The following is the first of the new series in the Gainesville Sun: “Messages from the Springs Heartland.”
The first in the series is by Lucinda Faulkner of Fort White. The original article can be seen at this link in the Gainesville Sun.
Comments by OSFR historian Jim Tatum.
jim.tatum@oursantaferiver.org
– A river is like a life: once taken,
it cannot be brought back © Jim Tatum
Failure to treat springs as sacred places has led to their impairment
I had been swimming at Rum Island Spring one afternoon and when I climbed out of the water, I passed a young woman standing on the bank who was looking into the spring with a familiar expression of joy and reverence.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I said.
“It’s sacred,” she replied.
Her answer surprised me because there was nothing going on that resembled any kind of sacred ceremony — just families swimming and splashing around, having fun, nothing like the baptisms that are sometimes held at the Ichetucknee.
But then I remembered that many of the world’s native people view springs as sacred. Even today in some Western cultures (such as the British Isles, where springs and wells are decorated to mark the change of seasons), springs are still described as holy places. There are examples from here at home, too.
The late Florida writer Bill Belleville wrote, “Water was enchantment, certainly. But it was also deeply feared and honored, held close to the heart in both mystery and awe. It was sacred.” He was describing the worldview of the Timucua, who lived in North Florida at the time of Ponce de Leon.
A historical marker in the town of White Springs acknowledges the special qualities of that area’s springs: “These sulphur springs were thought to have medicinal properties and were considered sacred by the Indians. Warriors wounded in battle reputedly were not attacked when they came here to recuperate.”
The idea that water and springs are sacred seems odd, however, in 21st century Florida. Most of us, especially our elected representatives and state water managers, view springs as objects — as natural “resources” instead of living systems with which we have give-and-take relationships. Our failure to honor these dynamic interconnections is one reason why the health of so many of our springs is now impaired.
When I looked down, I could see all of North Florida and parts of South Georgia from an astronaut’s eye view. I saw into the massive Floridan Aquifer and how water withdrawals from Jacksonville and Southeast Georgia caused flow reductions miles away in the Ichetucknee springshed. I saw how rainfall in different places recharged the aquifer and helped depleted springs bubble up out of pockmarked limestone. The whole vision was animated in living color, like the best of the old Disney movies I grew up with.
I saw that we exist in a web of relationships with our springs, our aquifer and each other.
Our springs are many things to us. They are muses; teachers; adventures; healers; friends and spiritual friends; economic engines; social and community centers.
In turn, we are many things to our springs. We are restorers, preservers, protectors — or exploiters and destroyers.
We hope to give you many different ways to think about the deepest meanings of our relationships with the springs. Stay tuned!
Lucinda Faulkner Merritt is a writer and springs lover who lives in Fort White.
