The Boss of the Swamp

Chapter One

The Six-and-a-Half-Foot Yellow Banana

The car eases to a stop at the sign when my mother puts her foot down on the brake. I wish my mother would tell me what her plans are for my day. I take hold of a strap that dangles from the surfboard racks. If I pull the strap maybe she will stop. I give it a tug and nothing happens. I should get paid for baby- sitting this squirt. I can’t believe he will be in my class at school.  

“Your mother told me you get into trouble,” says Tim.

“I am not a bad kid. My problem is the same problem most kids have. Everyone over sixteen does not seem to understand me.”

“Is Florida a dangerous place?”

I can see this new kid is a bookworm. The indigo border of last year’s geography book (which I forgot to return) sticks up above the top of the pocket attached to the back of the front passenger’s seat. I pull it out and casually flip through the pages until I come to the chapter that tells me all about the landscape and seascape of Florida. Here’s my chance to impress Tim. I look up from my reading and hope to remember it all. “You see, Tim, we are on the east coast of southern Florida. It is a vast, level expanse of sand, swamp, and seashore.” I can see Tim is a little confused. I will simplify it for the new kid on the block.

“Listen, Tim, there is another way to put it. I live on a mature sandbar.”

“Will this sandbar ever be washed away by a hurricane?” asks Tim.

“It is true we have our frequent hurricanes, but my granddad told me they have created a protection for us.” Tim is giving me an odd look. I will need to work hard to convince this egghead.

Again I flip through my geography book and search for the right words. “The storms have created a steep off-shore mass of rolling dunes. These dunes protect the inner shore along with the rocks that grow.”

“What are you saying?  I may be from Chicago, but I know rocks cannot grow,” says Tim.

“The rocks that grow are called barnacles.” Tim puts his hand up. Is he going to ask me to talk to the hand? “I will show you a barnacle when we get to the dock.”

“Florida is like a house that has poor plumbing. There is water everywhere in the inner-coastal waterways. The waterways are fed by slow-flowing rivers that wind endlessly through elbow bends and little ponds. I am not a know it all, but this is my home. I’ll finish by saying, and all this confusion of water movement is generated from the swamp.”

I can see this new kid needs help. When the teacher cannot seem to reach me, and this will happen every other day and two times on Friday, she will use an illustration. How convenient my mother stops the car next to a hibiscus bush. I can use a spider web on a hibiscus for an illustration. I point out the window to the bush.

“OK, Tim, picture this: From the window of an airplane the rivers look like spider webs on a hibiscus. The little ponds that dot here look like petals of a blue flower that got picked up by the wind and placed in the web like those.”

“I’ll draw it for you,” says Tim.

He puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. He spreads it out on the car seat.

Is he some kind of Rembrandt?  I lean over toward Tim. I cannot see what this artist is up to. “Let me see your artwork,” I demand. Tim hands me the piece of paper. This kid is no artist. “It looks like a broken finger,” I conclude.

“It is Florida.”

“Florida