Ichetucknee Memory
by Stacie Greco
| THE ICHETUCKNEE HAS ALWAYS been an almost mythical place for me, with mist rolling down the river to reveal gnome-like cypress knees rising out of the crystal clear water. I am blessed to have a plethora of memories on this river to get me through the tedious side of my work to help protect the water bodies and the aquifer that supports us all. I have one memory that stands out which I would like to share.
During a time of transition and heartbreak in my life, I launched my kayak near the headspring for a solo paddle. For a small female who needs time alone in nature to listen to the wind in the trees, finding places where I can safely surrender to nature’s rhythm is a rare gift that the Ichetucknee Springs State Park provides. On this morning, I sat straddling the back of my boat with much of my legs immersed in the water, carefully avoiding the dancing plants below me as they flirted with the reflection of the sky. I remember breathing deeply and really feeling the river and my gratitude with every rejuvenating breath. The wild rice was creating a symphony as the wind played it like a reed instrument. I felt peace and came to a place of complete acceptance of my recent loss and felt the roots of hope take hold in my shaken soul.
Stacie Greco is the Water Resources Program Manager for Alachua County’s Environmental Protection Department. In non-pandemic times, she organizes quarterly meetings of the Santa Fe River Springs Protection Forum, an informal group that shares information and ideas about ways to ensure water security for natural systems and for people.
As I floated in this place of serenity, I realized I was not alone. I heard the familiar sound of a manatee’s breath just downstream of the grassy flats. With great care, I slipped off the back of my boat, and from a distance I watched this gentle giant through the lens of my mask. I felt my warm tears against the frigid water as my heart continued to open to this underwater world. Time stopped until this amazing creature slowly turned on its side and looked at me. I saw an opening in its body and a little hockey puck of manatee poop was released into the water, as the manatee righted itself into the flow.
I understand that you have to know me to grasp how transformative this moment was. At risk of damaging my professional image, I will try to illuminate the gravity of this intimate moment. Some call me the Poop Princess, as I used to respond to sewage releases and regulate wastewater. I found my calling for inspiring behavior change through a Barbie Doll that scooped the poop of her pet pooch. I even created an alter ego one Halloween that sold recycled corn, after I saw a mountain of undigested kernels at a wastewater treatment facility. Poop is just a part of my life.
As I pulled myself back in my boat, using the strength of my abs, not the fragile bottom of the river nor the banks, I was changed. I had rounded the bend of personal pain and loss. I was ready for what would come next.
Life comes at us hard and fast sometimes. I truly do not know how to cope without the embrace of nature. I cannot imagine survival without immersing myself in the waters of our springs and rivers. Protecting our water is not just my life’s work, it is my life force.