Restoration of Florida's Picayune Strand Nearly Complete

When I was 12 or 13, my family was vacationing in Southwest Florida. Our parents took us for a day trip to an area that defied reason -- at least when you're 13.

My dad, a lover of all things real estate, drove us to an area that had been marketed as "Golden Gate Estates South." Miles and miles and miles of paved roads (more than 260 miles to be exact) -- seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Street signs at most intersections, and light posts lining a number of streets.

And grass .... two to three feet high as far as you could see.

No fences, very few trees. Just miles of straight, paved roads through acres and acres of grassland. More than 50,000 acres, to be exact.

FAST FORWARD TO TODAY -- Now known as the Picayune Strand State Forest, this former development is beautiful. This first project in a larger plan to restore part of the Everglades is in its final stages. 

BUT THEN -- It was 1971 or '72, and we were in the middle of what had been advertised as the largest under-construction subdivision in the United States. Its size, developers claimed, when completely built out would dwarf Miami, Florida. Which begs the question: Have you ever heard the phrase, "I've got some swampland in Florida I'd like to sell you?" That area in eastern Collier County was just such a place.

A forested swampland, the area was logged in the 1930s and 1040s. Then developers had the idea if they dig canals and drained the land, they could sell house lots. This tied in with similar thinking at the time that if large portions of the Everglades were drained, huge swaths of incredibly rich land would open up for agriculture.

Building lots were sold for several years via advertisements in newspapers and magazines. The developers flew buyers over the land while they were here in the winter to take a look. Buyers would pick out a lot they liked, plunk down some cash or write a check, and VOILA! They owned a building lot in Golden Gate Estates South. The vast majority of buyers never stepped foot on the land they were looking to buy.

But come summer, when the annual summer rains came, all the newly dug canals criss-crossing the region could not drain all the water from these lots. Standing water was the norm (as it actually had been for thousands of years). Lots were unbuildable. It truly was a land scam. They basically were selling flooded plots sight unseen in the 1950s. Eventually, the developers went bankrupt. The State of Florida condemned the land and started a program to buy back property. An estimated 17,000 property owners or their heirs -- scattered all around the globe -- had to be tracked down. The State paid 125 percent of appraised market value on the lots. It took years,

The long range plan? Figure out a way to turn 57,000 acres back into something that would help water ecology, instead of blocking sheet flow across what had long ago been "The River of Grass." In the meantime, the land suffered. An abundance of canals mostly did their job. Because the land was better drained, it became dry in summer. Fires occurred with more frequency. Which led to more palm trees growing and a change in the natural flora and fauna.

What my family and I saw on that day back in the early 1970s was that moment when the developers were first bankrupt, and the "progress" to date was being allowed to revert back to nature. Beautifully paved roads were in place. But nothing was there.

It was eerie.

                                         An aerial photo of Picayune Strand from 2016. Paving removed from most roads but they still appear as trails.
                                                               Many canals have been plugged. Portions of some canals remain as small lakes/ponds.


Today, decades later, most of the canals have been plugged, rather than entirely filled in. Most of the asphalt roads, which have been crumbling for 20 years or so, have been bulldozed and the aggregate removed. Wildlife is abundant. A pumping station at the north end of this broad swath of land will soon start pushing water ono the expanse, allowing "sheet flow" -- the broad, slow-moving way water spreads across the Everglades -- to once again move across all those acres.

In areas where you can drive or hike through, you see wading birds, cypress domes, and a diverse community of native plants and animals. Wood storks, a bird that has had a tough time in recent years in Florida, seem to be doing well.

More work remains to be done, but the Picayune Strand is a testament that we can undo the bad we do to the Earth. In all the world, there is only one Everglades.

And in Florida, environment equals economy.