STEVE HART

reader submitted. Participate at yourmarco.com. A large, magnificent and inspiring image of the Calusa people will greet visitors to the Marco Island History Museum when it opens in February.

For the last half of the 20th Century, the quiet and peaceful community of Immokalee became known for its cultural diversity and cultural contributions to Florida.

“Hi, and welcome to another installment of the world’s most popular television game show: ‘Are You Really That Gullible?’

The community can start the voting process between two outstanding paintings to depict the area’s Calusa history in a giant mural for the Marco Island History Museum, opening in 2010.

The days of the Calusa people will come to life in a very large and visible way at the Marco Island History Museum when it opens in February 2010, and next week the community will begin selecting one of two ...

Been thinkin’ ‘bout the reason for this holiday, this celebration: the Declaration of Independence.

It was only yesterday, it seemed, she lay there on her blanket on the floor; not even 24 hours old, those already alert eyes watching the blades of the ceiling fan go ‘round and ‘round

Global warmin’? Climate change?” asked the old man, as he dangled his feet from the edge of the dock. “I just don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

It happens every year — so far — although, never quite sure what all the fuss is about.

They existed in the open cocoon and blazing hue of a brilliant sunset beach, these two lovers. She danced and twirled to ancient rhythms. He sat, peacefully watching her glorious shape bend and sway to a hidden song.

There’s a mom missin’ ‘round these parts on this Mother’s Day.

OK, boys and girls, put down your pencils; eyes straight ahead; no talking.

The ancients tell a story of how the possum was once a very proud animal, because he had a rich, thick tail.

Once, there was this guy. Stop if you’ve heard this one before. No, wait, keep reading. It’s important.

“Well, we are certainly in one big mess, now,” said the old man.

A crisis of imagination,” is what the feller on the radio was sayin’ the other day

The ancients told the story of young warriors determined to know all and, through that knowledge, to gather all power for themselves.

Some folks is sufferin’ a bit more than others.

We Floridians tend to be a prideful bunch. We probably come by it naturally, given how proud the original Crackers were, to carve out a livin’ on this God-forsaken swampy sandbar, even though the original native Floridians had been doin’ ...

As tough as times are ‘round here, they could always get worse. We could have to deal with killer bees as we stand in bread lines. That’s right: killer bees.

The old man sat at the dock, his feet dangling in the 71-degree water, his fishin’ pole stretched out about five feet, its line goin’ straight down where a Mirrolure lurked on the bottom waitin’ for an unsuspectin’ trout to ...

Folks who think the season never changes in Flarda just don’t know what they’re talkin’ ‘bout.

In the mountains of western North Carolina a family gathered to celebrate the life of a woman who went home three days earlier.

The family was gathering. Food was on the table. Well-wishers and mourners had been stopping by the house all day.

She hugged the captain tightly around his chest; not so much for affection, maybe a little, but as a shield against the biting wind.

Somebody said sumpthin the other day ’bout a big election comin’ up in the next couple of weeks.

No one can deny that nature in South Florida has its own curious quirks. Birds that dive to the bottom of a pond in search of fish, frogs that live in trees and bark like dogs just before a rain, ...

It almost October already, and if tha dang hurrikins ever stop rollin’ ’cross the Atlantic we can get on with our usual fine South Flarda livin.’

They gathered on a Sunday afternoon in the shade of tall live oaks in a suburban backyard — four generations of Floridians. The oldest of them was 102. The youngest just began her 16th month.

Forget the Bermuda Triangle. That’s Hollywood hype. We’ve got a real, live Florida mystery working in the Gulf of Mexico; a mystery that has lasted nearly 30 years and only recently revealed part of its secret.

I guess I should stop bein’ so amazed. It happens every time. But still — and every time — I am amazed. It happened again just a couple weeks ago.

So, here we are: Labor Day and life is beginning to return to normal after the long, hot summer break. “Normal” is such an ill-defined place. As Floridians, we can never forget that “normal” can be radically and sometimes forever ...

Elections used to be fun. They aren’t anymore. Election days and the campaigns that preceded them used to be almost as good as Christmas but that was before politics was dumped into the gutter.

The road map was yellowing and brittle, tearing at the seams. It showed a Florida with lots of green and white space and only small bits of colored-in “city” dotting the shorelines.

The airboat skidded across the open water, slapping the small waves as it bounced from side to side. Between the wind screaming into one’s face and the roar of the propeller shielding off all other noise, conversation was impossible. The ...

The wasp hovering about the man’s head was irritating. With a quick swat of a rolled up newspaper he smashed it against the wall. It was only then he realized what a mistake he’d made. He remembered the story the ...

Wouldn’t ya just know it! Plenty of rain starts pourin’ down from the heavens just about the time South Florida’s water regulators slap year-round rules on how much water we can throw on our lawns.

Another Fourth of July has come and gone and we remain free people — most of us, anyway, so far. I admit I couldn’t help myself and shot a couple of bottle rockets into the bayou just to see the ...

I’m wet! Oh yeah, I know what you’re thinking: “He’s always been all wet.” But I mean, I’m really wet, soppin’, soakin’, sodden, saturated, permeated, drenched, drippin’ wet.

The old man sloshed through his front yard for the umpteenth time, his rubber wading boots getting soggy. “I hate this,” he mumbled to himself. “I wish the county would do somethin’ about all this dang water.”

It was a flood of Biblical proportions. Well, okay, maybe not exactly but it was a heckuva flood and when it happens — and it happens every once in a while in this subtropical paradise — folks always start talking ...

The teachers at her school must wonder why the little girl always seems to have a dirty right forefinger. “Don’t her parents bathe her?” they must ask themselves. Of course her parents bathe her — every night. But you must ...

“Spring is sprung, the grass is ris. “ wonder where them flowers is?” The flowers is around plenty and always are but spring? What spring? We just went from the depths of winter to full-blown summer. Spring didn’t even bother ...

The crowd heaved a collective sigh as the last tip of the sun sank beneath the water. “POP!” exploded the briefest flash of green as the rim of the orange ball disappeared. Sunsets are among the best — and cheapest ...

The old man was relaxing on the beach under the shade of a tall pine tree, taking a break from his job cutting down coconuts. “I just don’t understand it,” he said, gazing up into the tree as a pair ...

“Biodegradable,” read the product label. “Concentrated Marine Degreaser.” “Well, hey, that’s pretty good,” the skipper said. “I’m always worried about putting harmful chemicals into the water. You can’t be too careful.”

The shudder started in his lower spine. It raced up his back to his shoulders and reached the inner part of his brain where dread and worry rule. There it was. There was no mistaking it. Splashes or ripples on ...

Humankind can look pretty silly when it tries to figure out the ways of nature. Just when you think you’ve got nature figured out she’ll throw you for a loop and leave you feelin’ like just another dumb human bein’. ...

A cross Mulberry, not far — maybe 40 or 50 yards at the most — once stood an empty warehouse. It was from that warehouse, one morning 40 years ago, that shots rang out striking Martin Luther King, Jr., as ...

Z-i-i-n-n-g! The starboard line screamed. The mate jumped off the bridge onto the deck below. “Hold ’im!” he shouted as the day’s charter reached for the rod and gave it a mighty tug. “Don’t let ’im loose!”