Go watch the now-near flooding St. Johns River on the banks of Sanford’s Lake Monroe. St. Johns’ supposed original name – but no one asked who said first – was Welaka, supposedly meaning chain of lakes, and, indeed the lakes throughout The Saint Johns River are shallow and more like beads or pearls strung by the usually sluggishly slow (4 miles per hour) in its long wending way Northward from Lake Hell-N-Blazes (now debawlderized into Hellen Blazes) to its debouchement onto the waters of the North Atlantic at Jacksonville Beach. From the headwaters at Blue Cypress Lake somewhat South of Hell-n-Blazes (as in where’s that: gone to Hell’n’blazes, that’s where) I enjoy the river’s continued overflow of its banks during clement times. Reminds me of Song Thu Bon back in South Vietnam after Typhoon Kate which I partly enjoyed in a hilltop bunker with a squad of Marines back in late Fall of 1970. With Song Thu Bon, Song (River in Vietnamese) Vu Gia the pair overflowed the 20-mile long six or so miles wide Arizon Territory, the valley between the high razor-ridged mounains of Charley Ridge and the Que Sons. I am a river rat as much as a surf dog, perhaps even more. I have seen bottlenose dolphins both bow-surfing off an attack transport in the Mediterranean and actual body surfing the breakers along both New Smyrna and Playalinda beaches and that still moves me to worship the author of this here mudball.
So I go to the river right now to renew. Pardon the break: you may cheer as you will.