This is a story shared by a woman who visited the Sanctuary many years ago. She had no idea then, but that visit would leave an indelible mark on her spirit and gave her inspiration to survive one of life's greatest challenges. 

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Life is a gift from the earth. It is also a trust to preserve and protect. Earth gives us life and the trust we inherit requires us to protect it.

From a squalling red and wrinkled newborn human to the smallest organism living in a pond in the Florida swamp, there is connectivity to all life. How can we know which life form is the critical link in this dance? The demise of one small plant or animal, or even microscopic plankton coming to extinction, could break that fragile web that keeps our planet and everything on it alive. I was given my first breath of life because of the gift of nature. When it was almost taken away, it was nature itself that gave that life back to me. I had this opportunity because someone had kept and nurtured the trust of living things they were given.

I experienced the essential life-giving force of nature. I had the opportunity to go on a great adventure as I had been awarded a prestigious postgraduate grant to study educational institutions and their success, or lack thereof, for a year. And here's what I did with it...

Saturday dawned bright and beautiful as only a South Florida morning can. I had to go do something to get outside of myself and get relief from the constant agitation and anxiety caused by being alone. Little did I realize that on this very day, I was beginning a journey that would come full circle and bring me home again years later.

I believe there are harbingers of things to come if we are sensitive and alert. This encounter on this day would be one of those.

 I had my early breakfast in one of the local restaurants and listened to the locals talk about a place called the Corkscrew Swamp, out near Fort Myers. The Audubon Society’s protected preserve, they said, had a boardwalk of almost three miles going into the Florida Everglades. I left a generous tip in my enthusiasm and was out the door headed for my adventure.

Unless you have experienced it, there is nothing to compare to walking out of an air-conditioned building into the hot humid curtain of moist air in South Florida in summer. It was still early morning with a soft cool breeze when I had gone in for breakfast. When I came out at 7 a.m., the sun was fully up; it was a different experience.  I felt the physical impact as the humid hot summer air enveloped me. I hurried to my air-conditioned car wondering if I was going to regret my sudden impulsive decision to go wandering but I had committed myself to go, so I headed towards the highway.

Interstate 75 was deserted. The drive was short and easy, soon I found myself in a spacious parking area. There were already a few cars of other early risers in the lot who were already on their boardwalk adventure. I walked up to the register to pay the modest entry fee. Have you ever seen the pleasure in a parent’s face as a child opened their Christmas or birthday presents? The look of joy and anticipation you see is because they understand what sweet emotions will follow when their children see what is in the package. That was the genuine effect of the young man who sold me my ticket. He smiled and I could see the pleasure on his face for the experience he knew I had ahead of me. Buoyed by his earnest enthusiasm, I steeled myself to go out into the humid warm day.

The sheltering growth beyond the boardwalk filtered out the world of noise beyond the preserve. I could only hear the sounds of birds, and a light whisper of wind as it came through the tall grasses. The soft tread of my feet on the wooden walkway was the only unnatural intrusion in the quiet world. I strolled into the majesty of the cathedral-like shelter of old-growth cypress trees. They were mute: silent witnesses to the centuries of passing time. Sentinels and survivors of man’s indifference and abuse of the planet.

There was a reverent and subdued demeanor about those who passed me on their return to the reception center. I did not speak to them. It would have seemed like interrupting someone at prayer. They were deep within themselves, savoring their experience.

A returning pilgrim who had heard me before he saw me put his fingers to his lips initiating the universal “quiet “ sign. He leaned towards me as he passed and whispered, “There is more to see here if you are quiet.” In retrospect, I now think, what a good analogy to put to life itself. I thanked him and lightened my step.

Every turn revealed a new wonder of beauty surrounding me. Blooming water lilies were at various stages of their performance, presenting the beauty that had inspired Monet.  A living painting graced the shallow pond.

The many cypress trees created the backdrop curtain. I mused, “This landscape could not be surpassed.” Around a bend in the trail, a still white egret, watching for his dinner to swim by, presided over it all. A perfect composition too spectacular to be conceived by the eye of a mortal painter.

A branch curved out over the cypress knees jutting up from the water below. Hanging from the limb was a sublime swath of moss with texture and pattern that would rival any handmade lace curtain for grace or charm.

The comfort of a bench beckoned me. As I sat down, I saw a name on a brass plaque. A dedication to someone who had also loved this place sometime in the past. Their name would be here on this bench enshrined for many years. It was a testimony: “I have lived - I was here.”

Taking in the wonder around me, I breathed deeply, cleared my mind, and began to contemplate and capture what I was seeing and experiencing. There was an urgency within me to consume and imprint the wonders I saw. I wanted to store them in my mind, my soul, my heart, not unlike the memorial imprinted on the bench. I was deeply touched by both the emotional and visual experience. My senses were cataloging and storing away the miracle created by eons of god’s evolutionary creative processes. 

As I continued my walk, a combination of light and colors greeted me. I arrived at what is called Lettuce Lakes. Greens were so varied in tones and hues that a master painter’s palate could not have duplicated so many different nuances of color. Each bit of vegetation had a varied shade of green or brown.  It was all accentuated with a blend of blues in a sky mottled with clouds not content to be common. They had subtle shades of pink and blue mixed in with the spun sugar white to create clouds of perfection. They completed and framed the masterpiece.

The tiny leaves of the soft, iridescent green, floating water plants nourished the many creatures both big and small that lived among the vegetation. They crawled, jumped, and slithered through the abundant foliage floating in the water. Another living panorama lay around the next corner, it was another part of the repertoire composed through thousands of years. Ever changing to bring itself to me in this moment. I knew what I was experiencing and seeing this moment was a miniscule nanosecond that belonged only to me. It would never be exactly the same again. Every part of this picture would change subtly within moments and someone else’s experience would not be the same as mine.

An Anhinga, a bird from the time of the dinosaurs, positioned itself on a low shrub with its wings spread wide to catch the passing breeze. The rat-a-tat-tat sound made by a very serious woodpecker, intent on creating holes to hide his plunder of seeds, added a majestic soundtrack to this moment.

A Great Blue Heron walked with a royal stately gait from behind a tangle of water plants and hanging moss. He had a purposeful stride. The wind blew his feathers like the trim on an antebellum gown at a Southern cotillion a hundred years ago. I watched, scarcely breathing so as not to startle him. He strutted about, and preened his beautiful feathers, then left as quickly as he had come. Off to whatever pressing business he had to attend to. The splendor of this large, graceful creature had caused me to involuntarily gasp in delight.

It was, as promised by the morning, a hot humid day. The wet air wrapped around me, and I became part of it. The moisture was thick, and the light filtered through its gauze-like presence. I understood it was as critical to the drama I was experiencing as was the sun. The humidity made its presence known. like the lighting of a Broadway play, subtle but with stunning impact.

I could feel my naturally curly hair return to its god-given state. All the contrivance I had brought to bear upon it that morning was for naught. I was shown that this is a natural place and nature is in charge.  It occurred to me, “This is what it means to be a human being!” I don’t mean being a human person, I mean, being a human, just being. That is not easy. Our minds are so hijacked by our fears, tensions, and wants, that we rarely just sit and be. Very seldom, if ever, do we quietly observe and feel the incoming sensations around us with all the emotional and physical noise stripped away.

Back in the present, occasionally someone would quietly walk by. I recognized the now familiar look of wonderment. I realized I had seen it before. It had been in the eyes of fellow tourists visiting Notre Dame and San Chappell.  Those beautiful Paris cathedrals with stained-glass windows captured the glory of the sun. This was, however, something more. There was a quietness, humility, and reverence, which spoke of the sacredness of nature’s creation as opposed to the vanity of something man had made. Clearly, they felt they were visiting a holy place.

The day had passed without an awareness of its loss. Shadows were growing long, and I realized my time was going to soon come to an end. The glades shimmered in the changed shades of light created by the sun as it moved toward the ocean only a few miles away. The changed light brought completely different variations to the swamp.

The old log I had been looking at suddenly moved. It was an alligator. He opened his mouth, breaking the silence as his teeth cracked together. A Great White Egret sitting on a low-hanging branch barely escaped the snapping jaws. A flutter of feathers floated down on the water as the lucky and quick egret leaped to flight. I was brought back to the reality of everyday life. In your happiest times, something dark and dangerous can threaten your peace and your life itself.

The alligator had turned towards my vantage point. I would swear he smiled at me, hoping I had seen his clever stealthy acrobatics. “Never mind,” he seemed to say, “I missed, I won’t next time.”  He slowly sank below the water, swishing his tail back and forth in a rhythmic motion on his way to better luck.

Watching this life-and-death drama was amazing. How special, to be allowed to see this pageant of life played out in front of me.

Birds were beginning to settle in the trees for the night. They preened their feathers while looking for just the right branch. They would be rested and ready to meet the struggle for survival when the new day dawned. One little yellow bird could not be pulled away for such a thing as rest, he intently watched me. He sat on a branch opening his wings as if to see how pretty I am, I’m alive, he then began to sing. I was beyond charmed: it was fascination of his song of a beautiful life that was free and happy. It was as if he was truly singing just to me telling me how great it was to be alive. I thought at the time I would never forget this little yellow bird’s utter joy in life.

The other visitors had all left or were departing for home. I found myself alone as night began to settle in. I was a straggler reluctant to reenter the world I had left. As the shadows crept deeper, I knew this was not a domain for humans after the sun had set.

The mosquitos had started their evening song and other insects joined in the chorus. Feeling my first mosquito bite moved me to action. I picked up my pace to get back to the visitor’s center.

That’s when I saw him. An endangered Florida panther standing out in the open grassland. He showed as much surprise to see me as I did to see him. Sighting a panther anywhere in Florida today is a rare event. His golden color went from dark golden to light blond. His eyes were hypnotizing. I now understood why prey often stood paralyzed in the few precious seconds it had to take flight. Those eyes held you.

It was unusual for humans to be on the boardwalk at this time of day. Usually, we had all returned to our air-conditioned cars by now. Yet here we were. Two living creatures confronting each other suddenly like this must have similar thoughts going through their brains at the speed of light. He sniffed the air and must have decided I was not a threat or dinner. He must have reasoned, “I’m assuredly much faster than the puny human on the boardwalk, but it is a big creature, so I think I’ll pick on something a bit smaller.” My thoughts were, “That animal could be here in half a second and kill me before I could even call for help. If he decides to come after me, I will not go easy.” I had decided at that moment that I would fight for my life. That resolve to fight for my life would insert itself into a life-and-death battle soon to come. In the next instant, after one last disdainful look at me, he turned and sprinted away, stretching his long legs as ran through the grassland.

I went back several times in the months I stayed in South Florida. It was always wonderful, but nothing can equal your first confrontation with the raw and wild beauty of the Corkscrew Swamp. I always got back to the visitor’s center before dusk as instructed so I did not meet my friend the panther again.

In a few months, I was off for home. I had written my papers and presented my findings, but the real gains, which I would not realize for some time, had come from the peace and inner quietness I had learned to call upon. In addition, came the resolve to be strong and determined when life required it of me. These were the gifts of nature I had received from those days on the Corkscrew Swamp boardwalk.

You would think my story would end here but there is a bit more. I heard the words no one ever wants to hear from their doctor. “You have cancer. It is a very aggressive type, and only aggressive treatment will save your life.”

The doctor told me that the treatment could be fatal, and he would have to take me as close to death as many times as he could to kill the cancer cells. “The worse you feel,” he told me, the worse the cancer will feel. “This is what I must do to save you. Just remember when you feel bad, I won’t let you die.”

Faced with the grim news and debating if I would just let go and spare myself the pain, I remembered the moments facing the panther. My resolve to fight for my life. I summoned the same resolve and looked at my physician and said, “Let’s do it.”

The very next day I began chemotherapy. By the fifth day, I was feeling as bad as I thought anyone could. The doctor who was from India and schooled in the art of meditation, seeing how I suffered, said, “I know you want to be anywhere but here right now. I am going to teach you how to go somewhere else when you feel really bad. It will help you get through this.” He taught me how to meditate and then directed me to try and remember an experience or a place that was very special to me. This was a place I was to “go to” in my mind when things got tough. Treat it like a vacation he said. “Do you know a place like that?”

I pondered the question for a few minutes. I could not think of a thing at first. I looked out the window at the streets of Los Angeles 15 stories below. At that moment a little yellow bird landed on the windowsill of the clinic window, 15 stories up. Here was this small, tiny yellow bird out of nowhere. A gift of nature from the earth had brought me a message. I never saw another during the seven months I came there for therapy. He arrived as if he were a messenger at this critical time to remind me of the beauty of being alive and that it was worth fighting for. I smiled. Yes, I know a place like that I said, thinking of the little yellow bird I had seen in the Corkscrew swamp.

As I went through the months of chemotherapy and radiation, I found refuge by taking myself away from the harsh reality of what I was going through by using my memories of the Corkscrew Swamp and that little yellow bird.

I heard the soft tread of my footsteps on the boards, and the ripple of the water as bugs scooted across it. I would walk every inch of the swamp and see my old clever friend who pretended to be a log and missed his bird. The lettuce lakes and the color variations of green were as clear as any memory I ever had. I would watch the anhinga dry his wings and soar off when he was ready. The Heron, the wood storks, the Ibis, they all played out their roles. The end of the therapy session was always near when the panther suddenly came into view. We would have those moments of eye contact and as the ethereal production would end, I would look at that panther and resolve to fight the hard fight. 

On one of those days when I felt really close to death, I encountered the panther as usual at the end of my meditative walk for the day. For the first time, the panther spoke to me. Of course, it must have been the effects of the chemotherapy. Whatever it was, my old friend the panther looked at me and said, “You are going to come back here and see me again when you’re well. You are a fighter, a worthy opponent. You are going to be okay.” I told my doctor before I left that day, that I was going to make it because the panther had told me so! I still remember the strange look he gave me, then he laughed and said, “Well that is a new one, I haven’t heard that one before.”

One day not too long after that, my test results told me I was cancer-free. That was sixteen years ago. That beautiful magical place, the little yellow bird, and the panther gave me the spiritual strength to stay the course and fight the good fight. As I spiritually walked the boardwalk every day my body healed itself.

A few years ago I returned to the place that meant so much to me. I can’t begin to explain the joy I felt as I walked the same path I had taken so many times in my mind. I relished seeing how well I had remembered the details on each twist and turn of the boardwalk. My alligator (or one of his friends) was still there waiting for the egret to make a mistake and sit on a branch too close to the water. The heron still waited for a fish and his splendor of color and size were not diminished. He looked up for a moment to acknowledge that I had come back to see him. There was even another little yellow bird that sang for me. I saw in that day that life continues through both the joys and the struggles.

We sometimes use the term sanctuary and spiritual loosely today, but the Corkscrew Swamp deserves the acknowledgment of those words. The memories I gathered from the boardwalk, given to me by Mother Earth, sustained me. They were memories stored from years before they were needed. Those memories sustained me through the greatest crisis of my life. God, the earth, and nature give us life in the beginning, and if we are lucky all three will sustain us in times of hardship. God, the earth, and nature gave me my first breath and when I needed it gave it back to me again.

This is a true story, I only hope I have done it justice in the writing of it.

Della Condon