Islands in the Stream

Yeah, I live in the suburbs of the city. Yet it is a bizarre metropolis, one of the few places in the U.S. where I can consider myself an ethnic minority. I grew up here. Hell, its still the best place to eat a mango, which are ripening on the trees as I write this. The flavors are intense here, changing from year to year, and yet I still don't mind calling it home.

One may think being in the city is lonely for a botanist. They'd be wrong. Large tracks of unfettered land are nearby, and hardly visited. The Everglades. The Big Cypress. The Florida Keys. All are perfectly intact, and generally perfectly regulated. I visit them often. What separates the academics from the truly passionate ones, is whether they can see the outliers. What is left, amidst the supposed nothingness caused by development's destruction. But alas, that is the curse of those with the untrained eye. For floating in the seas of suburbia and the streams of streets, are islands of nature, delicately strewn across like the freckles on the chest of a Castillianita. These jigsaw puzzle pieces may be tattered and torn, or have faded almost beyond recognition. But, they are still there if you know where and how to look. I enjoy the hidden beauties. They all have stories to tell. So in this series, the hobo botanist shall elaborate on one of his favorites: the railroad tracks. (Railroad 1 of 5)