Gentle Trails journal

There is a specific kind of magic that happens when you trade the hum of the world life for the rustle of saw palmettos. As I gear up for a hike through Myakka River State Park tomorrow, I’m reminded of why these moments of downtime are so vital.Before the Monday and the familiar rhythm of the workweek return, there is this beautiful, open window of time. For me, spending it in the wild—and specifically with my wonderful friend—is the ultimate way to “open up the soul.”Why Myakka?There’s something grounding about Florida’s dry prairies. It’s a landscape that demands you look closer. Whether it’s spotting an alligator sunning itself on the riverbank or watching the Spanish moss sway in the oak hammocks, the park has a way of slowing your heart rate and sharpening your perspective.The Forecast & The Plan couldn’t have picked a better day. The forecast for Sarasota tomorrow is looking beautiful:Conditions: Partly sunny and perfect for trekking.Temperature: A high of 83°F and a low of 61°F.Wind: A gentle breeze from the east at 9 mph.The Soul Connection hiking isn’t just about the miles logged or the “gram-worthy” views (though the Canopy Walkway definitely delivers those). It’s about the conversations that happen when there’s no cell service. It’s the shared laughs over a wrong turn and the quiet moments of mutual awe when you see something incredible in the brush.To my friend joining me: thanks for being the best kind of “soul fuel.” To everyone else: I hope you find your own version of a Myakka trail this weekend.

If you see a woman in a Florida driveway, wearing a sundress and flip-flops while screaming at a weather app on her phone, don’t call for help. That’s just me. I am currently in a committed, long-distance relationship with the National Weather Service, and things are getting serious.
My husband is somewhere in the red. He is also a “Florida Boy” in the purest sense of the term. This is a man whose internal thermometer is calibrated for 90% humidity and “surface of the sun” heat. And where is he? He’s currently barreling toward a purple-and-red-shaded “Snowpocalypse” on the map that looks less like a forecast and more like a bruise on the face of the northern and southern states.
The 5-Minute Update Cycle

I have become his personal, unpaid, and largely ignored meteorologist. Every five minutes, I send a text. It’s a ritual:
10:00 AM: “Hey babe, there’s a band of freezing rain near St. Louis. Watch out.”
10:05 AM: “The radar is turning purple. PURPLE IS THE COLOR OF DANGER,
10:10 AM: “I just saw a snowflake emoji on Twitter. PULL OVER.”
His response? Usually a thumbs-up emoji or, if I’m lucky, a “K.”

K?! My brother in Christ, I am looking at a map that says you are about to drive into a Narnia-themed disaster movie, and you give me a “K”?
The “Florida Boy” Logic
The problem is that Florida Men have a different relationship with danger. If it’s not an alligator in a pool or a Category 3 hurricane, they don’t think it’s a “real” threat. He’s up there thinking, “I’ve driven through tropical storms where I couldn’t see the hood of my truck, how bad can some frozen water be?”
Honey, it’s very bad. It’s slippery.
It’s cold. It’s the opposite of everything you stand for. You can’t wear flip-flops in a snowbank, You’ll lose a toe, and then how are you going to hold down the accelerator?

The Heart of the Worry
I joke because if I didn’t, I’d be a puddle of nerves on the kitchen floor. There’s something uniquely terrifying about watching that little GPS dot move closer and closer to the “Snow Warning” zone while you’re sitting under a palm tree. You feel helpless. You want to reach through the phone, grab the steering wheel, and turn that rig 180 degrees south until he smell salt water and sunscreen.
Every time the news mentions “black ice,” my heart does a somersault. Every time he doesn’t answer the phone because he’s actually—God forbid—focusing on the road, I assume he’s joined a colony of penguins.

To All the Trucker Wives…
If you’re like me, sitting in the sunshine but mentally freezing to death in a cab in Ohio, I see you. We are the keepers of the radar. We are the ones who know the exact wind chill in Des Moines even though we’re in Florida
To my Florida Man: I know you aren’t listening. I know you think I’m overreacting. But I’m going to keep sending those updates every five minutes anyway. Not because I think you’ll pull over, but because I need you to know that there is a very worried, very loud woman down South waiting to yell at you in person once you’re safe.
Drive safe, . And for the love of everything holy, put on a jacket.
Okay, maybe not that dramatic, but you get the idea.
All jokes aside, my worry is real. Being a truck driver’s wife during any kind of extreme weather is a special kind of anxiety. You learn to live with a certain level of “he’ll be fine,” but a winter storm of this magnitude? It just feels different.

I can see it now. He’s cruising down a highway that’s rapidly disappearing under six inches of slush. The cab is rattling, the heater is working overtime, and what is he doing? He’s probably got Jimmy Buffett blasting on the speakers. He’s singing about Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes while his latitude is currently “The Tundra” and his attitude is about to be “Regret.”

​ Finding the “Forest Jewels” of Ocala National Forest

If you’ve ever hiked through the sandy pine scrubs of the Ocala National Forest, you know the beauty is often in the details. While most people are looking for deer or scrub jays, the real magic is happening right at your feet.On a recent trek through the pine straw, I spotted these: tiny, orange-capped wonders known as Marasmius mushrooms.

The Tiny Recyclers,measuring barely an inch across, these mushrooms are the unsung heroes of the Florida ecosystem. In the Ocala forest, where the soil is often sandy and nutrient-poor, these fungi work overtime. They grow directly off fallen pine needles, breaking down the tough cellulose and returning vital nutrients to the earth.

Nature’s Umbrellas

What makes them so striking is their “creamsicle” color—a vibrant orange that fades to a bright white center. They look like something out of a fairy tale, especially when they pop up in clusters after a heavy rain.

Keep Your Eyes Peeled, next time you’re wandering through the “Big Scrub,” slow down. Look past the towering pines and into the brown carpet of needles. You might just find a colony of these tiny forest jewels staring back at you.

If you’ve ever walked the vast, sun-drenched expanse of Kissimmee Prairie Preserve State Park, you know the feeling of looking up at the endless Florida sky. But the real magic often happens when you look exactly where you’re stepping.Tucked into the white sands between clumps of Wiregrass and Saw Palmetto are these tiny, architectural wonders: .

Hatpins (Syngonanthus flavidulus) or Common Bogbuttons (Lachnocaulon anceps).

The Survivors of the Sand

In the photo, you can see how they huddle together in the sandy patches. These aren’t just pretty shapes; they are survivalists. Kissimmee Prairie is a land of extremes—either bone-dry or ankle-deep in water, and frequently touched by lightning-sparked fires. These rosettes use a strategy called being a hemicryptophyte: they keep their “buds” and most of their mass right at the soil surface.When the prairie burns, the fire moves quickly over them, leaving the heart of the plant untouched. Within weeks of a burn, these little green stars will shoot up thin, leafless stalks that look like pins stuck in a cushion—hence the name “Hatpins.”

Pro-Tip for Your Visit next time you’re out on the Military Trail or the Prairie Loop:Get Low: Bring a macro lens or just crouch down. The symmetry of these rosettes is stunning up close.Look for the “Buttons”: Depending on the season, look for the white, drumstick-like flower heads swaying in the breeze.Watch the Sand: You’ll often find them sharing space with carnivorous Sundews and tiny “Pink-scale” Milkwort.Kissimmee Prairie isn’t just about the big views and the “Big Sky”—it’s about the tiny constellations of green at your feet.

Sometimes the best adventures are the ones that don’t happen. We had every intention of hitting the trails today, but Asher just wasn’t feeling the hike. Instead of pushing it, we decided to listen to the vibes and lean into a “Prairie Slow Day.”

​Living on “Prairie Time”

There is something special about Kissimmee Prairie Preserve when you aren’t rushing to a destination. Being one of Florida’s last remaining expanses of dry prairie, the horizon here just goes on forever.Our Lazy Day Checklist:Porch Sitting: Swapping the hiking boots for bare feet and just watching the grass waves.Birding from the Window: You don’t have to hike five miles to see a Crested Caracara or a Meadowlark; sometimes you just have to stay still long enough for them to come to you.The “No-Plan” Plan: Reading, napping, and letting the quiet of the preserve sink in.

The Lesson of the Trail there’s one thing the prairie teaches you, it’s that you can’t rush nature. Today, Asher was the teacher. We’re trading the sweat and the mileage for a front-row seat to the big Florida sky.”The prairie isn’t just a place to hike; it’s a place to breathe.”

Asher called a timeout. Listening to the body today and taking a much-needed trail break.”

They say that when you’re two years old, the whole world is a giant playground. But for Asher, it’s not just a playground—it’s a place of discovery.

​Before we officially went to meet his new little brother, we took one last hike as gran gran and Asher . Looking at him standing there amongst the towering pines, I couldn’t help but be impressed. At just two years old, he doesn’t just “walk” through the woods; he explores them.

​A Love for the Little Things

​Asher’s joy is found in the details that most adults walk right past:

• ​The Pinecones: Every one is a treasure. He holds them up like trophies, fascinated by their scales and textures.
• ​The Trees: He looks up at them with a sense of wonder that reminds us all to slow down.
• ​The Path Ahead: He tackles the trails with a determination that is way beyond his years.

​Looking Toward the Future

​As we prepare to introduce him to his baby brother, my heart is full of hopes for them both. I hope that Asher’s wild spirit and his “wanting to know” follow him into all his childhood,

​I can already imagine him leading the way through these same woods a few years from now—only then, he’ll be holding his little brother’s hand, showing him where to find the best pinecones and teaching him how to love the trees just as much as he does.

​Keep exploring, Asher. The trials is waiting for you.