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Sun, surf and s-it in FLA-USA …

It’s hard to spend a few days in Florida and not notice the seamy underbelly of the Sunshine State.

Of course, this means trash by the ton. It is everywhere you look; roadsides, canals, parks, lakes, beaches, neighborhoods, parking lots. Litter is there in all its sordid glory. The scope and volume of unconfined junk takes the observer’s breath away. A few days down there last week only underscored the visual and physical pollution that is Florida. A few recycling bins could be seen yet based on my eyewitness account, residents aren’t entirely sure how to put the containers to use.

I don't know how Floridians get so doltish, but their must be a lot of them. Perhaps it's something in the water.

I don’t know how Floridians get so doltish, but their must be a lot of them. Perhaps it’s something in the water.

I didn’t think any locale could surpass the slovenliness of South Carolina, but I stand corrected. Florida is at the top of this crass list. Other states may be close to the top spot of sordidness but my rankings put Florida firmly in the lead.

No doubt state and local officials would launch into full denial mode to pooh-poo such a negative description of their state and, by extension, slough off the damning of resident and visiting oafs who see the landscape as nothing more than a warm-weather dumpster.

Certainly, this isn’t a picture the Chamber of Commerce would promote for the state. But rest assured this litter/trash/debris issue is very real and it’s omnipresent.

Perhaps Florida Gov. Rick Scott should rethink his apparent order that sea level rise due to global warming is a taboo and unmentionable subject for state employees. Perhaps if he embraced actual science, rising seas would wash away all the junk and make it someone else’s problem. Problem solved! As someone who governs (sort of) a citrus growing state, he ought to know better than anyone that when real science gives you lemons, you make lemonade.

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)
I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

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