Month: June 2026

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The Coastline That Disappeared

FIELD NOTES FROM NORTH FLORIDA

One of the most important features in North Florida is something most people never even notice. In fact, if you didn’t know it was there, you could drive past it a hundred times and never give it a second thought. Just like I did. 

Millions of years ago, it was Florida’s coastline. Today, geologists call it the Cody Scarp. 

The funny thing is that it isn’t especially dramatic. It’s not the Grand Canyon. It’s not a mountain range. In many places, it’s little more than a subtle change in elevation. But it may be the reason North Florida became such a unique landscape.

The first clue is that you can find shark teeth in the Suwannee River. Not at the beach. Not along the coast. In a river winding through pine forests and cypress swamps, miles and miles before it reaches the Gulf.

Long before there were springs, farms, roads, or even the Suwannee River itself, the sea reached much farther inland than it does today. The Cody Scarp marks one of those ancient shorelines.

North of that ancient shoreline, water tends to stay on the surface. South of it, water disappears into the limestone beneath your feet.

That’s where things start to get interesting. North of here, the Alapaha River can disappear entirely into the ground at a place called Dead River Sink. The river simply vanishes into the limestone.

Elsewhere, that same underground world sends water back to the surface, creating the springs that have drawn me back again and again throughout my life. Peacock. Telford. Madison Blue. Troy. And dozens more.

I spent years swimming in these springs before I understood why they were here at all. In many ways, the Florida I grew up loving exists because of a coastline that no longer exists.

The more time I spend exploring this part of Florida, the more I realize that many of the things I love about it trace back to this ancient shoreline. The springs. The sinkholes. The disappearing rivers. Even the shark teeth hidden in the Suwannee.

That’s one reason I love North Florida. It doesn’t reveal itself all at once. The beaches announce themselves. The theme parks advertise themselves. But North Florida asks you to pay attention.

And if you do, you’ll discover rivers that disappear, springs that emerge from nowhere, and traces of an ocean that vanished millions of years ago.

— Dion

P.S. Have you ever found a shark tooth in a river or creek? I’d love to hear where.

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I Thought There Would Be Resorts Here

Luraville Country Store
Luraville Country Store

As a kid, I was convinced this road would someday be lined with resorts.

If you’ve ever been to the springs along the Suwannee River, you might know the turn I’m talking about. You leave Highway 51 at the flashing light by the Luraville Country Store and turn left.

Even then, it felt like you were going somewhere special. I just assumed everyone else would eventually figure it out too. I imagined traffic. Hotels. Restaurants. Souvenir shops. Surely the rest of the world would discover what we already knew.

Instead, that road has barely changed in my lifetime. It’s still one of the quietest roads I know. And I’m glad.

The first spring along that road for me was Telford Spring.

I spent so many summer days there with my dad that I almost think of it as my home spring. It’s not the biggest spring in Florida. It never has been. But it has always felt special.

There’s a small spring basin, crystal-clear water, and a short cave you can swim through. Growing up, it was mostly a local spot. The kind of place where you recognized the other cars parked nearby.

At one point it was closed off and could only be reached by boat. Today it’s once again open to the public thanks to the water management district, and people still love it.

When I think about Telford, I don’t just remember the spring itself. I remember sitting beneath an old oak tree with my boom box propped against the trunk, 80s music playing while I swam in water so cold it almost hurt when you first jumped in. Those memories feel as clear as the water.

A little farther down the road is Peacock Spring.

Long before it became a state park, it was simply a dirt road disappearing into the woods. It still feels that way.

Peacock has a primordial quality to it. Even now, it feels more like a discovery than a destination. You won’t usually find crowds there. Instead, you’re likely to meet people who have traveled from around the world to dive one of the most remarkable underwater cave systems on earth.

One of my favorite memories is riding on the back of my dad’s green MGB convertible with my sister while he flew down that old bumpy dirt road. To us, it felt like a roller coaster.

Even today, Peacock can feel like it’s yours alone. Sometimes the only sign that anyone else is there, besides a few cars in the parking lot, is a stream of bubbles rising from deep below the surface, evidence of cave divers exploring the darkness beneath your feet.

Inside the park is Orange Grove Sink.

Most days, the surface is covered in duckweed, tiny flowering plants that create what looks like a solid green carpet across the water. But if divers are below, their bubbles often clear patches in the surface, revealing the clear water underneath.

One side of the sink is bordered by a towering limestone cliff. As teenagers, after hot days working in the tobacco fields, my friends and I would gather there and leap from the rocks, trying flips and tricks that seemed like a great idea at the time. I’m not sure I’d recommend all of our decisions. But I’d relive those summers in a heartbeat.

When I was young, I thought this road would become famous. I thought resorts would appear. I thought crowds would follow. Instead, it stayed mostly the same.

And maybe that’s the reason these places still feel so special.

— Dion

PS. The summer is a great time to visit North Florida.

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Most people drive right past some of Florida’s most beautiful places

I’m writing this from a family vacation at Vilano Beach.

The ocean is right outside. The weather is great, by Florida’s standards. The kind of trip that reminds you why getting away matters.

Watching people enjoy the beach got me thinking about something from when I was a kid. Most people come to Florida for the beaches. Or the amusement parks. And for good reason.

But growing up in North Florida, I was always more excited about going to the springs. Honestly, I thought they were better than amusement parks. The water was clear enough to see the bottom. The rivers felt wild. And every trip felt like discovering something most people didn’t know about.

I remember being convinced that someday everyone else would figure it out too. I thought there would eventually be resorts lining the roads to my favorite springs. Hotels. Traffic. Gift shops. The whole thing.

Looking back, it’s kind of funny. Many of those roads still wind through pastures where the cows outnumber the people.

And while millions of visitors are heading for the beaches and theme parks, they’re often driving right past some of the most beautiful places in the state without ever knowing they’re there.

That’s one of the things I love most about North Florida. Not because there’s nothing to do. But because so much of what makes it special hasn’t been turned into an attraction.

So now I’m curious. What’s a place you’ve visited that still feels undiscovered? Could be in Florida or anywhere else.

I’d love to hear about it.

Dion, Anasa Founder