Annotated Bibliography
The “Redneck Riviera” lives as perhaps the most unique socioeconomic area within the Southeastern United States. Here, the darkest parts of the Deep South live in harmony with elite beachgoers, snowbirds, Spring Breakers, and military employees. Why is that? I intend to use the following sources to uncover the cultural mystery of Florida’s Panhandle, the area I call home. Through historical and literary research, I hope to uncover the motives that push ongoing masses to the area, my grandparents included.
Walker, Alyce Billings. Alabama: A Guide to the Deep South. New York: Hastings House, 1975. Print.
Understanding my grandparent’s roots in the “land of cotton, white-pillared mansions and blacks singing spirituals in the fields” is key to discovering the driving forces behind an eventual move to another state. I selected Walker’s publication because it takes readers on an actual tour of Alabama, as if the reader was a passenger in a car that ventured through every nook and cranny of Alabama. Walker is known for her publications on mid twentieth century Alabamian culture, particularly of her home city of Birmingham at the height of the Great Depression. She served as a public school teacher during the Crash of 1929 before editing several statewide newspapers.
Walker describes the bulk of my mother’s family’s history in her section “Montgomery to Mobile.” One finds the intersection of Interstate 65 and US 31 in Evergreen, the county seat of Conecuh County and birthplace of my grandfather. Evergreen was established as a farming community, as Walker describes, which later began to cultivate the town’s namesake. Following US 31, Walker brings the reader into “The Strawberry Capital of Alabama”, Castleberry. Castleberry is the childhood home of my grandmother, and current residence of much of her family. Interestingly, neither my grandfather’s family nor my grandmother’s family worked in the field their town is famous for. Eager to move to an area with better economic opportunities, my grandparents followed Walker down US 31 into Escambia County, settling in the well-to-do Brewton. Brewton has a history of lumber barons who owned nearby mills, one of which was the first sawmill in the entire Southeastern United States. The wealthier population gave the town privileges of a better education system, better healthcare system, and modern consumer-based luxuries. Walker’s guide offers a concise look at communities both small and large, giving insight to areas often overlooked or unmentioned by others. I plan to ask several questions based on the histories of the US 31 corridor in South Central Alabama.
My mom often recounts fond memories of her childhood in Brewton. These stories mirror those of countless others in small Southern towns: Football Friday Nights reigned king of the week, drawing out even more followers than worship of The King of Kings come Sunday morning. Despite these fond memories, mom has not lived in Brewton since the day she graduated from T.R. Miller High School, nor have my grandparents. In the interview, I would like to have my grandmother talk about her time in Brewton, and her reasons for leaving the life she and my grandfather established there.
Wells, William James. Pioneering in the Panhandle: A Look at Selected Events and Families of South Santa Rosa County, Florida. Fort Walton Beach, FL: Melvin Business Services, 1976. Print.
As I started this project, I realized that I knew little to no information on the history of the area that I call home, nor did my family members. William James Wells offered greater insight into the families that established the region in his book Pioneering the Panhandle. Florida’s Panhandle is classically described as the ten counties that lie west of the Apalachicola River, all of which are in the Central Time Zone. Despite hosting the state’s capitol, this region is a far cry from the stereotypical and more populous “mainland” Florida. The Panhandle connects with more with the rural, conservative landscape of the adjacent states of Alabama and Georgia, largely due to the large presence of military instillations in Northwest Florida, versus Central and South Florida’s diverse atmospheres.
Wells outlines the early histories of the Panhandle through a descriptive look at prominent area families who settled the area after the state became a United States Territory in 1821. Prior to this time, the Florida Panhandle had been under the control of several European countries. Pensacola, the largest metropolitan area in the Panhandle, is even known as “The City of Five Flags” as the area has been under Spanish, British, French, Confederate, and American rule. Specifically, the French settled Santa Rosa Island, the current site of Navarre Beach, in 1722 in order to defend the important Pensacola Bay. However, a hurricane in 1752 demolished any trace of human presence on the island. The island would remain a site of unmolested beauty until 1931, when a bridge was established over the Intracoastal Waterway to connect the island to the mainland area of Gulf Breeze in Escambia County. In June 1935, the Escambia and Santa Rosa County Commissioners met and decided that the island should be renovated into a public park with Federal funds. For thirty years, the area was admired for its natural beauty as a National Park only. In 1961, a second bridge was erected to add additional access to Navarre, in Santa Rosa County. In return for building the bridge, Santa Rosa County was awarded a four-mile long area immediately surrounding the bridge for commercial use. Today, this small area jammed between one discontinuous National Park is dubbed the unincorporated “Navarre Beach” and is home to my grandparents.
Due to it’s prior establishment, the Pensacola Beach end of Santa Rosa Island is far more commercialized, with a series of high rises and various restaurants. Navarre Beach has only recently witnessed this kind of change; the first high rise condominiums were erected only a decade and a half or so ago, and no restaurants are in Navarre Beach. Though neighborhoods and rental houses now complete the area, Navarre Beach is still very much the rural and Southern environment my grandparents are used to, but in an area of simply untouched beauty. I think Northwest Florida’s history of military prominence links to the attraction my grandparents continue to feel for the area. I do know, however, that my very existence relies upon Eglin Air Force Base’s location in the Panhandle. In my interview, I believe that I will discover that my grandparents were attracted for its similarity to their Lower Alabamian roots.
Rucker, Brian R. Treasures of the Panhandle: A Journey through West Florida. Gainesville: U of Florida, 2011. Print.
Researching the history of this “desolate stretch of Interstate 10” led me to question the culture, atmosphere, and importance of the area I thought everyone held in high regard. Further reading led me to Brian Rucker’s Treasures of the Panhandle. Rucker is a history professor at Pensacola State College with an emphasis on the history of the Florida Panhandle, and traces his roots back seven generations in the Pensacola area. Rucker builds upon my historical research in Wells’ Pioneering the Panhandle by providing a broad overview of the twelve westernmost counties in order to describe each county’s assets. I plan to use Rucker’s intense description of the “forgotten realm filled with enticing historic and natural resources” to expose underlying motives that may have moved my grandparents to the area two and a half decades ago.
Though I found the chapters on the surrounding counties fascinating, I will focus on Santa Rosa County for the intents and purposes of this project. Entwined within the chapter are several photographs that work with the text to emulate a virtual trip around Santa Rosa County. Famous landmarks like the Masonic Lodge in Milton, the county seat of Santa Rosa to the old cobblestone US Highway 1 that connected Pensacola to St. Augustine are included within the chapter, as are photos that represent the modern-day tourist-driven southern part of the county. Similar to Brewton, early settlers of Santa Rosa found wealth in the “pines that blanked the region” two decades before the Civil War. Much of the early industry was destroyed because of the Civil War, and the area sat relatively vacant until the latter half of the twentieth century.
As Rucker’s publication is far newer than Wells’, Rucker is able to build upon Santa Rosa’s newest phenomenon: an explosive population growth sprouting from growing nearby military installations, far different than the rural northern part of the county. Today, this phenomenon has led to a deep socioeconomic and political divide felt within the county. Milton, the political seat of the county, is in the agrarian rural segment of the county. A thirty minute drive toward the south is equivalent to teleporting: John Deere’s are replaced by beach buggy’s, mobile homes are replaced by multi-million dollar HGTV worthy vacation homes, and Piggly Wiggly’s are replaced by Publix’s and Fresh Markets. The economy is solely reliant upon the vacationers who flock year-round to this pristine mecca, the white haired snowbirds who take up residence here, and military families who pour money into a booming tourist-driven economy. The small farmland is seemingly pointless in comparison, minus the fact that nearly all County officials are from this area, a direct link to “good old boy” systems of generations gone by, which continue to fuel the Redneck Riviera moniker.
Chesney, Kenny. “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problems (Re-Tracked / Master Version) — Kenny Chesney.” — Google Play Music. N.p., n.d. Web. 12 Oct. 2015. <https://play.google.com/music/preview/Tp2ai5at2pytblnuui4hdpzofvi?lyrics=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=search&utm_campaign=lyrics&pcampaignid=kp-lyrics>.
Since the phonograph became the first artificial means of replaying recorded music over a century ago, lyrics and rhythm have played an ever-increasing role in our daily lives. A short walk around campus will reveal students with headphones in while jamming to some personal favorites, a dining hall or two playing a wide variety of stations from SiriusXM, an Orbit bus driver blaring Rebecca Black’s “Friday” every single Friday, and countless individuals enjoying some background noise while on the morning commute in the car. Music plays a powerful role in daily life as this means of communication conveys ideals that generate cultural alignment and belonging. However, music can also drastically alter the surrounding mood and environment. Several songs center themselves on the idyllic lifestyle that is dreamt about when one thinks of the beach; I feel that Kenny Chesney’s “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problems” precisely portrays the sentiments most people feel about a beach bum life, my grandparents included.
“The islands — they’re the one place you can truly be as you are. Where it doesn’t matter what you’ve done, how you make your life, you’re just there with the sun, the sand, the sea, and the locals. Where the notion of no shoes, no shirt, no problems isn’t a song title, but a way of life. My way of life. Where I feel the most alive, the most settled.” Chesney opens his music video for “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problems” with these words as an aside to his fans in order to offer a personal connection to the locale. I believe that these words summarize the freedom offered by life on the beach almost perfectly. Furthermore, Chesney appeals to listeners through lines such as “In laid back mode/ No boss, no clock, no stress, no dress code.” For many, my grandparents included, island life draws its attraction on more than just the Instagram-worthy scenery — living at the beach constitutes more than a place of residence, it’s a lifestyle of peace, tranquility, and wholesomeness. Even if you live at the beach while employed full-time, you still drive home every day to what most people only dream about, a place where worry fades as quickly as the beautiful sun sets.
“Blues, what blues, hey I forgot them/ The sun and the sand and a drink in my hand with no bottom/ And no shoes, no shirt, and no problems.” These lines bring a smile to all that replay Chesney’s song in their heads. After all, how can you be mad while sitting on the beach? For this reason alone, I feel that Chesney’s song “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problems” directly describes the reasons a multitude of people have shared when deciding to live at the beach; life is just easier and more enjoyable, and who does not want that?
I should mention that this song was released when my family and I also lived in Navarre. I distinctly remember riding shotgun with the windows down in my dad’s truck with this song on the radio in the early 2000’s; personal bias may have played a role in selecting this source as it relates both personally and is interdisciplinary.
Jones, Jane Anderson, Maurice J. O’Sullivan, and Frank Lohan. “Songs from the Water.” Florida in Poetry: A History of the Imagination. Sarasota, Florida: Pineapple, 1995. 72. Print.
“Sweet Florida, good bye to thee,
Thou land of sun and flowers,
Where gen’rous hearts and beauty dwell
Amid thy fragrant bowers.
St. Rosa’s snow-like sands
Are fast fading on my eye,
Then take the off’ring of my heart,
Sweet Florida, good bye.”
-Anonymous, 1835
Florida in Poetry is a comprehensive anthology of poetry from the time of Spanish settlement in the sixteenth century until modern day, including noted poets such as James Merrill and Langston Hughes. Florida in Poetry is organized into distinct categories of the state’s culture; its history, climate, environment, tourism, and other key aspects are all featured. “Sweet Florida” is featured in the section “Songs from the Water,” which emphasizes the sheer awe that comes with Florida’s fourteen hundred mile coastline, as is described in the poem itself.
The anonymous author of “Sweet Florida” caught Pensacola in an awkward time. “Sweet Florida” was written in 1835, sixteen years after the United States recaptured the area from Spain for the second time, one year after the famous Fort Pickens was erected at the Western tip of Santa Rosa Island, and ten years before Florida was admitted to the Union. It is likely that the speaker in “Sweet Florida” was stationed at or worked for Fort Pickens as the military installation was a crucial piece in protecting the Port of Pensacola and inevitably defeating the overlooking Spanish power. In 1835, Pensacola residents were just beginning to feel affiliation to the state of Florida; the city had been ruled under the British, Spanish, and French, and Pensacola residents even voted to be annexed with Alabama but were denied due to the Port of Pensacola’s importance in the newly established Florida Territory. The poem “Sweet Florida” is likely one of the first to establish a sense of state pride in the Pensacola area. I would like to discover in my interviews how strongly state pride exists in Northwest Florida.
“Sweet Florida” is a “softly romantic song of a sailor leaving Pensacola [that] captures the idealization of the land that appears in much of the folklore of the sea” (Page 72). I can personally identify with the speaker’s sentiments as he leaves the area I call home. The speaker says, “St. Rosa’s snow-like sands/ Are fading fast on my eye;” St. Rosa is a clear reference to what is now known as Santa Rosa Island, the residence of my grandparents. Yes, the sand truly is whiter than snow. Each time I leave, the longer I stare in the rear-view mirror at the picturesque beauty. I imagine that the speaker of “Sweet Florida” felt overwhelmed as he departed Pensacola Bay for perhaps the last time. As I noted in my proposal, neighbors next door and across the town treat one another like family; I am lucky enough to feel that familial atmosphere with each visit, much like the speaker who noticed “gen’rous hearts” living in the area. Clearly, this small-town quality has been present for over two centuries. In my interview, I would like to discover if my grandmother notices this same sense of community that both the speaker of “Sweet Florida” and I realize.
McKeen, William, ed. Homegrown in Florida. Gainesville, Florida: U of Florida, 2012. Print.
Florida is “seen by outsiders as a place where people go to, not come from, as a place somewhat devoid of long-term family histories and geographic identities” (McKeen, Page 1). Snowbirds reminiscent of the cast of The Golden Girls, tourists on their way to Walt Disney World, Spring Breakers on their way to Panama City Beach, and the ever-present traveler on their way to a cruise ship — these are the people that come to mind when one thinks of Florida. All are within the state lines temporarily. Who actually lives there? Certainly storybook childhoods do not exist in a land of endless summer, a land home to the Happiest Place on Earth. William McKeen, chairman of the Department of Journalism at Boston University, compiled an anthology of short stories from famed journalists affiliated with Florida who prove that Florida does indeed host year-round families with real children.
I chose this anthology because McKeen summarizes the lifelong impact the state has in a way that truly connects to me; McKeen’s “childhood was spent in England, Germany, Nebraska, and Texas, but [his] three years in Florida were the years that defined [him]… [He] lives a thousand miles from Florida now, but in some ways, I [McKeen] haven’t left. Perhaps I never will.” I was born in Japan and have spent the majority of my life, but Florida remains home. Clearly, I am not the only one that feels this way. Throughout my interview process, I aim to discover if this feeling of home has captivated my grandmother as well, and, to a larger extent, how the transient population of Northwest Florida connects on a personal basis with the area.
Two short stories in Homegrown in Florida are set in the Pensacola area. Stephen Orlando, director of Media Relations at the University of Florida, reminisces on “weeklong, alcohol-soaked summer soirees” on the Intracoastal Waterway with friends right after graduating from Escambia County High School in his story “The Other Campout.” Orlando’s coming-of-age account mirrors that of young men across the United States of America; however, Orlando and accomplices were in search of “overindulgence” not in the woods of New England or in the basement of a Sacramento suburb, but on the very sands people dream of visiting. Orlando attests that normal teenage life happens in Florida, just like in every other state. Craig Pittman discusses the impact of the nearby military installations on his childhood in his story “Red Clay Road.” Pittman, a reporter for Tampa Bay Times, befriended a boy named David who’s mother hailed from Sicily and who’s father was “a hard-eyed Navy officer;” Pittman’s claim to family fame was that his grandmother “lived across the bay bridge on the road to Chumuckla,” a rural Census Designated Place in Northern Santa Rosa County. Only in Northwest Florida can the most southern of southern people live in conjunction with natives of exotic lands; in my interviews, I hope to discover how much of an impact the military has had on the Redneck Riviera.
Hollis, Tim. Florida’s Miracle Strip: From Redneck Riviera to Emerald Coast. Jackson: U of Mississippi, 2004. Print.
Summer after summer I begged my parents to let me go to Destin’s Big Kahuna Water Park. Each new summer brought the same old response: no. Why did I need to pay to play in a pool of water when the Gulf was free? Eventually, I did go to Big Kahuna’s, and I injured my ankle on the “Honolulu Half Pipe.” No, I have not been back. Tourist traps such like Big Kahuna’s Water Park, countless miniature golf places, overpriced and over-themed motels, and tropical convenience stores cloud the Panhandle. Tim Hollis grew up vacationing to the same area I did, and published Florida’s Miracle Strip in order to provide a detailed look at the history of the changing tourist attractions.
“Trying to document the development of a tourist capital is made extremely difficult by the tendency of such areas to care only about the here and now.” In an eat-or-be-eaten world like the tourist industry of the Florida Panhandle, businesses have no choice but to evolve or face closure. Because of this, many fond childhood locales exist only in our memories. Hollis outlines how the once barren area boomed in the post- World War Two era when consumerism sparked a newfound ability and desire to travel and see more of the world. Business along Florida’s Gulf Coast quickly sprang up to capitalize on this new industry. However, while Destin, Fort Walton, and Panama City embraced the tourist traps, “fiercely independent Pensacola Beach proudly stood on its own” which likely explains the quiet and subdued nature that drew my grandparents to nearby unincorporated Navarre Beach: same beaches, less people.
I found Hollis’ work to be helpful since it describes the all-out tourist boom that happened toward the end of the twentieth century along Florida’s Panhandle. My mother and her parent’s frequently visited Destin while my mom was in high school during the 1980’s. However, my grandparent’s chose to settle in Navarre because Destin was just too populous. Hollis’ book reaffirms this notion with an in-depth look at the sometimes-silly attractions that draw in countless visitors to the area.
Boberg, Carl. “Religious Music — How Great Thou Art Lyrics | LyricsMode.com.” How Great Thou Art Lyrics | LyricsMode.com. N.p., n.d. Web. 27 Oct. 2015. <http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/r/religious_music/how_great_thou_art.html>.
“O Lord my God, When I in awesome wonder, Consider all the worlds Thy Hands have made; I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder, Thy power throughout the universe displayed. Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee, How great Thou art, How great Thou art. Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee, How great Thou art, How great Thou art! When through the woods, and forest glades I wander, And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees. When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur And see the brook, and feel the gentle breeze.”
Upon Dr. Simrill’s recommendation, I asked my grandmother what her favorite song was in order to present a more perfect presentation of her personality. I honestly did not know what reply to expect; in recent memory, I do not recall as much as background music in my grandparents house. On occasion, SiriusXM’s “Sixties on Six” will be on in her car with the volume subdued to a minimal level. My grandmother replied with the hymn “How Great Thou Art” without any hesitation. I feel that this reply in itself speaks volumes to her personality, and it reaffirms her place of residence. Navarre Beach is a quaint, peaceful retreat from hectic life. When breathtaking sunsets and sunrises are a daily occurrence, it would be hard not to appreciate the “awesome wonder” on display. For my grandmother, Navarre is a place of peace where she can connect and reflect spiritually. I think that the song “How Great Thou Art” demonstrates my grandmother’s congenial personality and her connection to the place that I call home.
“In the Suburbs — 1950’s Economic Expansion Through Consumerism.”YouTube. YouTube, n.d. Web. 27 Oct. 2015. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYCJiS9n34o>.
Evergreen and Castleberry are by no means the suburbs. However, the phenomenon of consumerism, which fueled the onslaught of suburbia, describes the world in which my grandparents were raised and provides possible motives for their transient lives. Redbook magazine shot this documentary in the 1950’s in order to promote their new tagline “easy living.” Redbook’s goal was to be the “it” magazine for young adult’s and their children in this post-World War Two era and produced this documentary to demonstrate how Redbook would fit in their everyday lives. I do not know if my grandparents or their parents read Redbook, but the scenes depicted reveal the complacent normalcy inspired by an era of superfluity.
Redbook’s documentary describes the childhood of my grandparents as the first generation to grow up in “the age of the push button.” I find this statement to be fascinating; everything sold and marketed during my grandparent’s childhood was sold on the basis of ease-of-use and convenience. Slogans like “Cruise-O-Matic” infiltrated radio and television ads. The idea of the supermarket and of the shopping center or shopping mall revolutionized the world of consumption during the 1950’s; my grandparents were there to see the world obtain these luxuries while rural Alabama got by with a Post Office at best. The 1950’s exited in a “happy go spending world reflected by the shopping centers of suburbia.” My grandparents did not live with this ease of use until marriage when they moved up town to Brewton to raise my mother and her brother. Even then, Brewton offered only a Dairy Queen and a Mexican restaurant in terms of going out to eat; Navarre represents the pinnacle of consumerism in my grandparents’ lives. Throughout my interview process, I hope to discover what my grandmother thinks about consumerism. I feel that Navarre attracts my grandparents because it offers luxuries simply nonexistent in their youths.
Jackson, Harvey H. The Rise and Decline of the Redneck Riviera: An Insider’s History of the Florida-Alabama Coast. Athens: U of Georgia, 2012. Print.
As I grew up along Florida’s Gulf Coast just after the second millennial, I never understood why my grandparents lived in desolate Navarre. At the time, a McDonald’s and a Winn-Dixie were all that we had — anything else required a trip to Pensacola, Fort Walton, or even Destin. I knew these towns as a massive, coast-long cleanup program began. During the 1980’s and 1990’s, when my grandparents moved to the coast, U.S. Highway 98 through Destin and Fort Walton was an “unsightly jumble of billboards, fast-food restaurants, gift shops, neon signs and utility poles.” Clearly, this was an unappealing situation for anyone who planned to live in the area for more than a week’s vacation at a time. By the time I came around, the Fort Walton and Destin I know, called the Miracle Strip, were taking shape.
Jackson’s exploration of Northwest Florida’s Gulf Coast in The Rise and Decline of the Redneck Riviera follows the generational changes in visitors and how they shaped the scenery. World War Two veterans, armed with “symbols of the good life after the war — a job, a car, and a vacation,” were among the first to formally visit the area for recreational purposes. For the next three decades, families continued to trickle in during the summer; small rentable residences and a few restaurants were all that existed. Fort Walton began to take shape as a town due to the growth of Eglin Air Force Base, and Pensacola Beach continued to cater towards Pensacola businessmen who spent their weekends on the beach. When the World War Two servicemen began to get their Social Security checks around the 1980’s, small tourist communities like Destin boomed with real, year-round inhabitants. Little regulation by the city or county led to an all out building free-for-all, creating a dirty coast. My only guess as to how Navarre escaped this rampant lower socioeconomic upbringing is that Eglin blocked people from the east and Pensacola businessmen from the east did not want to drive any further out. In late 1995, three years after my grandparents moved to Navarre, Hurricane Opal proved to be a blessing in disguise. “Less attractive buildings” were wiped out along the coast, leading to “cleaner and better” beaches after cleanup. “Involuntary urban renewal” allowed the coastal home I know to take shape. Today’s coast still caters to the retiree, the military employee, the Spring Breaker, and the family vacationer. After Opal, the “Lexus driving, latte sipping, Republican voting, Bourgeois Bohemian from Buckhead or Mountain Brook” found residence along all parts of the Florida coast.
This source has allowed me to answer the mystery of Northwest Florida’s culture in a chapter-by-chapter breakdown of the changing social atmosphere that I have questioned for all of my life. My grandparents were among the last to settle during a time of simplicity, before property values skyrocketed and homeownership became unattainable in parts along the Gulf Coast.
Richardson, John. “Still Fighting.” The Navarre Press [Navarre, Florida] 2010, Military sec.: n. pag. Print.
Richardson’s article documents a general overview of my grandfather’s story in my grandparent’s hometown newspaper, The Navarre Press. The article does have a few fallacies: my grandfather graduated high school in Evergreen, he was drafted in 1969, and they purchased their Navarre home in 1992. However, Richardson’s article and interview had a large impact on my grandparents who had, in large part, felt as if they were on their own in my grandfather’s fight against Parkinson’s and other diseases. The Navarre community has reached out to my grandparents, as is evident in the article, which I believe is a reflection of their personalities. While my grandparents worked in Brewton, evenings and weekends were spent mingling with locals in the beach community. It did not take long before the county commissioners, sheriffs, and prominent businessmen and women gained interest in the friendship my grandparents offer. I often joke, as I did in the project proposal, that Facebook has always existed for the older generations, but it just existed through gossip. I would not say that my grandmother telling others about how tall I now am is exactly gossip, but it spreads all the same way. When I visit Navarre three or four times a year, it truly is as if I never left. People know what I have been up to. This sense of community I feel is directly rooted through what friendships my grandparents established, often nearly three decades ago. Clearly, this sense of community is reciprocated back to my grandparents as is evident through a full newspaper article. I fully believe that Navarre is home for me through the trailblazing friendliness radiated by my grandparents.
St. Myer, Thomas. “Funding Beach Renourishment Never-ending Challenge.” Pensacola News Journal. N.p., 15 Sept. 2015. Web. 01 Nov. 2015. <http://www.pnj.com/story/news/local/pensacola/beaches/2015/09/15/beach-renourishment/72342840/>.
Protecting the island I call home is a never-ending battle. Storm after storm wash away the island itself and threaten the livelihood of many endangered species as well as humans. Visiting tourists and increased commercialization do nothing to help the cause; uninformed or unwilling visitors often cross the sand dunes, destroying the sea oats that secure the sand and thus the island. Destruction of sea oats is against state law and is punishable by law. Every ten years, the cost of renourishing each beach is more than $16 million dollars. While federal and state grants pick up some of the tab, a large chunk is left on the shoulders of local county governments as well as leaseholders. Several county commissioners in the Northwest Florida area, including family friend and Santa Rosa County Commissioner Rob Williamson, propose that each county “team up and share the federal funding.” In this method, districts that receive minimal damage will receive their fair share, rather than the equal $8.5 million per decade each county is now receiving.
I find this article interesting because it investigates some of the most pressing issues in the Panhandle area. Unincorporated areas, such as Navarre Beach, are the center of political attention. I believe this adds to the increasing tension between the county seat in the northern part of the county and the center of attention at the southern end of the county; I doubt Milton, Santa Rosa’s county seat, receives $8.5 million every decade for anything. This article is fascinating because it highlights the incongruities between rural and coastal Northwest Florida that I have noticed.
Each video was directed by my grandparent’s neighbor, Jack Burton. I am authorized to use these videos for my publication.
