The Memory of Water: Regenerating Florida's Soil Ecosystem and Prairie

This is Part 2 of a three-part meditation on Florida prairies, sacred ground, and what it means to be a steward of the land.

In Part 1, I spoke about the 'Breath'—the exhale of finding sanctuary on a client's land, watching sandhill cranes dance in a shallow pool of water. But standing there, watching that water shimmer in the afternoon light, I found myself asking a deeper question: Why was it there? What ancient story lived beneath that shallow pool?

Florida is often dismissed as "flat." But if you strip away the bahia grass and the palmettos, the story underneath is dramatic.

We are living on top of a giant, ancient honeycomb.

The Great Basin

The client’s land sits on a fascinating geologic spine that connects the vast Paynes Prairie, stretches down through the Alachua Sink, and rolls out toward Morriston.

Geologists call this Karst topography. Beneath us lies the Ocala Limestone—the skeletal remains of ancient sea creatures compacted over millions of years. It is porous, like a sponge made of rock. This is where our drinking water lives, deep in the Floridan Aquifer.

Usually, water vanishes quickly into this limestone. That is why Florida soil is so sandy and dry; it is a sieve. The rain falls, and whoosh—it’s gone.

But on this client’s land, and in the special pockets of the prairie, something else happens.

The Clay Bowl (The Hawthorn Formation)

Why were the cranes dancing in water during a drought? Because of the Hawthorn Group. This is a layer of clay and sediment that sits on top of the limestone in certain areas. It acts as a "guardian bowl," catching the rain and holding it before it can disappear.

The Science of the "Perched" Water ..For my fellow geology nerds: What we are seeing here in eastern Levy County is the influence of the Hawthorn Group. While much of our county is sandy surface over porous Ocala Limestone, our eastern edge still retains sediments from this formation. Because the Hawthorn layer contains clays that are less permeable than sand, it acts as a confining layer. This creates what hydrogeologists call a "Perched Water Table"—where water is held in a shallow basin above the deeper aquifer. This isn't poor drainage; it is an ancient, natural system designed to hold hydration in the landscape long after the rain stops.

I've stood in places where you can see this layer exposed—where the clay peeks through the sand like a secret. It feels dense under your fingers, cool and slightly slick. That coolness, that moisture the clay holds—that's the whole story right there. That's what makes water stay when it wants to leave. It knows how to sustain life even when the rain stops.

The Filter and The Sponge

This is where the work of Regeneration becomes a sacred duty—not just to the soil, but to the water.

When we talk about adding high-quality, stabilized compost or any type of soil amendment to the land, we aren't just growing plants. We are rebuilding the Sponge.

In sandy soil (the Sieve), water rushes through too fast. In regenerative soil (the Sponge), the organic matter grabs onto the water. It slows the flow. But most importantly, it filters it.

Healthy, microbially active soil acts as a purification system. It binds up impurities. It breaks down compounds. It ensures that the water that eventually trickles down to that precious aquifer is cleaner than when it landed. By following strict Best Management Practices (BMPs), we ensure we aren't just farmers of the surface; we are guardians of the deep.

Walking the Water's Edge

You can look at maps of the geology all day, but you cannot truly understand this "Culture of Ecosystems" until you feel it under your boots.

Recently, my daughter Jenna and I set out on a mission to find the quiet veins of this system. We went looking for the places where the "sponge" is visible.

We walked the hills of the Gainesville-Hawthorne Trail and, we were reminded of who else calls this basin home.

Over a lifetime, we have seen the prehistoric silhouette of alligators sunning on the banks, acting as the keepers of the fish population. We have watched the wild mustangs grazing on the wet prairie, their manes tangled with wind. We have stopped in awe as the bison—yes, Florida bison—move slowly through the mist, grazing down the grasses to keep the prairie open. And always, the Sandhill Cranes, calling out with that rattling, trumpet sound that echoes for miles.

The Culture of Ecosystems

When I watch them, I am struck by one thing: Cohesion.

The bison doesn't fight the grass; it needs it. The alligator doesn't resent the water; it relies on it. The clay doesn't try to be the sand; it holds the space so the sand can drain.

An ecosystem is really just a community that has decided to work together.

In a human world that feels increasingly fractured—where people try to tear communities apart or isolate us from one another—the Prairie offers a different way. It teaches us that nothing stands alone.

Wendell Berry understood this truth deeply. He spent his life writing about these "unseen connections"—the way a farmer's work on the land affects the water, the water affects the cranes, the cranes' dance affirms your labor, and your labor affirms their existence. It's all one conversation. It's all one community spanning past, present, and future.

If you remove the clay, the water vanishes. If you remove the water, the bison leave. If you remove the bison, the grass overgrows and chokes the light.

Health is not about dominance. Health is about connection.

So, as we build our soil this year, let’s also build our community. Let’s be like the Sponge—absorbing the rain, filtering out the impurities, and holding onto what gives life.

Let’s be the ecosystem that works together.

Where to Find Your Basin

If you have been following along with us in just these first few short weeks of 2026, you've learned about healing food. You've understood the sacred work of amending your soil. But healing isn't confined to the kitchen or the garden alone—sometimes it calls us to step outside, to walk through the wild places that connect us to the ecosystem we're part of.

Just beyond our farm lies one of Florida's greatest treasures: the Gainesville-Hawthorne Trail. It's a 16-mile ribbon of shaded, tree-lined path that winds through the northern edge of Paynes Prairie Preserve—the same vast prairie ecosystem that shapes our soil, feeds our regenerative practices, and ultimately becomes the nourishment on your plate. This isn't a well-known destination. It's one of those sacred places that locals cherish, and we believe it's time you discovered it too.

Walking Through Time, Walking Through Soil

The trail occupies the ancient corridor of the Seaboard Coast Railroad, but what makes it truly sacred is what it connects you to: the vast, living prairie that has existed here for centuries. As you move along this peaceful, shaded path, you're walking through the same ecosystem that shapes our soils, grows the organic matter that becomes our compost, and ultimately feeds your body. The western section offers gentle curves and low hills that challenge your breath and remind you that you inhabit a body meant to move. The trail is quiet—isolated from traffic noise—making it a true sanctuary for those seeking peace without chaos.

Along the way, you can stop at the La Chua Trail, a 1.5-mile journey into the heart of Paynes Prairie itself. Here, you might glimpse big alligators sunning themselves, wild horses grazing in the distance, or if blessed, a herd of bison moving across the horizon. But it's the wildflowers that will captivate you—mile after mile swaying in the Florida breeze. And the birds: roseate spoonbills, sandhill cranes, bald eagles, and songbirds whose names you'll need to look up but whose calls will echo in your memory long after you leave.

The trail crosses gentle streams with boardwalk overlooks—places to pause, to breathe in the humidity and green smell of living water, to remember what it means to be alive on this earth.

Where to Begin Your Walk

If you decide to visit—and we truly hope you will—the Gainesville-Hawthorne Trail welcomes you at four trailheads:

• Boulware Springs City Park in Gainesville (3300 SE 15th St.)—offers excellent facilities and a perfect starting point

• The intersection of CR 234 and CR 2082 in Rochelle—quieter, more rural access for those seeking deeper solitude

• West of Hawthorne (7902 SE 200th Drive, off CR 2082)

• Hawthorne (2182 SE 71st Avenue)—the eastern endpoint

The trail offers occasional rest rooms and water fountains along the way, so you can walk or bike at a comfortable pace without worry. The maps are clear, and the trail is well-maintained. Whether you have thirty minutes for a short walk or a full day to explore, the Gainesville-Hawthorne Trail accommodates you with grace.

If you want to witness this community in action, here are some more of our favorite spots to see the Bison, Horses, and Cranes:

1. Paynes Prairie Preserve State Park (La Chua Trail): Go early for the bison and horses.

2. Sweetwater Wetlands Park: The ultimate "filter" in action (and great for birding).

3. Barr Hammock Preserve: For the quiet, ancient feel of the deep woods.

   
   

The Whole Cycle Comes Full Circle

This is what we believe: Healing isn't just about food, or exercise, or fresh air alone. It's the whole cycle woven together. The soil that feeds the vegetables. The vegetables that nourish your body. The movement that feeds your spirit. The wild places that remind you who you are.

When you walk or bike the trails—whether you stroll it slowly, hike it with intention, or move more quickly—you're participating in the same ecosystem that we steward on the farm. You're breathing in the air that rises from the prairie. You're honoring the earth beneath your feet. And you're remembering what it means to be truly alive.

The healing food we share on this blog is one part of your journey. The soil amendment is another. But this trail—this gentle, wild, sacred path through the prairie—might be the part that ties it all together. The part that reminds you that healing isn't something that happens to you. It's something you participate in, one step at a time, with your whole self.

Come walk with the cranes, and the water, breathe with the prairie. Come home to yourself and remember: We are all connected.

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We believe that soil is sacred. That nothing is wasted. That we grow stronger when we grow together—across generations, across divides, across the earth itself.

Join our community of farmers, dreamers, gardeners, and seekers who believe that regeneration isn’t just about crops. It’s about culture. It’s about healing what’s broken. It’s about remembering that we are all connected through the soil, the water, and the unbroken web of all things.

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