It’s a gorgeous December afternoon along the shores of Boca Ciega Bay. I’m standing at the southern edge of Eckerd College campus, where Frenchman’s Creek drains into the bay, watching sunshine glitter off the wake of passing boats and sift through the dense clump of mangroves at Maximo Point, just across the channel. I’m waiting for my friend Tyler, who directs Eckerd’s coastal management program and has promised to show me around the College’s new living shoreline installation, a grouping of plants and riprap meant to protect this erosion-prone section of its coastline. Snatches of students’ conversations in the nearby dog park drift by: a killer chemistry exam, roommate drama, plans for the upcoming break. The sun beats down and I peel off my jean jacket; by the time Tyler arrives, I’ve started to sweat. Even after 11 years, I’m still not quite used to Christmastime in Florida. 

The night before, we’d put up our tree: the six-and-a-half feet, prelit, made-in-China ersatz evergreen we’ve affectionately dubbed “Wesley Spruce” after the name printed on the box. (It’s worth noting that there is no such species as a Wesley Spruce. This is apparently a marketing name created by Christmas tree manufacturers to designate a particularly lush and lifelike type of artificial tree). I’ll admit, I have mixed feelings about using an artificial tree; growing up, I relished the yearly trip to the tree lot, the delightful man-versus-tree wrestling match between my dad and our chosen conifer that inevitably followed, and the sweet green smell of fir that would fill the living room all season. I also know that, by the time you balance the plastics, the carbon footprint of shipping millions of artificial trees around the world, and the carbon mitigation provided by all those Christmas tree farms, you really should just buy a live tree. It’s what real treehuggers do. And yet, our family has been ringing in the holidays with our scraggly, smells-like-attic Wesley Spruce since 2014.

But, of course, there’s more to the story. Christmas 2014 was the first one we’d spent in the house my husband and I had bought together. I had just left a good job that had gone sour, and was moping anchorless and miserable through bright December days that felt like an affront to my sad state of mind. Wesley caught our eye on a routine trip to Home Depot; we needed a tree, and I think my husband knew it might cheer me up a bit. So we brought Wesley home, patiently unpacking and stacking his octopus-like tiers, tenderly untangling and fluffing his feathery-plastic boughs, and covering him with two boxes worth of gold balls—all the ornaments we had at the time. Since then, Wesley’s finery has grown: my tarnished silver First Christmas ‘82 bell (still plays “Joy to the World” if you wind it up enough), my husband’s collection of owl ornaments, and all manner of painted and googly-eyed creations produced by our son over the years. We deck Wesley out, plug him in, and, every time, there it is—that sentimental catch in my throat that means the Christmas season has officially begun. An awkward beginning turned strangely lovely. 

Looking around me, I could say the same about the living shoreline. As we wade into waist-high spartina grass, I’m amazed by what I see. Just 16 months before, one broiling August afternoon, I had stood in this very spot, helping a throng of Eckerd students and staff plant grasses and shrubs in a patch of raw, sandy soil. Dodging shovel-swings and flying sand, I’d eased spartina and muhly grass plants from their pots, chatting with my planting partner about her first semester in college. We’d made a little game of wishing each plant luck as we patted it into the ground. When we finished and stepped back for a drink of water, it didn’t look like anything so grand as a living shoreline; it looked like a phalanx of ragged recruits, transfer-shocked plants stationed across 400 feet of bare soil. If I had understood the drubbing those little plants were to face in the next two months with the arrivals of Hurricane Helene and Hurricane Milton, I might have wished them more than luck. Parts of the installation had to be completely replanted.

But now, the picture is altogether different. Up and down stream, marsh grasses grow in wild profusion, slender stalks swept this way and that like tousled hair. They slope gently down to the water, sheltering gray-green tufts of salt bush, fiery splotches of blanketflower, and, right along the edge, scrappy stalks of red mangrove. Along the shaved-down remnant of the seawall—all that remains of a structure that had armored Eckerd’s shoreline for decades—Tyler finds new patches of oysters growing. And these aren’t the only signs of life: we find narrow wildlife trails winding through the grass and the delicate footprints of raccoon and possum along the low tide line. We also find slightly broader paths cut by students—known in the restoration business as “social trails”—down to the riprap, a prime fishing spot. And, wedged in the watery hole between the boulders and the old wall, one punchy little crab. 

Our campus, like so many other waterfront properties on Tampa Bay, is reckoning with the long term impacts of the dredge and fill craze that swept this part of Florida in the 1940s-1960s—the construction boom that brought ecological disaster to Boca Ciega Bay and became, as former State Representative Roger Wilson told Tampa Bay Newspapers in 2019, “a national representation of how not to dredge and fill.”  By some estimates, as much as a quarter of the bay bottom of Boca Ciega was scraped up and piled into finger islands, destroying seagrass meadows and mangrove banks that had once nourished one of the most productive estuaries in Florida. Add to this the runoff and sewage that followed from all that development, it’s no surprise that  environmentalists declared Tampa Bay “dead” by the 1970s.

Looking at old aerial photographs in the College archives, you can’t help but notice the startling fact that the western third of our campus did not exist—at least not as land—before the late 1960s. (Fun fact: the Ratner Fill project, which completed our campus and also laid the groundwork for neighboring Isla del Sol, helped spark the controversy which led to Zabel v. Tabb, a court ruling that called for the Army Corps of Engineers to take the cumulative effects of any dredging project into consideration when granting permits. It helped spell the end of the dredge and fill era.) The miles of sea wall that hold all that dredged land in place are now fighting a losing battle with time, tide, and sea level rise, all of which gradually erode and undermine them. It’s a common sight in the Tampa Bay area: places where land behind a seawall has subsided into ankle-twisting gaps and holes, where the concrete has begun to buckle and crack.

Living shorelines are promoted as a “green infrastructure” alternative to this overabundance of concrete that works on multiple levels: they absorb the wave energy that causes erosion, while creating habitat for wildlife—or in many cases, restoring lost habitat. They also scrub runoff headed into the bay, removing pollutants and improving the water quality that is so important for seagrass meadows and all the species they support. Where dredge and fill degraded the estuary, living shorelines repair, bit by bit.

We’ve wandered now to the end of the installation, where the cordgrass peters out into the shade of trees and the sidewalk curves away to the west. I start to thank Tyler for his time, but then he points out something interesting: the seawall keeps going, curving along the imposing wall of mangroves that shield the southernmost tip of the campus. As many times as I’ve walked (or even paddled) this quarter mile stretch of the shore, I never once noticed the old sea wall. And it’s easy to see why: red, black, and white mangroves all grow here, sheltering in their deep green shadows beach shrubs, vines, and fiddler crabs. In some places, sand has accumulated so deep that palm trees grow, and every once in a while, the vast mangrove hedge breaks to form a tiny secret beach. The seawall runs just landward of this hidden world, in some places a sizable hop above it, in others just barely visible above the soil. 

I’m momentarily bewildered. This isn’t what seawalls are supposed to do. Seawalls cut a clear, immaculate line between land and water; they let us roll our carpets of sand or sod right up to the edge of the bay and dangle our toes over; they slice through the map to turn nature’s messy edges into precise geometric shapes. But this seawall is…not doing that. 

Tyler sees the question on my face. It’s all about wave energy, he explains. Back at the living shoreline, boats coming into the creek cut their engines at the “No Wake” channel marker, ironically sending a surge of wake toward the encroaching banks of the creek. I’d seen that clearly enough when we were there; every time a boat passed, wavelets churned up, crashing into the old sea wall and bouncing back. Over time, this rough movement gouges out the sediment in front of the seawall, making it difficult for anything to grow. But at this point on the wall, the shifting sands slowed down, accumulated, transformed into the floor of a mangrove forest. Why? Tyler points out into the bay, where the emerald hump of Indian Key, an undeveloped mangrove island, rises out of the water just a third of a mile away. It’s possible, he says, that the key sheltered this part of the wall from the wind and waves, letting the sand settle and mangroves take root—an accidental forest. 

My mind jumps back to our Christmas tree in all its synthetic glory. What makes it lovely, I decide, is not its perfect imitation of nature (no matter how “Wesley Spruce” it may be). Instead, it’s the way it catches and holds our memories—the bells, owls, and other flotsam borne in on the tide of our life together—like a tidal flat transformed into a hidden beach. To fully appreciate it requires a firsthand understanding of our family’s history, the auld lang syne we’re always singing about this time of year.

In the same way, living shorelines complicate a simple understanding of “nature” versus “manmade.” They aren’t just about replacing the unnatural hardscaping laid down by generations past with something greener, something prettier—after all, living shorelines are also engineered by human hands (as the blisters on my thumbs that not-to-long-ago August day will attest). And, as much good as they can do for slowing erosion, enhancing habitat, and improving water quality, they’re not just about bringing those benefits to any one site. At heart, living shorelines require an understanding of the complex, unique-to-every-installation agencies of water, wind, sediment, plants, and animals; they require us to see how one location is connected to the others around it, to think—with apologies to Aldo Leopold—not like a mountain, but like an estuary.

I’ve zoned out. Tyler’s probably wondering what’s wrong with me, but it’s just sweet visions of oyster reefs dancing in my head. You can keep your Frosty snowmen and winter wonderlands, I’ve found my Florida Christmas groove. It’s Oyster the World, Away in a Mangrove, The Nutcracker Marshgrass: the pretty darn miraculous way the bay can heal itself, if we help it. 

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As Tampa City Council sits as the Community Redevelopment Agency Board the final time in 2025, they have a light agenda with one final, major vote to cast—the CRA services agreement with the city.

Led by Board member Carlson, there has been friction on this topic for several years. While the intent is that the city simply performs “services” for the CRA and are not meant to impart policy influence, that hasn’t always been how the agency operates. It has been part of a broader defense by some on council to establish more autonomy from the administration. Separation of powers. This year’s services agreement has been continued a couple of times as details have been worked out. Not that there’s been a lot of discussion of those details; the board seems comfortable letting Carlson take the lead.

There is a vote related to a previously awarded grant of $2.125 million for a surface parking lot on the Ashley East development in East Tampa. This vote doesn’t alter the grant rather it’s a procedural step in the funding agreement which includes placing a lien on the land until the related housing development begins. The rezoning for the project appears on the evening agenda. Additionally in grant funding the Centro Asturiano De Tampa is requesting up to $416,995 for their $1 million renovation project.

The final item on the CRA agenda I’ll highlight is a presentation on “East Tampa Wayfinding Signage Project”. The idea that the entirety of the East Tampa CRA, the largest in the city, can be branded is absurd. This idea came out of a discussion a couple of years ago when the Channelside Citizen Advisory Committee (CAC) budgeted a bunch of money for signage and way finding. This was still when the individual CRA districts were still running as separate entities in practice with different policies and processes. From there the idea turned into some kind of branding exercise applying the same concept to each district. Channelside has money to burn. Funding new neighborhood signs in the East Tampa CRA district is one thing, trying to turn arbitrary geographic boundaries that were drawn 25 years ago for the sake of economic development into an identity is another. Reminds me of bike shedding.

As to the second half of the twilight double-header, council will sit for a 14 item agenda with the final 3 items not to be heard due to one being withdrawn, one requesting a continuance and the last item mis-noticed. That item, a proposed massive u-storage development in Seminole Heights has already been continued once and is facing public opposition. The first item on the agenda is not land use related, rather a required public hearing on the Housing and Urban Development (HUD) Community Development Block Grant (CDBG) annual report.

Items 2 and 6 are both related to the Ashley East project noted in the morning CRA agenda. Item 2 is to vacate an unimproved alley and item 6 is the related rezoning to build 118 affordable housing units. Included in the waivers requested is to remove 4 non-hazardous grand trees and a 30% parking waiver. This despite the CRA funding $2.1 million to purchase surface parking and $9.7 million overall for this project. It always seems backward for the city to fund projects before the rezoning is approved. Like, this is all a charade, right?

Of the remaining land use items, item 3 is a continuation of a proposed future land use change for SE Ybor and what may include a new Tampa General Hospital facility. Item 10 is a proposed hotel south of Gandy Blvd near MacDill AFB that would consist of 2 6-story buildings. The remaining are residential in nature.

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As the Dec. 4 Tampa City Council meeting entered its 10th hour, council member Lynn Hurtak brought up the news that the administration is moving forward with a plan to sell Tampa Police Headquarters. What was conveyed to council members in a call this week was the expected selling price is $36 million. No details seemed to be shared beyond that.

Most of council seemed caught off guard by the move. Hurtak started the discussion by saying “Personally I’m disappointed that we weren’t asked.”

“Is Big Blue even paid for?” Asked Council member Guido Maniscalco.

Council Chair Alan Clendenin framed the issue differently in that it’s within the admin’s rights to issue the Request for Proposal (RFP) and that council would have final approval over any contract.

Ultimately council motioned to request staff appear at the Jan. 22, 2026 council meeting for a discussion on the future of TPD headquarters and the building they currently operate out of.

Council member Luis Viera remarked “once the contract comes through to us, there’s a different level scrutiny applied.”

Ironically, Tampa City Council approved unanimously on consent a $800,000 contract with a consultant to create a Facilities Management Master Plan which included “planning for the replacement of outdated structures” and to “assist in prioritizing funding for critical infrastructure replacements and upgrades, ensuring that all recommended capital projects are consistent with the City’s strategic goals and financial constraints.”

The terms of the contract are through the completion of construction, though construction of what isn’t defined. Fire and police stations fall under Facilities Management’s purview.

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Hello! I am an asexual who is not interested in sex, but I want to start dating. I am worried that no sex would make a relationship impossible for me. I know people really value intimacy and sex for a healthy bond. I fear I cannot provide what a partner needs. Are my fears warranted? Should I even try dating?—Ace of Hearts

Hi Ace, Yes, you can date as an asexual person. Many people crave a romantic bond and the intimacy of a committed partnership, and asexual people are no exception. The answer to your question could be as simple as seeking out other asexual individuals to date. However, the road to doing so could be complicated, depending on your style.

Personally, I don’t typically favor dating apps as a way of meeting prospective partners. It can feel restrictive and like it limits natural connection. But if you are looking to specifically meet other asexual people, surely the easiest way would be to put that in the bio of a dating app, right? Maybe, but I don’t want you to be stuck searching for your soulmate on Tinder (which maybe should have an asexual counterpart, called “water” or something).

How can you form a natural connection with someone you’re into while also making sure they’re down with a sexless partnership? Asexual flagging does exist, but it’s not as mainstream and recognized as wearing a carabiner and some Docs. Instead, you’ll have to do what everyone dreads most: just come out and say it. You don’t have to tell everyone you’re into that you’re asexual right away, but just go through the standard dating and flirting process and, when you end up on a date with someone, open up about asexuality and what it means to you. Some asexual people are still open to sex, and some aren’t, so just saying you are “asexual” may not be enough to communicate your preferences.

You say that “people” value sex for a healthy bond. Not all of them do! A deep and intimate bond can be formed by sharing secrets, engaging in acts of service or giving earnest compliments about enjoying spending time together.

You can also try an open relationship where your partner seeks sex with someone else but remains romantically and emotionally committed to you. This can be tricky and I can’t say I’d recommend it as the primary course of action, but it certainly is an option available to you. So is general polyamory, where you have a partner who has other partners. These arrangements work for some and don’t work for others. Consider what you want to get out of a relationship before entering into one.

Most importantly: don’t compromise where you don’t want to. You’re asexual, and you shouldn’t pressure yourself to be a different way just to open up your compatibility. Be yourself authentically, and you’ll attract what you need.

Yours in love, Jane Dyke

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It’s easy to feel out of place during the holidays. Christmas, the beacon of pious Christianity and nostalgic Americana that it is, doesn’t read as queer at first glance. Even the uttering of “Christmas” evokes a Norman Rockwell-esque image of the perfect family gathered around the skirt of a Christmas tree. Sweet little Sally is elated to unwrap a baby doll, rowdy little Timmy is overjoyed to receive a toy gun. Of course, a placid mother and father watch fondly as the idyllic scene unfolds. Christmas packs a punch loaded with the triple threat of cisheteronormativity, religion, and family—a punishing blow for many in the LGBTQ+ community. 

Thankfully, as progress marches on, queer representation has become more and more prevalent in Christmas media. The existence of films like “Happiest Season” and “Single All The Way” changes the face of the holiday itself, exploring themes like contentious family relationships, coming out, and queer romance. Hell, even Hallmark premiered its first gay Christmas romcom in 2020 and has been pumping them out ever since. 

Even as queer characters make their mark on the holiday genre, there is one festive flick to rule them all. One that depicts a queer family, the yearning to belong, and the process of recovering your Christmas spirit: “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” Yes, in my opinion, the 2000 blockbuster hit starring none other than Jim Carrey is the queerest Christmas movie of all time (and not just due to the sheer femme cunt that is Martha May Whovier). Now, children, gather ‘round the fireplace and let me tell you why.

In the Seussian land of Whoville, something strange blows into town on the night of Christmas Eve. The Grinch arrived the way all Who babies arrive—in a bright pumbersella drifting down from the skies. The Grinch landed on the doorstep of his hopeful parents, Clair Nella and Rose Who. That’s right, the Grinch was raised by dykes. Some will try to convince you that Clair Nella and Rose are actually sisters. But according to Clair Nella, the couple were having their annual key party at the time of his arrival. This detail swiftly disproves the theory that the Grinch’s mothers were a pair of spinster sisters. Who the hell is having a sex party with their sister? I rest my case.

Despite the loving upbringing provided by his two moms, the Grinch’s eccentricities, odd appearance, and disdain for Christmas resulted in his own struggle to conform to Who society.  Even the support of Rose and Clair Nella was not enough to alleviate the pain of social persecution. Eventually, the Grinch self-ostracizes from Whoville, isolating himself in a dank cave to be consoled by his dog. Similar to queer folks, the Grinch was taught that Christmas is not for people like him.

However, it’s not all “bah humbug.” Like the Grinch, queer people still have an opportunity to reclaim Christmas for themselves and reconnect with holiday cheer in their own way. Unlike the Grinch, we also have access to a community full of individuals with similar experiences and challenges, ready to accept us as we are and create new traditions together. Personally, I find the idea of rewriting holiday conventions for ourselves an immensely empowering prospect. 

Beneath the incandescent swirling arches of Whoville, queer stories are told between the lines. When combined with the sheer camp served to us on a silver platter throughout the entirety of the film, I simply must deem “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” the ultimate LGBTQ+ Christmas movie. So, next time you’re swiping through Netflix during the holiday season, give “Carol” a rest and show some love to Rose and Clair Nella.

The Sapphic Sun is part of the Tampa Bay Journalism Project TBJP, a nascent Creative Loafing Tampa Bay effort supported by grants and a coalition of donors who make specific contributions via the Alternative Newsweekly Foundation. If you are a non-paywalled Bay area publication interested in TBJP, please email rroa@ctampa.com. Support Sapphic Sun by subscribing to its monthly print edition.

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Ever get the feeling the Florida Legislature hates you?

It does.

Unless you’re a developer, a lobbyist, or a fetus.

Members are filing hell-born bills for the 2026 session, many apparently designed to torment you, rob your children of their futures, and reduce this state to an ICE-filled, disease ridden, constantly flooding, unaffordable autocracy.

Perhaps you cherish Florida’s natural beauty: the trees, the springs, the beaches, the wetlands.

Enjoy them while you can.

Sen. Stan McClain, R-Ocala, has filed a bill to forbid local government regulation of, and restrictions on, development.

SB 208 would allow all manner of unrestricted housing to be built wherever, whenever, even if the city objects because, say, it violates their comp plans, harms the character of a neighborhood, or pollutes.

You will not be shocked to learn Sen. McClain’s profession is “residential contractor.”

It gets worse: HB 479 would ensure sprawl, clear-cutting, and wetlands destruction can proceed unimpeded by any city or county trying to manage growth or protect local quality of life.

Environmental watchdogs call it “one of the worst water bills” they’ve ever seen.

This stinker’s sponsor is Rep. Randy Maggard of Pasco County. He may have been inspired by his nephew’s desire to build a house in Dade City’s La Jovita Golf and Country Club community, where homeowners pride themselves on living in harmony with wildlife.

As reported by Craig Pittman, it seems Zach Maggard broke an impressive number of rules, running a concrete boat ramp through wetlands and chopping down protected trees.

The project disappeared a bald eagle nest. Naturally, he suffered no consequences.

Next thing you know, his uncle is working to kneecap those pesky ordinances so everybody can go wild monetizing every inch of ground.

If your town wants to protect the wetlands that mitigate flooding, filter your drinking water, and foster birds and fish, or perhaps want to stop a project that would rip out the mangroves that sequester carbon, reduce storm surge, and slow down erosion, or maybe refuse a permit for, say, a huge gas station on top of a cave system connected to one of the state’s most iconic springs, you’ll be flat out of luck.

Of course, the federal government might kill Florida before Florida can kill itself.

The Trump administration wants to narrow the definition of “Waters of the United States” — which are protected by the Clean Water Act — removing protections from 80% of the nation’s wetlands.

They also want to drill in the eastern Gulf of Mexico.

Anybody remember the BP oil spill?

Control

There’s no aspect of human life the Legislature doesn’t mean to control.

You should not be LGBTQ. Or demonstrate support for LGBTQ people.

Once again, lawmakers want to ban Pride flags outside government buildings.

God forbid somebody display a piece of cloth with a rainbow, signifying inclusiveness and welcome.

“Historical” flags, the Confederate battle flag, for example, will be allowed — in case you’re wondering what Republicans really care about.

Like gay people and flags, women must also be highly regulated.

Sen. Erin Grall has, once again, got her “fetal personhood” bill past the Judiciary Committee.

SB 164 would allow parents to sue for damages over the death of a fetus deemed “wrongful,” even if the fetus couldn’t have survived outside the womb.

That fetus is an American citizen.

“Survivors” could try to recover “lost earnings” of what the bill calls the “unborn child,” defined as a “member of the species Homo sapiens, at any stage of development, who is carried in the womb,” maybe on the theory it might have grown up to become a movie star like George Clooney or start a company like Nvidia and be worth billions.

Grall has long pushed legislation to control women’s bodies.

When Florida passed a six-week abortion ban in 2023, Grall, a sponsor, said, “Abortion has touched every single one of us, and we should grieve for what we have done as a country.”

That incest victim, that 16-year-old who didn’t know she was pregnant until she was past the time limit, would probably disagree.

Since women no longer have reproductive freedom in the Free State of Florida, it might be best if they just refrain from having sex.

“Freedom” in Florida means freedom from compassion for the poor, freedom from learning, freedom from the consequences of racism and prejudice, and freedom from science-based medicine.

Our state surgeon general has decreed children don’t need to be vaccinated against hepatitis B, chickenpox, haemophilus type B, and pneumococcal conjugate virus to go to school.

Now he and Gov. Ron DeSantis want the Legislature to roll back other vaccine mandates, including polio, pertussis, measles, mumps, diptheria, and rubella.

If that’s not enough, Erin Grall has another bill to protect you from your own health.

SB 408 says that if you get a vaccine and it “harms” you, and if that vaccine was advertised in the state of Florida on TV, radio, in print, via product placement, or online influencers, you can sue the manufacturer.

The measure does not define “harm.” Is a sore arm or a low-grade fever “harm”?

Anaphylaxis? Death?

A serious allergic reaction to a vaccine is possible, but it’s vanishingly rare.

Much rarer than, say, getting severely sick or even dying because you think the jab is some evil plot to impair your precious bodily fluids.

This lawsuit nonsense isn’t about sound medicine. The thin (one page) bill might attract all manner of even more extreme amendments.

Go ahead, risk your kid’s health; let your kid become a walking disease factory.

Guns

And if your kid makes it to 18, why not let him or her buy a nice, scary gun?

After 17 died in the mass shooting at Marjorie Stoneman Douglas High School on Valentine’s Day, 2018, the Florida Legislature did the right thing, passing a bill to limit the purchase of semi-automatic rifles to those 21 and up.

That bill, signed into law by noted liberal Rick Scott, was such an affront to the House of Representatives and their NRA overlords, they keep trying to roll it back.

For three years, House Republicans proposed repealing the law.

Why not go back to allowing 18-year olds to buy themselves a Smith & Wesson M&P 15, just like Nicholas Cruz did?

So far, the Senate has shut these bills down.

But this is Florida and 2026 is an election year, so who knows?

Taxes

Thank God for Republicans’ Klown Kar ideas for eliminating property taxes: a bit of comic relief in these dark days.

The Legislature will consider no fewer than eight proposals, one eliminating non-school taxes altogether (HJR 201), one phasing out non-school taxes over 10 years (HJR 203), another exempting Florida residents over 65 from non-school homestead taxes (HJR 205), yet another limiting assessed value to 3% over three years for homestead property and 15% for non-homestead property, also over three years (HJR 213).

And a partridge in a pear tree.

OK, that last one is made up, but you get the idea.

Ron DeSantis despises all of them.

(He despises a lot of things, but he really loathes what he sees as the House of Representatives’ gaggle of tax-cutting ideas).

The governor calls them “milquetoast,” unserious, and “weak.”

Speaker of the House Daniel Perez points out DeSantis “has not produced a plan on property taxes. Period.”

Perez adds, “I’ve personally reached out to share with him the House’s proposals and he has, so far, not wanted to engage in a conversation.”

A cynical person might suspect DeSantis might be running for higher office in 2028 and wants to claim he “liberated” Floridians from the terrible burden of paying for local police, fire services, libraries, parks, and road repair.

They all need to get a move on if they want to get one (or more!) of these bad ideas onto the 2026 ballot.

In any case, watching the Legislature and our testy governor duke it out will be entertaining, and God knows, we’ll need some fun come January.

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Dear Oracle,

I’ve had a tough year. My entire industry was essentially shuttered due to Trump’s policies, and I’ve been out of work since March. I’m not looking forward to the holidays, where I will be surrounded by family and have to answer questions or talk about myself. How can I get through these inevitable conversations? —Silent for a night

Cards: Magician (reversed), Four of Wands, Seven of Swords (reversed), Five of Wands

Dear Silent, First things first: if you are the kind of person who likes to imbibe—either in a celebratory atmosphere or to deal with crushing despair—tread lightly this holiday season. While the Seven of Swords can be about two forking paths (more on that later), it’s also a card that comes up with substance use, and since alcohol can make a mood mercurial, these conversations might actually be easier to handle if you’re sober(ish). 

Now on to the pep-talk: I don’t think you understand your own power and your own worth. The Magician is the master of his own fate, a powerful being with value, insight, and control. You are still The Magician, even if you don’t have a job. Your value as a human being is not tied to your paycheck or working status. (Something us Americans—including yours truly—have a difficult time considering.) You might not feel like you have a lot of control right now, but you do have control over how you respond to the prying questions of well-meaning but possibly judgmental family. 

And here lies the two paths set forth by the Seven of Swords. On one side, we have the Four of Wands, which is a happy home, full of love, family, and stability. On the other side, we have the Five of Wands, which is flat-out war. 

With the Swords being the suite of the mind, they are also the suite of the ego. If you already have a very bruised ego from a rough year, even little benign comments might come across to you as an attack. It’s going to be very easy for you to slip into fights with family members, either about your future, about politics in general, or about any number of things. Here is where the control of The Magician comes into play: you cannot take the bait. You cannot let yourself be drawn into an argument that may or may not be really happening. 

You might want to take charge of the conversation early on and ask people about how they’re spending their time, if they’ve read or watched anything interesting, how they feel about the American Pope, or anything away from the topic of work. Generally speaking, people like to talk about themselves, so keeping the conversation focused on them is a great way to deflect answering any questions about yourself. 

But ask yourself: is there anyone in your family you can confide in? Maybe a loving aunt or a cousin who also had a hard year? Is there anyone you can be honest with about your struggles who won’t say judgmental shit or give you rote but infuriating advice? Even just having one conversation where you don’t have to mask your troubles can feel very validating. 

I hope you’re able to find the peace and joy in these gatherings. 

And if all else fails, remember: you can always come down with “a cold” and cut your visits short. 

Dear Oracle, 

I tend to get the “winter blues,” even here in sunny Florida. What can I do to keep away the sads?—S.A.D in Seminole Heights

Cards: Page of Wands, The High Priestess, Knight of Wands, Four of Wands (reversed)

Dear SIS, Practically speaking, spend as much time as you can outdoors and in natural light. Light and light therapy are proven to help with seasonal affect disorder—and besides, it’s actually nice out now. Soak up the rays while you can. 

Then, I think you should throw yourself into a new creative project and really give it your all. 

The Page of Wands is a fiery explorer, one who jumps into the deep end and follows his free spirit. The Wands are a suite of passion and creativity, and to couple the adventurous Page with the passionate bronco that is the Knight of Wands, I think you should dive headfirst into a project that sparks your passion and creativity. 

I think it will be good for your mind and your soul. The High Priestess is the guardian of our subconscious, where good and bad things dwell. In psychoanalysis, it’s believed that issues buried in the subconscious are what cause problems in our conscious life. It’s mucking around in the subconscious that allows us to process things, and one way to do that is by creating art. It taps into something deeper within us and allows us to get into a “flow”—which is a real High Priestess feeling. Maybe you want to learn piano or finish that oil painting you started or try your hand at a screenplay—whatever it is, give yourself permission to just throw yourself into it. 

But, in addition to your creative pursuit, also be around people. The Four of Wands is stability, family, and home, and in these dark nights, it can feel very lonely. Reach out to people. Host a cocktail party in your apartment. Say yes to holiday lunches. Be around people you love and who make you feel seen. You might even rope some of them into your art if they’re down. (Life model? Actor? Tester for your gourmet experiments?)  

The Four of Wands can also represent the physical home, so make your space feel soothing and conducive to creativity. Get some candles or fairy lights, turn on a video of a fireplace burning, and do whatever you need to make it feel cozy and nourishing. 

And then have at! What are the long nights of winter for if not exploring the rich terrain of your inner world? Winter can be a magical time for creativity, and I hope it serves you well. 

Best of luck, my dear.

See more of Caroline and learn about her services via carolinedebruhl.com.

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Council returns from the Thanksgiving break for the first of two regular meetings in December with a CRA meeting and land use hearings in between. Of the 65 items on the agenda this week, 58 require a vote.

In total they will be approving over $90 million in spending ranging from a $37,816.08 amendment to a resurfacing project on Lois Avenue to $52,935,137 for site wide electrical improvements for the water treatment plant.

There’s as also an additional $9 million requested (not to exceed $16,335,844) for the Suspended Ion Exchange Project also for the water treatment plant. Additionally council will be voting on the first reading of the multi-modal impact fee increase.

Consent agenda

Reminder consent agenda items are not discussed unless a council member pulls it for discussion and a separate vote. Otherwise they are voted on in bulk by department.

• Item 7 is to approve a data sharing agreement between the police department and Ohio State to study the effectiveness of a “drone as first responder program”. The money has already been spent on the drones, so might as well find out if it was worth it. It should be a prerequisite the data is publicly shared.
• Items 5 and 9 are contracts to purchase new vehicles for the police department. Four Tahoe patrol vehicles for $214,357 and 40 Ford Intercepts at $1,860,675.60. When they purchased 14 Chevy electric pursuit rated vehicles in September it appeared they might finally be moving to an electric fleet however this purchase makes clear that isn’t going to happen.
• Item 23 is transmitting an audit for Construction Services Department. While impact fees will be a focus later in the agenda, among issues raised in the audit were “Impact fees are sometimes miscalculated and coded to the wrong accounts.”
• Item 32 is another uninspired use of city land handing it over to a developer to build a single family home for infill housing at 140% AMI.
• Item 34 is $647,991 for the purchase of a walking excavator for the stormwater division. While this won’t be discussed, the subject of stormwater and its budget will be in later items. With an assessment that takes in $15.5 million and a division with a payroll of $12 million, purchases like this are significant and only possible with supplemental funding.

Public hearings

• Item 35 is only for setting hearing dates for changes to the parking ordinance. Parking ordinances that were adopted in September of 2024 but somehow became subject to SB 180, a state law related to hurricane recovery. Ordinances have been repealed and the latest attempt to address them will be back in two weeks.
• Item 36 is a vote regarding code enforcement changes. Another subject that has been debated numerous times. The proposed changes won’t solve all of the problems but they are a move in the right direction. This passed first reading 6-1 with Carlson voting no.
• Item 38 is the second reading of a petition to reconsider a vacation of right of way. The issue has been strongly opposed by neighbors who think of the space as city land and a pocket park. The reality is the city doesn’t own the land and can’t turn it into a pocket park. Whether there’s some future public use the right of way could provide is the heart of the vote; not whether the public can hang out there. They can’t. This passed first reading 4-3 with Hurtak, Carlson and Young voting no.
• Item 52 is a request for city approval of the updated USF master plan and extending the university’s development agreement with the city another five years. A key point is potable water and the city being able to maintain service levels in the area. USF intends to use their own wells to supplement the growth.
• Item 56 is the long awaited first vote to increase the multi-modal impact fees the city charges for new development. The fees were set in 1989 and haven’t been updated since. Impact fees have been discussed for years; this effort dates back to a motion from Council member Hurtak in November of 2023. And while council held two workshops to establish there are extraordinary circumstances to justify increasing the fees above the otherwise state allowed ceiling of a 50% increase, they have decided to continue subsidizing developers through June 1, 2029. On June 1, 2026 25% of the new fees will go into effect increasing each subsequent year 25% until the full increase goes into effect June 1, 2029. State statute allows implementing the full fee 90 days after adoption.

Big ticket items

Item 58 was previewed on the previous agenda as it is over $20 million so there’s no surprise. Also not a surprise is a planned site wide electrical upgrade for the water treatment plant. What doesn’t seem planned is Item 59. This appears to be a request for an additional $9 million, not to exceed $16,335,844 for the Suspended Ion Exchange Project. While these are water department enterprise funds (firewalled from the general fund), it’s still council’s responsibility to make sure the funds are being appropriately budgeted and spent. It wasn’t that long ago they approved rate increases.

Stormwater & safety

In some circles this has been a hot topic. Stormwater and safety. After it was brought up that some stormwater teams assist in setting up barricades for Gasparilla (and other parades/events), the question was raised, “at what cost?” “Setting up barricades” gives the impression they are out there setting up the metal fencing along Bayshore. Item 64 is set to discuss the issue. Now it’s been clarified they are setting up concrete barricades. More specifically, they have been setting up more barricades in the last year at the request of the police department in response to the New Year’s Eve event in New Orleans where a person drove through crowds in the French Quarter. More barricades (and more events) has lead to more stormwater time being spent outside of their primary focus. Staff claim this work has had no effect on the levels of service by the Stormwater Division, specifically as it relates to maintenance of the city’s stormwater system. Which is probably true if you accept the reality there’s nothing the city’s stormwater system can do about 15+ inches of rain from a hurricane when the level of service is designed for 5.5 inches in 24 hours.

Related items on the agenda, 61 and 62 were for the South Howard Flood Relief Project GMP 1. Staff is requesting they be continued for 2 weeks until the 18th. Ironically, on the 18th Tampa Hillsborough Expressway Authority (THEA) will be giving a 10-minute presentation on the South Selmon Capacity Project. Someone should ask about how that plays into the stormwater discussion and the South Howard Flood Relief project.

As to safety, Item 65 was set to be a discussion about pedestrian safety in Ybor after the vehicle being chased down 7th Avenue by Florida Highway Patrol crashed and killed four people, injuring 13. The mobility department is asking this discussion to be continued until Dec. 18.

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With the last day of hurricane season approaching, Nov. 30, I pull my kayak into an abandoned skiff. The back (the entire stern really) has washed away. I am sitting in a boat in a boat, at Riverhills Park, at a fork between river and canal. Half on water, half on land. The hull serves as a makeshift planter, and a showy yellow primrose of some kind has taken root in the cracked fiberglass. 

At this point of its 57-mile career, the Hillsborough wavers in its direction. The river has jagged southwest through its wilder stretches, the standard paddling routes upstream, and goes suburban through Temple Terrace. (“Terrace,” Merriam-Webster reminds me, is “a row of houses or apartments on raised ground or a sloping site”). The channel now unspools into a dizzying triple oxbow, scribbling out a supine letter “E,” before dropping due south downtown. 

One could easily get lost here. I have launched my kayak at Riverhills Park and turned right, thinking I was going downstream, paddling towards the 56^th Street bridge and by a fraying American flag (planted in the muck by some patriotic boater?) only to find myself going up—back towards the river’s blackwater origins in the Green Swamp.

I came here to write. In search of object lessons. For reminders that, however much we try to shape the flow, nature inevitably assumes control. I paddle past ghost docks and crumbling seawalls; through cypress stands that are like secret chapels in the middle of the river, shelter to long-legged waders and shitting anhingas.

Once lodged in the hull of the derelict, half-submerged skiff, I fish out a composition tablet and fountain pen. I feel thankful, writerly-pretentious, and after last year’s storms, still wary. 

The story of Florida has always been—will always be—the magical flux between water and land. A squirrel in front of me leans for acorns from an oak branch arcing over the shoreline. Cypress trunks mark high water from the last big storm. A grave vine trails into the quicksilver black current. From behind, I hear rush hour traffic on Harney Road. I check the map on my phone. Interstates 4 and 75, both blocked predictably red. 

This is pure Tampa. 

Twenty-five years ago, USF’s Florida Studies Program hired me to develop a course called “Rivers of Florida.” The Hillsborough, we agreed at the time, told a classic Florida story. Unspoiled at its headwaters; downstream, abandoned industrial sites and failed urban renewal. 

Over the years, I’ve led more than my share of class trips along this river. But its sheer beauty—the egrets and herons, gators knobbing just below the surface—also led to impossibly dull student writing. 

So I stopped taking students here. I could not bear reading yet one more heartfelt paeon to the “real” Florida, one more Nature Sermon, one more parable of the Urban-versus-Wild, the Paradise ruined by invasives like you and me.

The stories felt rote. With ChatGPT, I can churn out the nature essay in seconds: Once, Florida was a mosaic of wild splendor—endless sawgrass prairies rippling under the sun, mangroves tangled in tidal whispers, and crystal springs bubbling like liquid glass from the earth. But the rhythm of nature is faltering. Highways slice through wetlands where herons once nested, and new subdivisions rise on land that once drank the summer rains ….

All the clichés are in place. Florida, once “a mosaic of wild splendor.” The streams that bubble up “like liquid glass.” Then the “But.” The highways “slicing through wetlands,” the subdivisions where “once drank the summer rains.” 

The algorithm spits out these images because the story has been told so many times before. And because of this cliché, the “pristine wilderness,” we stop looking for nature in our everyday lives. 

Which brings me back to the half-sunken hull, banked near the Harney Canal. This fork of the river has history. After Hurricane Donna drowned the state in 1960, the Florida legislature created water management districts—including the Southwest Florida Water Management District, our beloved “Swiftmud.” Through happy coincidence, at the time, land was cheap and the new scholarly field of Ecology shaped policy. When the state passed the Water Resources Act in 1972, rather than creating more dikes and levees, as in south Florida, the government sank its resources into buying land. 

This is good, of course, a reminder that politicians (across partisan stripes) can balance economy and environment. Because of their foresight, the Hillsborough continues to bless us, practically every visit, with almost every long-legged wader in the Audubon field guide. 

What’s not to love?

Well. For me, this split between “urban” and “nature.” Is there another river in the United States where wildness nests so closely to a city center? What do we make of this proximity?

Pay attention to boundaries, I tell the students, mind the edges. How and where do natural and built environs converge? What can I learn from my boat in a boat?

It’s getting dark. The sun has dropped below the tree line. I paddle back, past the cypress islands to Riverhills Park, where I launched. I tether my kayak to the roof of my Subaru and drive back to my Channelside apartment: down 56th, right on Hillsborough, I-275 into Tampa. From the rail-straight Interstate, the Hillsborough disappears from view. 

This disappearance should unsettle us. We must mind the exchange, the points where water meets land, where river meets canal, and most of all, where the winding channel has been forgotten. We neglect the edges at our peril. Not this season, maybe next, a rising tide will surge past the seawalls. And our lives, like the kayak on my car, will be turned upside down.

Thomas Hallock is an English Professor at the University of South Florida, where he teaches mostly on the St. Petersburg campus. He is currently co-editing a two-volume anthology of Florida literature.

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It’s the season of Thanksgiving: You know, the turkey before Christmas, the holiday with the Pilgrim hats, the football, and the frenzied online shopping.

But let us take a break from stuffing our faces and exhausting our credit cards and reflect on what we are grateful for here in Florida.

The Everglades!

Despite attacks on our River of Grass — over-use of fertilizer, runaway development, sea level rise, Burmese Pythons, and pollution from “Alligator Alcatraz” — that glorious ecosystem survives.

For now.

The Resistance!

Last month’s “No Kings” protests drew tens of thousands in more than 70 Florida cities and towns from Pensacola to Key West.

Florida may be as red as martyrs’ blood, but many of us aren’t big fans of authoritarianism or the new oligarchical class.

The (possible) return of the World’s Greatest Oyster!

After five years, the state will re-open Apalachicola Bay for two months, starting in January.

It’s only 500 acres out of 10,000, but a hopeful sign for our iconic bivalve.

Apalachicola once supplied 90% of oysters consumed in Florida, but over-harvesting, storms, and Georgia water-hogging have screwed up the special mix of fresh and saline needed to nurture the beds.

So much sunshine!

OK, it’s actually a drought, but let’s try to look on the bright side.

The Persistence of Great Journalism Against All Odds!

Public radio stations are laying off staff, newspapers are struggling, and local news is an endangered species.

As for social media, it’s a pit of vipers. Take a look at Grok, Elon Musk’s alleged answer to Wikipedia, a Hitler-praising, white supremacy-promoting, festival of misinformation.

Nevertheless, real reporters persist — and, as yet, none has been jailed.

Without the indefatigable reporting of Julie Brown (Miami Herald), the Jeffrey Epstein story may have faded away; in Guilty of Grief, Carol Marbin Miller (also of the Herald) showed how our fractured mental health system (and our cops) fail the vulnerable.

Michael Barfield of the Florida Trident last year exposed the rank hypocrisy of the morally elastic then-head of the Florida Republican Party and his Moms for Liberty co-founder wife in all their kinky glory.

The Tampa Bay Times now has no fewer than four environmental reporters watch-dogging water quality, endangered species, and developers’ determination to pave every inch of Florida.

We need to know about Big Phosphate depredations and why corals are dying.

We need the weekly columns by the Florida Phoenix’s own Craig Pittman, uncovering (among other things) the absurd plan to pay a big-time DeSantis campaign donor $80 million in taxpayer money to “conserve” four acres of environmentally insignificant land.

Universities are still educating!

Most of them, anyway.

Despite the sad destruction of New College and the assaults on the universities of Florida, West Florida, South Florida, and others, students continue to read, question, and ponder.

Gov. Ron DeSantis seems determined to wreck what was once quite a good state university system, clamping down on the study of race, gender, and history, hiring unqualified politicians as college presidents, and trying to inculcate conservatism through outfits like the UF’s Hamilton Center for Classical and Civics Education with its emphasis on American exceptionalism and Western Civilization.

DeSantis also wants to clamp down on those damned foreigners with their fancy degrees from Harvard and Oxford and the Sorbonne and their H1B visas, coming in to teach neuroscience, particle physics, and archaeology.

Yeah, who needs Nobel Prize-winners? But until the administration comes for them, professors will keep pushing students to search for real information (not the AI kind) and think for themselves.

George Clinton!

The Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Famer, Grammy Award-winner and intergalactic groover lives in Tallahassee.

He’s 85, still writing, still bringing the funk, still connecting with the Mothership.

Listen carefully and you’ll hear “Atomic Dog” floating on the wind.

Doctors who still believe in science!

According to KFF, a respected health policy foundation, Florida has one of the lowest rates of childhood immunization in the nation.

Hardly surprising, given that the state surgeon general says eating fruit is as good as getting a COVID booster, and kids don’t really need vaccines for measles, mumps, rubella, Hepatitis B, diptheria, pertussis, polio, chicken pox, and other diseases that are not as fun as they sound.

Joseph Ladapo likens vaccine mandates to slavery (he clearly needs to read up on slavery) and wants them abolished.

But physicians and pharmacists who can distinguish peer-reviewed science from RFK Jr.-style nonsense strenuously resist this dangerous nonsense.

Go to CVS or Publix or your doctor’s office. Get the right jabs.

Dying of preventable disease is not cool.

Spring in North Florida!

Y’all south of the Suwannee might not know this, but up here we have four seasons. Sometimes the one we call “Fall” is only two days long, but the other three are pretty identifiable.

Come early February, the tulip trees are covered in perfumed blossoms, the daffodils and redbuds are out, and soon after the azaleas burst forth in pinks, whites, and magentas.

Hurricane season is over. (Probably). It’s cool, sometimes cold. If the pecan trees haven’t begun to bud, we’re still likely to have a freeze.

Come see it; you’ll like it.

Just don’t move here.

Writers!

Our retrograde politics and epic weirdness may not make for good social policy, but they are creative gold.

Despite — perhaps because of? — the government’s attempts to ban books that make them nervous, combined with a certain level of cultural backwardness, Florida is flush with extraordinary writers.

Judy Blume, author of “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret,” lives in Key West; Lauren Groff, three-time National Book Award finalist, is in Gainesville; Bob Shacochis, actual National Book Award-winner, spends half the year in Tallahassee; Carl Hiaasen is down in Vero Beach, where he continues to write books so outlandish he has to call them fiction, even though they’re based on genuine Florida surreality.

There are many, many more, including Stephen King, who’s transplanted himself to Sarasota, which is probably way scarier than Maine.

The food!

Key lime pie, grouper, smoked mullet, tupelo honey, pink shrimp, stone crabs, tres leches cake, conch fritters, Cuban sandwiches, Minorcan chowder, Plant City strawberries, mayhaw jelly, spiny lobster, boiled peanuts …

Christmas!

It’s almost here.

Actually, if you’ve been in a store of any kind, it’s already here: lights, trees, Santa, angels, elves, the whole damn circus.

But Christmas as most of us celebrate it, i.e. in December, is a rare few days in which the news might not splatter its psychic mess quite so relentlessly.

Turn off the screens. Go outside. Read a book.

Low taxes?

For people who own their own homes, that is.

Ron DeSantis likes to call us “The Free State of Florida.” While we’re not all that free (ask any teacher or renter or someone trying to afford health insurance or property insurance.) Her regards property taxes not as the contribution you make to fund the community you live in, but some kind of government theft.

To that end, he wants to abolish most of them.

He says we’ll keep the part that funds schools and cops, but as for those local government fripperies — parks, libraries, road maintenance, poverty programs, clinics, clean water — Free Floridians are on their own.

Expect your sales taxes to go up.

Even Republicans think this is nuts. Jeff Brandes, a former state senator, says, “It’s not really a proposal, it’s a bumper sticker, right?” and calls it “policy malpractice.”

2026 is coming!

Speaking of Ron DeSantis, he’s only got another year to smash things up around here.

That’s plenty of time to do more damage, but maybe the Legislature will finally understanding that the governor is increasingly irrelevant, probably politically finished, and ignore his tantrums.

Of course, he may be plotting another run for president.

But we should remember the Nation took a good look at him in 2024 and the Nation said, “Oh, hell no!”

For that, we can truly be truly thankful.

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