My destination the next morning was Ravine Gardens State Park near Palatka. The park was on my list of places to explore for two reasons; it was a New Deal era project (one of nine in the state), and it’s one of the few places in Florida that has some natural topography.

The 152-acre park encompasses two ravines that were carved through the soil by Whitewater Branch, a spring-fed creek. In 1933, at the urging of Palatka residents, the Civil Works Administration began a beautification project that turned the ravines into a terraced garden. A year later the Works Progress Administration took over and planted thousands of azaleas on the steep slopes.

In its heyday, the blooms would start in late February and continue through early May. It must’ve been just stunning (see copy of historic postcard above). Sadly, the gardens have fallen victim to the massive funding backlog of the Florida State Park system. The park put up a sign stating they are letting nature take its course, which I can see making sense along most of the steep slopes (though leaving large, downed trees across trails is a bit of stretch – that’s not nature, that’s a safety hazard). However, in the formal garden and picnic area there is no reason not to restore the lush, historic landscaping (especially since there’s plenty of fresh water onsite).

While I was disappointed in the overall state of the place, one item in particular piqued my interest, a sign about William Bartram. His spot in history was earned as the first naturalist to document Florida. In 1763 Great Britain acquired the land from Spain and in 1774 Bartram was hired to provide a detailed report on their purchase.

Since waterways were the easiest way to traverse the land’s dense vegetation, much of Spanish development centered on the St. Johns River and its tributaries. One of Bartram’s stops along the St. Johns was Palatka.

Wanting to learn more about Bartram’s adventures I headed to the town’s waterfront. Though the location was already occupied by a thriving Seminole village, the current town’s name derives from its import as a Spanish cattle ranching hub. Palatka was mangled from the original Seminole, meaning cow’s crossing.

When Bartram arrived in April 1775 he was impressed by the Seminole village’s acres of cultivated crops (including oranges, corn, beans, melons, and tobacco). He established a good relationship with the villagers, enlisting their help in finding new and interesting flora and fauna for his report. His odd requests earned him the Seminole name, Puc-Puggy (Flower Hunter).

From his nearby home base, Bartram ventured upriver to Blue Spring. It’s odd to call a southern location upriver but the St. Johns is distinctive in that it flows from south to north. Though the term flow is generous, over its entire 310 miles the river drops less than 30’. Battling the current is not the issue but wayfinding is, especially in the Upper Basin where the river fans out to include 13 lakes. One of the lakes, Lake Hell ‘n Blazes* the headwater of the river, earned its colorful name because it was so notoriously difficult to navigate.

Bartram wrote about his Blue Spring trip in his Book “Travels”, relating that a wolf stole fish from his campsite and large alligators almost capsized his little boat (the last is not surprising since his trip was during alligator mating season). He also ventured west, out to the Alachua Savannah, which funnily enough was where I was headed next…

*A popular curse from the early 1800s.