Showing Up: A Morning at Baseline Road

We got out early, before the Florida heat had a chance to make the decision for us, and I'm glad we did.

The Baseline Road Trailhead sign reading 'The Marjorie Harris Carr Cross Florida Greenway' with trees and palmetto in the background. — The trailhead where the Baseline Road Trail begins on the Cross Florida Greenway.

The trail was cool, shaded in the right spots, and honestly, exactly what I needed even if I didn't know it yet. Bowie certainly knew. This is one of his favorites, and the moment we hit the trailhead he had that specific energy that only a dog who recognizes a place can have.

One of the things that keeps me coming back to Baseline Road is how much the trail packs into a relatively short distance. Three or four miles doesn't sound like a lot, but you move through what I can only describe as a rotation of completely different worlds. Old-growth canopy. Quiet pine forests. Open fields thick with brush. Fields of cactus, grasses. Paths covered in pine straw, or cut short grass. I love the variety and it makes each hike go by quickly.

The wildlife

Wildlife sightings are part of the draw here too. I've crossed paths with deer, owls, and found enough bear signs over the years to keep me appropriately alert.

A Sherman's Fox Squirrel clinging to the trunk of a large oak tree surrounded by autumn leaves. — A Sherman's Fox Squirrel on an oak trunk. Dark head, white-tipped ears, and larger than your standard gray squirrel.

But the ones I see most consistently are the Sherman's Fox Squirrels, big, chunky squirrels with dark heads and white-tipped ears that look almost comically oversized compared to your average gray squirrel. They're native to central Florida's pine and sandhill ecosystems, and Baseline Road has them everywhere.

They don't seem particularly bothered by people, which makes them easy to spot if you're paying attention and not just staring at the trail in front of you. This morning I watched one work its way up a massive oak, pausing occasionally to investigate something in the bark before continuing upward. Bowie noticed it too, but by that point in the hike he'd already expended most of his investigative energy and was content to watch from the trail.

Spring renewal

This time out, everything felt like it was waking up. The foliage is coming back in hard after winter's dieback, and the newer growth has that particular shade of green that only exists for about two weeks a year.

A large live oak tree draped with Spanish moss, standing against a bright blue sky with the sandy trail visible at its base. — One of the old-growth oaks along the trail. Spanish moss, wide canopy, and roots that have been here longer than any of us.

Bright, almost neon, the kind of leaves that look freshly made. The blackberry bushes were covered in flowers, which means in a few weeks the trail is going to smell incredible and I'm going to eat berries off the bushes like I'm twelve years old.

The live oaks are something else entirely. Some of these trees have been standing since before the Civil War, maybe longer. Wide spreading canopies, branches thick as telephone poles, draped with Spanish moss that sways even when there's no wind you can feel at ground level. Standing under one of them feels like standing under architecture. Intentional structure built over decades, not years.

Showing up

Some days the hike is about the destination or the distance or the number of steps I've taken. Last weekend it was mostly just about getting outside, letting Bowie do his thing, and watching a trail I love come back to life. That was plenty.

I didn't set any records. I didn't see anything particularly rare. But I showed up, and that's the rule. Bowie doesn't negotiate, and honestly, I'm glad he doesn't. Some of the best mornings are the ones you almost didn't take.