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.