here before Columbus. Many of the plants commonly associated with Florida, and many that have naturalized here, are not natives. Hibiscus-not. Most of the varieties of Palm-not. Bougainvillea-not. Citrus-not. Gardenia-not. The not list just goes on and on. Coontie however is a definite native. It's been here ever since there was a Florida. Seminole and the natives before them dug the root and pounded it into a starchy flour for breads. In the mid 1800's Coontie processing plants abounded for extracting starch from the roots for use in Arrowroot Biscuits or Cookies. Coonties almost disappeared under that pressure.
It's a pretty plant that looks like a leather leaf kind of fern, or like a loose Sago palm. It's neither palm nor fern, but cycad, grandmother of all plants. Cycads ruled when the dinosaurs roamed. It's like growing a piece of pre-history. They max out at about 4'x4', are tough, tough, tough (as you would expect a plant that outlived the dinosaur) and are the only host plant for the Atala Hairstreak butterfly. See some Coontie at Jackie & Buddy's site: http://www.ducklakeonline.com/.
Atala were considered extinct in the 1960's, but were rediscovered a few years later. Their numbers had been depleted by the disappearance of the coontie. They are black with white spots, two bright red spots, plus, a few dark blue spots on the undersides of their wings. They've been somewhat re-established in Dade County and Palm Beach and there have been sightings as far north as Indian River County (us) and Brevard (one county north).
Jackie and Buddy were kind enough to give me six coontie. I might get to see one of those local butterflies. I'm situating them right outside the pool enclosure in order to get my best shot at it. Jackie also gave me a large clump of a "native lilly", might be white or pale pink; and two huge clumps of a six foot ginger with red cones and edible flowers. I shared all this with my sister, Carla, who is as big a plant whore as I am.
On the way home Debra and I took a little jog to find the Crystal Springs where we spent many hot summer days and nights swimming, fishing, and camping. Way back in the day there would be no more than two other families there, and often we were the only people there. The last time I went, when I was still in college, they had put a fence around it and charged people to get in, and it was packed. People apparently don't value that which is free and or not yet discovered.
We knew that we would probably be unable to get in. Apparently it has gone through quite a few changes over the years. We went down this little road until it made a curve to the right. Right after the curve, on the left hand side, was the place where we used to drive into the springs. Now it has a big fence, covered with bamboo stuff, and a sign that says "No trespassing".
"That's it," I said to Debra. "No, it's not," she says. "We would be able to see the actual springs now." A few feet farther on are big, bright, blue gates that say "Crystal Springs Preserve". They're locked, but a sign behind them says they accommodate tours and buses. It's pretty clear that nobody swims, fishes, or camps there any more, but you can arrange to look at it.
The next stop was just outside Plant City again, for strawberries. Plant City is the Winter Strawberry Capital of the World and the season is just starting. It's kinda ironic. I went to most of my school years in Plant City, and for the past 35 years I've lived in California in a town that considers itself the Strawberry Capital of the World. But, summer is it's big season. In Florida, everyone looks for Plant City berries--they're considered far and away the best. Watsonville's big berry reputation rests on the name of one huge grower, developer, genetic engineer, Driscoll. In California, people don't look for Watsonville berries, but for Driscoll berries. I've seen Driscoll berries in New York. Conversely I was always told that Plant City berries were sold big time to go to Europe!
On the way up we (Debra and I) went through Plant City. I suppose it's the closest thing I have to a home town, although I feel little affection for it. Now, I hardly recognize any of it. At the center of downtown there are still some of the old buildings that I remember. None of them serve the same purpose they did when I was a kid. We drove past Tomlin, the old junior high, now sitting empty for many years. It's situated in what's probably the best neighborhood in town. I remember treacherous bicycling on those little brick streets, especially in the rain. Bricks can be very slippery. The houses are grande olde Victorian dames and oaks dripping with Spanish moss line and cover the street. The perfect picture of what many see when they think of the south, but not what they see when they think of Florida. I'm the same, when I think of Florida I see beaches, palms, hibiscus. It made me smile to see that little bit of my past.
When we got to Jackie & Buddy's my brother-in-law, Marty and his two daughters, were also there. I met Marty, and Jackie, at the same time I met my husband, while attending USF. So we had a little trip down memory lane, remembering those we knew, those we still know, and especially those who have passed on. We told stories and embroidered them quite prettily and naturally, remarked on how the politics of then (60's) seems to have returned. We are all very concerned about ecology and the ruination of our only lifeboat.
Jackie and Buddy have a plant nursery focusing on Coontie, Zamia pumila, a true Florida native. There seems to be quite a lot of disagreement here about just what constitutes a Florida native plant. The majority rule seems to be anything growing here before Columbus. Many of the plants commonly associated with Florida, and many that have naturalized here, are not natives. Hibiscus-not. Most of the varieties of Palm-not. Bougainvillea-not. Citrus-not. Gardenia-not. The not list just goes on and on. Coontie however is a definite native. It's been here ever since there was a Florida. Seminole and the natives before them dug the root and pounded it into a starchy flour for breads. In the mid 1800's Coontie processing plants abounded for extracting starch from the roots for use in Arrowroot Biscuits or Cookies. Coonties almost disappeared under that pressure.
It's a pretty plant that looks like a leather leaf kind of fern, or like a loose Sago palm. It's neither palm nor fern, but cycad, grandmother of all plants. Cycads ruled when the dinosaurs roamed. It's like growing a piece of pre-history. They max out at about 4'x4', are tough, tough, tough (as you would expect a plant that outlived the dinosaur) and are the only host plant for the Atala Hairstreak butterfly. See some Coontie at Jackie & Buddy's site: http://www.ducklakeonline.com/.
Atala were considered extinct in the 1960's, but were rediscovered a few years later. Their numbers had been depleted by the disappearance of the coontie. They are black with white spots, two bright red spots, plus, a few dark blue spots on the undersides of their wings. They've been somewhat re-established in Dade County and Palm Beach and there have been sightings as far north as Indian River County (us) and Brevard (one county north).
Jackie and Buddy were kind enough to give me six coontie. I might get to see one of those local butterflies. I'm situating them right outside the pool enclosure in order to get my best shot at it. Jackie also gave me a large clump of a "native lilly", might be white or pale pink; and two huge clumps of a six foot ginger with red cones and edible flowers. I shared all this with my sister, Carla, who is as big a plant whore as I am.
On the way home Debra and I took a little jog to find the Crystal Springs where we spent many hot summer days and nights swimming, fishing, and camping. Way back in the day there would be no more than two other families there, and often we were the only people there. The last time I went, when I was still in college, they had put a fence around it and charged people to get in, and it was packed. People apparently don't value that which is free and or not yet discovered.
We knew that we would probably be unable to get in. Apparently it has gone through quite a few changes over the years. We went down this little road until it made a curve to the right. Right after the curve, on the left hand side, was the place where we used to drive into the springs. Now it has a big fence, covered with bamboo stuff, and a sign that says "No trespassing".
"That's it," I said to Debra. "No, it's not," she says. "We would be able to see the actual springs now." A few feet farther on are big, bright, blue gates that say "Crystal Springs Preserve". They're locked, but a sign behind them says they accommodate tours and buses. It's pretty clear that nobody swims, fishes, or camps there any more, but you can arrange to look at it.
The next stop was just outside Plant City again, for strawberries. Plant City is the Winter Strawberry Capital of the World and the season is just starting. It's kinda ironic. I went to most of my school years in Plant City, and for the past 35 years I've lived in California in a town that considers itself the Strawberry Capital of the World. But, summer is it's big season. In Florida, everyone looks for Plant City berries--they're considered far and away the best. Watsonville's big berry reputation rests on the name of one huge grower, developer, genetic engineer, Driscoll. In California, people don't look for Watsonville berries, but for Driscoll berries. I've seen Driscoll berries in New York. Conversely I was always told that Plant City berries were sold big time to go to Europe!
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