Keep Florida Green

Growing up in Florida felt like living the dream. As a kid, you played on the beach—waves splashing on sand softened from decades of wear, sun-bleached so brilliantly white it hurt your eyes to stare.

Things are different now. The sand isn't fine anymore; it's gritty, pumped from out at sea, full of not only shells but life, washing ashore hundreds of sand dollars. You find them broken, purple, and dying. It's painful to see something that used to be a rare occurrence become a daily sight. It's a quick, unnatural fix, just like always. It's slapping a Band-Aid on a bullet hole.

Driving across the state, stuck in the miserable near-Orlando traffic, you see true Old Florida out your window. Ancient oaks, covered in dangling Spanish moss with strands so long they reach the ground, stand tall. These massive, weathered trees are a testament to resilience and strength. They represent us Floridians—the people who laugh in the face of a hurricane, who kayak through flooded streets.

We band together in the aftermath, but more importantly, we party beforehand. We laugh and joke while facing uncertainty with a maniacal sort of valor. Floridians are nothing if not brave. We know what to fear, and how to focus on what matters. Florida matters. Our wetlands, our ecosystems, our water. We were given the most beautiful landscape on this entire

God-given earth, and we are tasked with a responsibility to protect her. But our leaders disagree. As Rep. Byron Donalds puts it: "We have actual land in our state that is still pristine, available to use. We can build out that stuff."

No. We do not want this. Keep our land. Protect it. Take your signs and your voices and go. Go protest. Yell. Stamp your feet. Make them listen. You must.

Aubrey Reiter
Cocoa Beach