Coming home to Okeechobee on a stretch of days off feels less like “time off” and more like a return to the source. The older life gets, the more leisure time looks like river miles, family hugs, and the wild eyes of an alligator sliding just under the surface. Coming Home to the old blue house in the prairie the four-hour drive south always seems to loosen something in the chest as the land flattens out and the sky opens wide over pasture and palmetto. Okeechobee has a way of greeting you before you ever reach town—cow pastures, sugar fields, and that familiar wind that smells faintly of water and grass. It feels like the soul has already stepped out of the car and run ahead to meet home. Family is waiting on the other end—son, daughter, grandson, and maybe a new little heartbeat added to the circle. There is something about standing in the front yard and hearing the wild things talk ,. Bald eagles and ospreys sometimes perch on the poles or circle overhead, and the owls speak there song from the hammocks reminding you this is still wild Florida, .The old Kissimmee River has a memory longer than any of us, winding through prairie and marsh, even after decades of being straightened and then slowly brought back to life. Years ago, fish camps clung to its banks like old stories—weathered cabins, bait shacks, docks creaking into tea-colored water where airboat and jon boats tied up before daylight. Some of those old camps are gone or changed, but the spirit remains: early launches in the dark, coffee from a thermos, lantern light on the dock, and the echo of voices swapping fishing reports. Exploring those stretches again with family and old friends feels like walking back into a childhood photograph that somehow never faded.Alligators and That Old Thrill no matter how many years pass, seeing an alligator in the wild still sends a small, bright thrill through the veins. On the restored sections of the Kissimmee, gators slide off sunny banks, leaving only ripples, or float like half-sunk logs in the bends of the river, eyes barely above the surface. They are as much a part of this place as the cypress knees and the coots, living proof that the river and its floodplain still hold onto their wild heart. Every sighting is a reminder: this is not a theme park, not a staged attraction—this is real Florida, breathing and watching you back. Family, Friends, and this is Soul,-Rest leisure, these days, looks like:Slow boat rides up an old river, pointing out sandhill cranes, turkeys, and gators to grandkid who are seeing them with fresh eyes. Parking at a fish camp or a riverside pull-off just to share a simple picnic and swap “remember when” stories with friends who knew you back when. Sneaking off for a short hike on a prairie trail or atop the dike, letting the wind and bird calls rinse the noise out of the mind. Coming home to Okeechobee, to the old Kissimmee and the fish camps, to family and familiar water, is the kind of leisure that doesn’t just entertain—it mends. It is where time slows down, the wild things still move through the grass, and a person can finally hear their own heart beat in rhythm with the river again.
Gentle Trails journal 
Leave a comment