St. Augustine Alligator Farm

While visiting family in Florida, we took Jones to visit the St. Augustine Alligator Farm.

He was so excited.

He ran from enclosure to enclosure, his universe animating with such velocity and intensity that he simply could not contain himself. Pointing his finger with eyes that could not be more open, he would identify and offer commentary on every marvel he saw.

“Look! An Alligator!!”

He looked back at us utterly astonished, his mind expanding in ways we couldn’t even imagine. “Come mommy, come daddy,” he encouraged, his feet flapping on the ground as he ran ahead to the next wonder.

There were perhaps a hundred alligators, maybe more, and each one was an impossible occurrence as they materialized before Jones. And when we came upon the albino ones, each one so immaculately white as to look make believe, he almost exploded.

“WOW!! GHOST ALLIGATORS!!!

While Jones was marvelling over them I turned to the Komodo Dragon across the way. It looked as if it was made of chainmail. It noticed me looking at it, and while remaining immobile, it trained a lizard eye on me and stared right back.

We looked at one another for a spell, and I thought of the current running through it, of that electricity that at any moment could spark into unimaginable ferocity, as swift and inevitable as a natural disaster.

And then there were the giant pythons. Dead-eyed, coiled and intestinal, they lay still in the heat, as if creatures that had given up their external form in order to live their pure essence. Jones gasped before them, “SCARY!!” he shouted in a voice that wasn’t scared at all. To him it’s still just a word, something that describes a kind of exhilaration. What does he know of mortal fear? He’s never lost faith or confidence, waited for a doctor’s report, or seen something he loves diminish before his eyes and then vanish.

No, he remains a vessel of light, and as if to accent this there was unanticipated birdsong all around and above us. It turns out that in this park the alligators serve as a kind of protectorate, sheltering all the birds arriving there for mating season from predators. And so amidst these ancient reptiles there were all manner of birds, thin as twigs and bright as targets, living easily amongst them.

I had imagined that the park would be full of children like Jones running about, but mostly it was full of seniors, all armed with cameras with giant lenses, all hoping to capture that moment of first life when the fledglings peck through their eggshells and into this world of light and shadow.