When the fruit fell from the tree it clanged on the hood of
the car with the force of a well hit baseball. It rolled off the grill, falling
to the pavement with the sound of the crack of a bat. The rock hard exterior of
the fruit had cleaved into four neat quarters, each maintaining a slim
connection to the adjacent quarter. Inside, several dozen reddish-brown, winged
seeds had separated from the core, while a few had been ejected out upon
impact. Today, this is a commonplace occurrence in department store and grocery
store parking lots of South Florida where the West Indian Mahogany (Swietenia mahagon) has been planted.
The long sought-after hardwood is native to many islands in
the Caribbean as well as extreme South Florida .
Over harvesting has reduced the range and abundance of this tropical species,
which most likely found its way to Florida
millennia ago on the winds or waves churned up by tropical storms or
hurricanes.
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| © Pete Corradino |
Shoppers might find it hard to believe that the seemingly
ubiquitous tree that has been planted prolifically is recognized as a
threatened species. Most wild specimens are found on the hardwood hammocks (aka
tree islands) of the Everglades . Mahogany can
grow to fifty feet in height with a sixty foot spread. It’s an excellent shade
tree and as landscapers recognize the importance of using native species, the
mahogany is found more and more in urban
areas.
The adage “never park beneath a coconut tree”, which is
understandably a useless sentiment for most of North
America , should apply to the West Indian Mahogany as well. The
problem though, is the popularity of this species in parking lots and the
inability of most people to identify it. The main telltale clue is the brown
mahogany fruit growing upright on a tufted stalk. At this time of the year, a
good sized tree could have fifty or more. They don’t all fall at once. Some
ripen, split and expel their seeds while still attached to the tree. But the
rest? Bombs away.
It seemed the best way to accomplish our task was to get her in a boat and paddle her out into Estero Bay. What could go wrong?
Our destination was Mound Key, the largest Calusa Indian shell mound in the world and the highest point in Lee County. (our paddle trail highlighted in orange)
To get there the three of us would paddle with the tide, the presumed 3 miles out into the bay, cross the bay and arrive at the island which is 40 feet above sea level at its highest point and covered with tropical hardwoods like Mahogany and Gumbo Limbo. It's a beautiful site. 
Crossing the bay proved tougher than I imagined as the wind was driving into our faces and the tide had turned around. With only one mile to go, we pushed on toward the island. 
The island is guarded by a ferocious Jack Russell Terrier with an orange vest.
From the peak you can look out over Estero Bay and the Gulf of Mexico and see a multitude of high rises. The Calusa built the first!
Apparently the ghosts of the Calusa are not fans of technology and my phone and Mandy's decided to turn off on their own. They were charged. They had been getting reception. They just stopped working! The Badger was getting ferocious as she combated the heat, bugs and lack of phone reception so we had to abandon the island before we had a chance to explore the whole thing. We couldn't risk a full blown tantrum.