Once upon a mermaid

Imagination, hard work, and a few mermaids.

She was standing beside a pink tractor in a field of yellow tulips, her scales glistening in the sun. And while I knew it might not be proper, I had to ask:

“A bit far from the ocean aren't you?”

We laughed. And then I said, "Seriously. What's a mermaid like you doing in a place like this? Aren't you supposed to be near the ocean?"

We talked of land and sea. Of photographs and mermaid societies like this one.

And then I remembered the mermaids of Weeki Wachee Springs.

Springs dot Florida's landscape. They're fascinating. Refreshing. Mysterious.

While at least a dozen of Florida's 1000 known springs are larger, only one other holds as strong a memory for me as does Weeki Wachee.

Blame it on the mermaids.

Back in the day -- and I mean way back before I was born -- Newt Perry, a trainer of Navy frogmen during World War II, had a dream. Roadside America describes it this way:

"He envisioned beautiful women performing underwater ballet. Newt called them 'mermaids' but back then they didn't have tails."

Newt cleared the spring of discarded refrigerators and other trash, built an aquarium amphitheater, selected and trained swimmers, and opened for business. The result: perfected underwater performances for millions of tourists. The City of Live Mermaids is now a state park.

Newt had to create his own mermaids. Sometimes that's what it takes to create an icon. And a memory.

Photo by Grace Page, CC BY-SA 4.0.