Gone but not Forgotten: the “Miami River Rapids”

From http://www.growingintothemystery.net/

My most recent work-in-progress.

THE MIAMI RIVER RAPIDS, anytime from the dawn of time until 1908,
when the oolitic limestone (I prefer the generally used “coral rock”) waterfalls
and ledges were destroyed by dynamite as part of the bold new campaign to
“drain the Everglades,” and redeem the perfectly good land from “muck.” Here
you see a view of the North Fork of the Miami River, the primary point at which
the massive quantities of clean water flowing from the Everglades marked the
beginning of the Miami River.

This was an area popular with residents at the time. Much was written of its
beauty. Especially in the wintertime, it was a wonderfully picturesque setting for
a picnic. The sound of falling water is always refreshing, and soothing. And just

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imagine the variety and abundance of birds flying overhead, and the “fresh Earth”
smell of the living forest meeting the open Everglades.

For a more modern reference, think of the planet Pandora in James Cameron’s
Avatar, and turn up the color just a couple notches.

An illustration of the site from Harper’s Magazine, early 1900’s.

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Things were different, before man came. Fresh water bubbled up from the white
sandy bottom of the river itself, and in fresh water "boils" out in the Bay from
which my Grandfather used to replenish his water supplies while out boating, or
fishing.

No one thought twice about the laying of the sewage lines from Flagler's lovely
yellow Royal Palm Hotel to empty their raw content directly into the River.
Considerable damage resulted from that alone, but the people had then only just
started to come.

Disposal of Refuge, Saturday, Miami River. Behavior like this, if you think about
it, could result only from a working belief that "this is somebody else's river," and an
assumption that the most short-term of "solutions" was good enough for even serious
problems.

Oh, but before! How it would have taken your breath away!

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The view from the site of the painting would have been sensational in all
directions. If you turned your gaze back toward the racing river, you’d see deep
green forest, thriving and ancient, with the white foaming terraces of clean water
making their way down, down in the direction of the River’s mouth at Biscayne
Bay, about one mile away.

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 Mouth of River, 1871. The site would be homesteaded by visionary pioneer Julia Tuttle
about 20 years later, and prior to that be held by her father, as an orange grove.

Between this point and that, the water dropped 10 feet, to sea level. Much of that
descent happened quickly, falling nearly seven feet within the first 450 feet of
flow. The area was called a “rapids” for good reason, and no joke, or
exaggeration.

The force of the flowing water made rowing or paddling one’s craft upstream
nearly impossible. The custom for those heading upriver to “see the Ever-
Glades” was to disembark and walk along the shore, tugging their reluctant craft
along with a rope held tight, until they’d arrived at their destination.

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The location today would be around NW 27th Avenue and the Miami River. Near
the site, in fact, is a city park called Miami River Rapids Mini-Park, on NW 27th
Avenue at 21st Terrace.

Its name is the only remaining evidence of what once was. Oh yeah, and my
painting.

A simplified “color negative” (OK, so I made that term up!) to help clarify my
understanding, and focus on shapes.

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IT is a fascinating and enriching process to undertake an “imagined” historical
landscape. It is my intention to capture with the greatest possible accuracy what
was. And so, I look for clues.

Here was a great find, an “A-Ha!” moment.

Upon study and contemplation of the picture above and that below, I discerned
an “overlap!” The first provides a more complete panoramic view of the scene,
but misses almost completely the real drama of the rapidly falling water.

The second, fortunately taken by a photographer from a lower point of view,

captures beautifully the terraced effect of the rapidly falling water. I can almost
hear its ancient song of motion, dancing.

Even now:

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With a little color thrown in, to help me understand.

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I cannot bring back what was; it is forever gone. But I can and will honor the
Earth, and help you remember.

And invite you to imagine, and enjoy a moment of simple rest.

Egret on the Miami River.

Thank you.