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John's Covenant With Nature |
| Written by James A. Young | |
| Thursday, 26 June 2008 | |
 For those who think the Garden of Eden was located somewhere between the Tigress and Euphrates, allow me to set the record straight. I am one of a privileged few who have actually seen it. Furthermore, I've experienced the joy of friendship with the visionary who planted and subsequently guarded it for over fifty years, fending off spoilers and developers. Nestled in the out-of-the-way community of Keystone, Florida, along the banks of crystal clear Lake Alice, lies forty acres of what once could only be described as paradise. This Garden of Eden was the handiwork of master gardener John G. Williams, a self-appointed guardian of nature. In the nineteen thirties, John mortgaged everything he had to acquire the land that would become the centerpiece of his life. It was just scrub back then but John had a vision of something far better. He built a small one-room cottage strategically located not far from the waters edge. From there he set about to single-handedly transform the land into a nature lovers dream come true. Despite the demands of a career and family, John spent practically every weekend fulfilling his vision. After retiring in 1977 he tended the garden full time, six days a week. John's garden was like none other. In it, decades old Jasmine vines as big as your arm reached to the top of tall trees. Scores of camellias were to be found among cypress, oak, pine, palm, magnolia, bay, citrus and many other species. In a nearby clearing a grape vineyard with several varieties of table and wine grapes awaited your discovery. Next to that there was, of course, the pineapple patch. Looking for a banana, avocado or mango? Or how about some guavas? This garden had them all. Of course, there was a bountiful array of citrus trees. Fruit was abundant everywhere you turned. Lilies anyone? This place had them in every color and kind imaginable. As a matter of fact, if it could be grown in Florida, it was growing here. Inspiring awe is the only proper way to describe it. John's garden was in complete harmony with the natural character of nature. One of John's special interests was hybridizing citrus. Among the many new varieties he developed were two he considered his prize accomplishments: a navel grapefruit and a seedless grapefruit he call the "salad grapefruit." In the early 40's, John began planting camellias. He was not extremely particular about which varieties he planted. He just wanted a little of everything. Among these plantings were many camellia seedlings. There wasn't any formally organized camellia society in the area in those days so John became a member of the American Camellia Society. When the Tampa Bay Area Camellia Society was formed in 1987, John showed up at the very first meeting with a bag of camellia seeds to share and a personal invitation for me to visit him. When I finally did get around to taking him up on that invitation, I could hardly believe my eyes! One visit was not enough. I spent several Saturdays there awestruck with his accomplishments and totally captivated by the extraordinary character of his garden. One could not rush through John's garden. To appreciate the experience, one needed to spend the entire day. There was just too much to see and experience. First, we would walk south from his cottage out through the maze of trees and shrubs where, at each plant, he would provide adequate commentary. After venturing in one direction awhile we would return to his little cottage where he would insist that I sample one or more of the many wines he had made from the fruits of his garden. After refreshments, off we would go again, in another direction, exploring whatever new adventure we could find behind the next tree. Late in the afternoon, we would cool off in the pristine waters of Lake Alice where he would allow me to hand feed his hundreds of fish. Feeding them was a daily ritual for John and the fish knew it. When we walked out on the dock, a hungry school of fish would begin to congregate. Brim, bluegill and bass were easily observed against the contrasting snow-white sand. When the fish food was finally tossed into the lake, the water churned wildly in a feeding frenzy. The excitement of this experience was dramatically increased when I dared to enter the water to feed them. Standing in waist deep water I scattered the fish-food. The water boiled violently all around me. In the confusion, it was a simple matter to catch several large bluegill with my bare hands. John always made me return them to the lake. At days end, John would always load me up with something to take home, a plant, seeds or perhaps a bag of fruit. John was always very generous when it came to sharing his dreams. I could not help being in envy of John and his garden. Visiting this special place certainly made me feel richly blessed and privileged. I had seen and experienced something that few people would ever see or experience. The idea that one man could create and own such a prized possession was something I could only dream of. I could never afford to actually own such a place myself. But chance had favored me to meet this man, become friends with him and have access. John achieved notoriety within our camellia society when he arrived at our 1988 flower show with a flower from one of his camellia seedlings. It was a purple medium formal double with swirled petals and it beat all the competition hands down. I later found out that the tree he had taken it from was one of the many seedlings he had planted back in the 40's. When I saw the tree, I was shocked to see that it stood eighteen feet tall. Everyone urged John to register his flower with the American Camellia Society. He did so under the name "Margaret Williams," in honor of his beloved wife of fifty years. John later gave me a plant he had air-layered from the original. To my knowledge, I am the only other owner of this rare camellia. It grows in my yard to this day. John was very generous in sharing what little he had. Still, few people had ever been privileged to visit John's bit of heaven. He pretty much kept to himself. But I felt strongly that his garden should be seen by the outside world. With a little coaxing, John finally agreed in September 1988 to allow the members of the Tampa Bay Area Camellia Society to visit his place for a Saturday picnic. Those who attended were astonished at what they saw. After the picnic, John confided to me that intense pressure was being applied to force him to sell his sanctuary to developers. The beat up old truck that John drove and the apparent absence of purchasing power hinted that John was not well off as far as money was concerned. Yet, here was a man who was sitting on a piece of property that looked to me to be worth well over a million dollars. John had confided to me that he had many offers over the years from developers who wanted to get their hands on his land. But money meant nothing to him. His garden was his life. He was determined to resist the pressures being brought to bear upon him. He wouldn't sell. Yet the inflated value of the property meant high property taxes. It was all John could do to make enough money off the citrus on the property to pay the taxes. Being seventy-six, he worried that his health might not allow him to keep working. What would he do then? He fretted continuously about the situation and wondered aloud about how much longer could he hold out? His situation was apparently desperate. Within a month he capitulated. He called the realtor and told him to come by and pick up the signed sales contract. John would finally bow to the pressures of family and financial arm-twisting. He would sell. When the realtor arrived a grim scene awaited him. He found John lying in a pool of blood on the floor of his cottage. His shotgun lay beside him. John was dead of an apparent self-inflicted shotgun blast to the head. The sales contract was on the table, signed and notarized, just as promised. John's garden was his life. He had spent most of his life nurturing and protecting it. The certainty of seeing it destroyed was more than he could bear. Its destruction first required his. Sadly, the Garden of Eden is no more. A housing subdivision now covers those forty acres. Within it, a few giant camellias remain. Each year they bloom profusely to honor a great man and a great vision. Few, living along the banks of Lake Alice, know the story of how property taxes destroyed a lifetime of creative work and the artist behind it. Hopefully, as the years go by, residents will continue to enjoy the magnificence of those few remaining trees. But over time the story of the man behind them will eventually be lost. Future generations will be left to simply wonder how they got there. For the moment, John's accomplishments are not entirely forgotten.
The story of John G. Williams and his remarkable garden is true. The tragedy that befell him is not uniquely his. Many senior citizens have spent a lifetime buying a home and/or other property. After many years of financial struggle they finally pay off the mortgage. But in retirement the financial struggle begins anew. In old age they often find their diminished income incapable of keeping up with the financial demands their government places upon them. They are literally driven from their homes by burdensome taxation. This is unjust suffering. It is within the power of government to rectify this injustice. Yet no politician seems to care to alleviate this injustice and the suffering it creates. Why? Copyright 2008 James A. Young |
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