Having spent most of my life in Pennsylvania horse-and-buggy country, I spent a lot of time looking down when I walked. There was always something waiting to be stepped in, so good peripheral vision came in very handy. However, it really wasn’t any kind of enhanced vision one developed in cow country, but more of a sense of anticipation for what was lying in wait.

For example, when driving behind a horse-drawn buggy on an early Sunday morning and if lucky enough to get the visual angle on the horse’s tail lifting quickly, one should know not to tailgate that buggy. There are warning signs to natural hazards and one learns to recognize them.

Florida is the same and yet it’s different. There are many more creatures here than in Pennsylvania, most of them suited specifically for the demands of tropical climes, and a good percentage of them can hurt a person … badly.

One quickly learns the difference between a water snake and a water moccasin. “Red to yellow, kill a fellow. Red to black won’t hurt Jack” and other variations of the lyric warn of the resemblance between non-poisonous milksnakes and deadly coral snakes.

Because of the inherent danger surrounding many of the native species, I became aware of my surroundings at all times. Already familiar with many species of reptiles because of my herpetological inclinations, I was on constant lookout for “hiding spots.” Any murky body of water might have a gator down there and out of sight. Any piece of wood might have some sort of venom-toting snake under it. Any little crevice might be harboring an arachnid just waiting for my errant finger to come into its parlor. Florida may be paradise, but it is still a swamp. And in the swamp everything watches everything else … and waits for just the right moment.

It was the uniqueness of the birds and insects that grabbed my attention almost immediately upon arrival. There was something called a lovebug that looked like a two-headed insect joined at the crotch and urban-legended into an academic experiment gone awry. Everybody seemed to know somebody who had been victimized by the bite of a brown recluse spider, whose venom caused the putrefaction of human flesh if not immediately attended. And a northerner really hasn’t lived until he’s encountered a palmetto bug, a euphemism for a large flying cockroach.

One summer morning as I sat on my patio shoeless and barely awake, I noticed a brilliant speck of red just inches away from my toe. On closer examination, I saw the hourglass design of a small black widow spider in her nest by the wall where I was resting my foot. It was a female and deadly, not two inches from my toe.

I moved slowly away from the spider, got a plastic food container and carefully caught the thing. With a quick snap of the lid, she was mine and I watched her scramble around the temporary prison for a little while. After brief observation, I released her into a small patch of palms and brush about a hundred yards from any of the apartments.

Upon relating this tale to neighbors, I was chastised for not having done away with the spider. They were afraid the killer would find its way back to the apartment building and hurt somebody. And that is one of my pet peeves I find in Florida: People forget that man moved into the swamp, the swamp didn’t move in on man.

I also learned quickly to watch my step for the ever-present lizard scampering across the walks, streets, paths … anywhere it can find a spot to wait for food. Geckos like to hang around outside lights when they are brightly attracting moths or whatever comes too close. Some kind of brown scaly thing likes to hang on tree bark where it blends in.

Then there are the anoles, those lovable little lizards sold as chameleons in pet stores up north. Friendly and harmless, anoles are daytime active and are the fastest, most insatiable critters around. What makes them real fun are their antics, which includes changing colors from emerald green to dirty brown. For little delicate-legged animals, they are very territorial and generally don’t back down from anything right away even though their speed is unbelievable. Their bugeyes will twitch and turn as they size up the situation, and they will go into one of their scare-tactic routines to ward off the intruder. If they are startled, they bob their heads in some attempt to frighten. If that doesn’t work, they blow out a bright red flap of skin – a dewlap – to startle. Sometimes they have to do both at the same time in efforts to chase away attackers. When all fails, they run away and will drop off their tails to prevent getting caught from behind. All in all, I cannot imagine how bug-infested this swamp would be without the hard work and voracious appetites of these prolific breeders.

Any drive or walk produces sightings of some of the most beautiful and unique birds. Seemingly all long-legs with sharp predatory bills, they can be seen patrolling any body of water. Herons and cranes are dangerously majestic in their hunt. In a state park near Tallahassee, I discovered that baby gators are a tasty treat for bigger herons. And fat lazy pelicans sit on the Jacksonville pier waiting for fisherman to gut their catches and throw the entrails aside. It’s all wonderful and still very wild.

One of the most fascinating water fowl seen with regularity is usually standing statuesque and long-legged near a body of water, wings outstretched like it was being crucified, with beady eyes and a tweezer bill poking off the end of a swan-like neck. A local told me they were “water turkeys” or “snakebirds.” They are scientifically designated as Anhinga anhinga, so the cormorant-like birds are also known as anhingas, less commonly but for obvious reason. These rather drab, yet odd-plumed birds are protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918.

Since they do not have the greasy waterproofing capabilities of a duck, anhingas stand there with spread wings actually drying off from their hunts. This dissimilarity with ducks also means anhingas lack the buoyancy of the quacker, which serves them well. When they hunt, they dive in head first to become fully submerged and swim below the surface, with necks extended into a snake-like appearance.

Sometimes they swim with only the necks above the water, also giving off a reptilian impression. After they find a morsel, they’ll gulp it down, climb on a rock or river bank, spread their wings and wait patiently to dry off.

Bird-watching was an activity that never really attracted my attention in the Lehigh Valley, although there were the occasional sightings of hawks spreading out their feeding circles from Hawk Mountain in Kempton.

However, here in paradise, many a lazy day has been spent observing some of the winged crazies that touch down here. But there are common backyard birds as well – scolding sky-blue jays, loudmouth mockingbirds and truly magnificently red cardinals.

One thing I can’t figure out: If robins are my relative snowbirds that leave Pennsylvania to fly south for the winter, then why have I never seen a single robin here? Maybe it gets a little too hot for them. Maybe the trip is way too long. Or maybe all those timeshares in Hilton Head are more appealing.

Copyright 2009 Keith Gery

First published in "Lehigh Valley Source," Nov. 23, 2009