Flooded Planet

Exploring the World of Writing to the Very Last Drop...of Ink

Tag: florida


So Trump has decided to cleave the U.S. from the Paris Climate Change Agreement crowd, putting us with unenviable neighbors of Syria and Nicaragua as fellow abstainers (Syria’s busy with all that civil war distraction, so I suppose we can forgive them for not caring about anything other than who’s going to cobble the place back together once the dust finally settles).  The other separation event, of course, happening almost at the exact same time, is the ten percent ice shelf loss down on Larsen C, with its full frontal cleavage line really showing and growing these days. Eleven miles of expansion in just six days, and less than that to go before it’s fully separated, ready for the big venture out into the sea as one of the largest icebergs ever to be recorded. It’s epic proportions have been compared to those of Delaware, for Pete’s sake!

What can we say about these two seemingly unrelated events? First off, I’d like to offer that they’re not unrelated by any stretch. In fact, I would almost say that they go hand in hand. After all, if it weren’t for the anthropogenic activities of homo sapiens, we never would have needed a Paris Agreement to pull out of to begin with. At the same time, if it weren’t for the anthropogenic activities of homo sapiens, Larsen C probably wouldn’t be about to drop 2000 square miles of ice into the ocean. See how nicely that all fits together?

Meanwhile, we have such disparate scientific opinion with regard to how fast we’re going to bump up against circumstances that will spell doom and disaster for all of us. The truth is, nobody really knows. If they did, we wouldn’t have to keep hearing the now common phrase about how things are happening faster than expected, if they even expected such and such an event to happen in the first place.

We’ve learned so much about how the climate works on a global scale, and how intertwined it all is, how susceptible to change, even when slight perturbations in the atmosphere occur. What we do on a daily basis is anything but a slight perturbation. According to James Hansen, the granddaddy of climatologists, we pump the heat equivalent of 400,000 Hiroshima bombs into our atmosphere every single day. Can you wrap your head around that? This is Hansen’s number, based on solid scientific data. This guy is a trailblazer. He’s no dummy, and this is his figure going back at least five years. In that same 2012 TED talk in which he threw out this number, he also issued many other dire warnings, none of which I doubt in the least. (By the way, he also justifiably tooted his own horn as a way to lend further credence to his words, reminding his audience that everything he and other scientists had predicted in an article going all the way back to 1981 had, in fact, come to pass, or was well underway). At the time, the ppm reading of CO2 was apparently sitting right around 391. Hansen said we needed to get it back down to around 350 ppm if we were to avoid the most serious climatic consequences. Where are we today? Steadily heading in the opposite direction, with current measurements suggesting an average closing in on 410 (although we’ve spiked above that already).

We’ve known about this CO2 acting as an atmospheric blanket stuff for well over a century and a half. Yet, here we are, way way down the road since this initial discovery, still spewing the stuff into our personal atmospheric cesspit as though it’s the most natural and uneventful thing we can do here on Little Blue.

As a totally unnatural segue into other clueless developments (take that literally), there’s rumor of plans to build a new 6 million square foot ‘shopping mecca’ (not my words) in south Florida, bumping right up next to The Everglades. If all goes as planned, the thing could be approved as early as this fall. Keep in mind that the Pentagon weighs in at 6.6 million square feet as you read this description:

…Developer Triple Five Worldwide Group of Edmonton, Canada, says this will be different, combining retail space with an indoor ski slope, a water park, a submarine ride attraction, a skating rink, 2,000 hotel rooms, theaters, a performing arts center, and places to eat and drink.

Oh, it’s good to be alive in America, if only for a little while longer. Meanwhile, God Bless our President as he continues down his modest, earnest, honest and well-metered path toward the train wreck that is almost certainly coming his way at some point in the first term (and probably in the first quarter of it). My bet is on impeachment, but if not that, then undoubtedly some other variety of debilitating debacle. When it happens, the world will have continued on with its diligent efforts toward reducing the effects of Climate Change, despite our inept leader’s best efforts to derail a most noble undertaking. The world will be hotter, more unstable, more crowded, less bio-diverse, and with our own existence more tenuous everyday. Those are the facts.

Meanwhile, first one to plant a flag on the new iceberg gets to own it for the duration.

Sincere thanks for stopping by!


J’Ville all Jacked up on Progress

Had to go to Jacksonville to take care of some personal business the other day. The long and wearying drive over and back from Panama City, where I live, was to be considered a necessary affront (both to my back and the environment) to get to a city I had never visited before. Not that I wanted to go, but there was no getting around it. Sometimes governments, both big and small, place impositions on us, the citizens, that we’ll have no luck protesting, and will lose out on perceived benefits, even if we consider any protest we do mount as successful. At any rate, governmental bureaucracy, bloat, and short-sightedness have nothing to do with this diatribe. I’ve got other axes to grind (snicker).

So, I took the opportunity to use the day trip as an evaluation of ‘progress.’ If you haven’t read my Entropecology post yet, I hope that you will, as it provides the basis for much of what I share here. In short, what we, as Humanity, consider to be progress is, in fact, quite the opposite. It’s the steady and persistent ‘using up’ of our storehouse supplies, with no replenishment coming, ever, and with serious consequences that will be felt with increasing intensity for a long time to come. We can call the consequences pollution. We can also call them Climate Change. In the end, it’s all entropy in one form or another, and once piled up and piled on, very hard to get rid of.

The unabated growth I witnessed in many parts of J’Ville today is the very same animal running amuck here in PC. The similarities were striking.

I wouldn’t doubt that there exists this small, well-organized and deep-pocketed group of developer / investor / venturist types behind all this outrageous growth along Florida’s I-10 corridor. Starting over there in J’Ville and threading its way clean across our state until it exits around P’Cola (this shortening of city names is a habit of mine), I-10 continues boldly on all the way to the other coast (hmm…I wonder what excessive and ill-planned building projects are going on in those other states? I’ll bet I already know).

These guys and gals are experts at cobbling together the chunks o’ real estate they’ll need to bring in the massive building ventures guaranteed to turn any existing landscape on its head. Neighborhood? Habitat? Farmland? Community? Forget about it. Anything that invokes images of all those things that bind us together in some humanizing way are all tossed out with vigor, replaced unapologetically with more urban sprawl, more concrete jungle, more consumerism, more tired, worn-out franchised predictability.

Once their team is unleashed on your team, it’s very likely that they’ll wind up with most of what they wanted in their back pocket, and you’ll wind up holding the proverbial bag. What you thought was your quaint and quiet little community about two summers back now butts straight up against the backside of a shopping center that runs continuously, with no gaps, for several concreted and blacktopped blocks. The view is dire, and trending toward more of the same, since these projects typically run in phases, y’know. The bulldozers are already assembled on the property that lies diagonal to your own, and adjacent to the one where the parking lots start filling up around 7 or so (you’ve begun to notice), since consumers don’t spot the day’s deals as well on empty stomachs. The fast food chains start serving those yummy sausage biscuits as soon as the sun breaks the horizon. It’s all for a good cause—spending money.

Sidebar: I don’t make these statements casually. I’m witnessing what I’m writing about every day. I see neighborhoods that once existed among live oak and palmetto for as far as the eye could see now surrounded on all sides by strip malls, convenient stores, banks, and restaurants.

I drove past this guy the other day, squatting at the entryway of his very posh abode. He was smoking a cigarette, pointing a garden hose at the street, apparently thinking that blacktop grows better when it’s watered. He had this vacuous look in his eyes, like things hadn’t turned out quite as he’d planned. I could see why. His neighborhood was full of mini-mansions, just like his own, beautiful landscaping, large lots, decent amount of natural beauty left behind to give the whole neighborhood a sense of unity with its surroundings.

But something was unexpectedly juxta-positioned just across the street, where I’m pretty sure a bunch of undeveloped stuff had been when he purchased, all scruffy and uninhabited. Now it was stuffed to the gills with a big old shopping center that was truly a poorly designed project if ever there was one. The streets were too narrow, the parking spaces crammed in, very little plant life, lots of pavement and concrete, and everything plain and whitewashed with black or gray trim. The designer probably thought it would suggest elegance. To me, it suggested nausea.

Anyway, this guy puffed on his cigarette, watering the road, not even acknowledging me or my car as I passed only a few feet from his squatted caricature, I guess in a pose of what disillusionment looks like. I’m pretty sure he was crunching numbers in his head, wondering if he’d ever get his investment back. Who wants to live a stone’s throw from an ugly architecture with mostly unleased spaces? I guess that’s what we get when developers and zoning commissioners strike deals over dinner and drinks.

And about those shoppers able to find the deals better on full stomachs? As I type, I’m literally sitting in a parking lot, watching the people come and go. In the space directly in front of me, there is a van that contains two grossly obese women. One gets out while the other stays behind and eats something fried while she waits. The car next to hers holds the same—two females, both terribly overweight, and wearing brightly colored summer wear that should have been purchased two sizes larger, maybe three. The car on the aisle one over from my own just spit out two more people, the man really chunky, the woman only a little less so.

I really do see obesity everywhere, spilling out of over-sized vehicles and waddling in to the over-sized shops. It’s really quite astonishing these proportions on display. Not only are the people big, but the vehicles, too. The trucks the robots are stamping out now almost require a step stool to scrabble up to that shiny chrome bar that will serve as a rung to get you to the floorboard, where you can then hoist yourself up by latching on real hard to the steering wheel, then swiveling over on the captain’s chair of your plush vehicular domain. It’s the best cardiovascular workout you’ll have all day. God help you if you fall, too, because your melon will go splat from that high up. (Please don’t think I’m poking fun while exempting myself—I’m part of that crowd I describe, sporting an expanding paunch just like the rest of us, enjoying the fried food and soda pop, too).

If the drivers and cars are getting bigger, the parking spots, as they must be, are small, so’s to pack in the most shoppers in the least amount of space. The massive shiny gleaming hunks of Hemi have to be sort of shoe-horned in (crank-the-wheel-hard…Reverse…crank-the-wheel-hard the other way, Drive…crank-the-wheel-hard…Reverse…you get the comical idea). Some of ’em just don’t give a damn anymore and will take up two spots, and screw you if you don’t like it. Yeah it’s five pounds of pure crap in a two pound bag…what about it?

I witnessed all the same stuff in J’Ville. As I drove into what appeared to be one of the very latest building orgies going on in St. John’s County, my jaw did not drop. Why not? Because it was as if I was staring at the same plot of over-developed land I had just come from in my (what used to be) sleepy little Panama City Beach, Florida. The same franchises. Same architecture. Same everything. Matter of fact, I can drive clean across America on Interstate 10 and I will see the same everything in every town I visit. Sameness. All of it. One great big Same. Welcome to the United States of Same. If you have at least one stop light in your fair little Podunk, look out because a Wal-Mart Super Center is looking at you hard (that is, unless you’re already shopping there).

In J’Ville, there was this place where the changeover was absolutely palpable. Farmland, riddled with unattended wide open spaces, dilapidated structures, and the fragrance of Nature running free and wild because nobody was mowing down anything so they could jam through the new infrastructure. Anyway, it had the signs of death written all over it, literally. The massive wheels of the earth movers, already visible here and there, looked like ravenous wolves gathering around their prey, anxious to begin the toothy work. Even the way previously undisturbed lands get violated in a very predictable evolution of sequential movements has that characteristic mark of…Same.

New mortgages dotted the landscape, and the bright orange surveyors’ flags and spray paint, like so much cryptic engineering graffiti, was on display on any flat surface that could be defaced. Pretty yellow ribbons were tied around old oak trees, a sign that their end was nigh at hand (sorry Tony Orlando and Dawn), and the temp plastic fencing defined perimeters that said, “Here’s what it used to be, now get used to what it’s about to become…Sameness.”

The big waste management companies had their roll-offs placed strategically for all that rubble that results from any project, big or small. Yeah, life was good and the slightly sour smell of money was steadily overpowering that cool, fine fragrance that wafts up from any place that’s green and lush, rather than black and hot.

Progress was rearing its ugly head and sneering. Another place where the elements of Nature might have enjoyed at least some chance at freedom were now being broke, tamed, corralled, hemmed in, penned up, sheared off, eviscerated. All the critters of the planet that weren’t human were in the ongoing and unfolding process of flight. What lives in a concrete jungle besides us, our pets, and rats?

Yeah, progress is all backwards. Progress is a heat engine. Progress is loss of habitat and bio-diversity. Progress is resource depletion. Progress is a slow demise. Progress is cheese burgers and thick crust pizza. Progress is a big belly and a weak heart. Progress is finding the closest spot in the parking lot to your favorite plastic crap vendor. Progress must proceed at breakneck speed or the house of cards buckles and the jig is up. Progress is a progression toward something totally undefined. Does anybody have any idea where this train is headed? Who’s the conductor, anyway?

Mostly, Progress must strike a balance. The world is a very small place, and with a storehouse that has borders and limits. Only so much can fit in any physical structure, and so much pulled back out of it. The world is that physical structure. We’ve been emptying out her coffers for quite some time now. Our continued existence has depended on it. Now our continued existence depends on us slowing down…way down. Progress eventually runs out of all the things it needs to keep going. We’re getting there. It’s just a matter of how fast.

Because I’m a skeptic by nature, and a bit of a doubter as a result of living fifty plus years in an industrialized society, I wasn’t surprised by what I saw. I wasn’t even disappointed. The view from yet another city where I’d never gone before was nothing if not predictable to an unspeakable degree. Urban sprawl sprawling more and more. Same thing the rest of America, and the world, is doing. I think the agreements our fearless leaders made for us in Paris in 2015 to cool this planet back down to a suitable temperature simply aren’t going to hold water. Too much progress still to be had out there.

In the meantime, I concluded that J’Ville was all jacked up on the stuff. It’s what I expected, but I guess I had to see it for myself to be sure.

Sincere thanks for stopping by!


“The greatest shortcoming of the human race is our inability to understand the exponential function.”       

Albert A. Bartlett


Falling Waters

The opening of 2017 was a warm winter day (70s) where I live, complete with fast rolling clouds that happily unleashed sporadic sprinkles at regular intervals. It was on the spur of the moment that I decided to take my daughter and my friend to Falling Waters State Park, a place I’m quite familiar with, as it is only a 20 minute drive from where I live. The magnanimous park ranger who greeted us at the entrance gate informed us that we were in for a treat, since the heavy rains from the previous day meant that the centerpiece of the park, Florida’s tallest waterfall, was just gushing with excitement to greet her visitors. Such news put a smile on all of our faces.

I don’t know what it is about water that so draws the human species to her bosom, but there absolutely is something simply magical about her qualities that can’t quite be explained. When the three of us trekked down the steep stairs to pay tribute to the loveliness of this sweet little waterfall, there truly was some quality in the air that eluded description. The cold updrafts we all felt rising up from where the water crashes into the bottom of a spectacular 73 foot sinkhole were meant to be savored. A dad with his young family was tossing out dry leaves that caught the currents, flowing upward toward the trees, defying physics, at least for a moment or two. The children squealed with clueless delight.

The spray that wrapped all around everyone with a refreshing fine mist was enough to make us all want to linger a bit longer…and a bit longer. And the air, itself, so delicious in the lungs, filled with the natural aromas of the forest all around…quite beyond description and something to be experienced first-hand to appreciate its full impact on the soul.

An intimate moment. An opportunity to commune with one another. A time to walk slowly, hand-in-hand, without hurry, stopping often to take in the sights and sounds that only Nature can offer. Do we do this as much as we could…or should? No. Squeeze Nature in when and where we can is, I think, our M.O. as the dominant tenant on the block, with less and less allotment for the primal untamed world from which we sprang only seconds ago on the geological time scale.

I noticed that much of the trail a visitor is usually able to enjoy not only remained in the same disrepair I found it in more than a full year ago, but was now under complete quarantine. The portion of the park that normally offered placards to the uninformed, identifying the same various flora the Spaniards would have encountered upon their arrival to La Florida 400 years ago, was now entirely off limits. Rather sad in my estimation, and just a bit irresponsible. To my eye, it seemed to smack of budgetary gaps. A five dollar entry fee for vehicles that trickle in slowly I would imagine probably leaves much to be desired in the way of mandatory and ongoing park repair and maintenance. Maybe I was conjuring the whole thing up and the causes were something else entirely. Probably not.

I love Nature. My daughter loves Nature. I capitalize the word out of the reverence I feel for the something, the wonderful fresh green something that’s disappearing so fast from view, and all that comes along with it.

Go visit a state park with your family. They will love you for it. At least I hope so.

Sincere thanks for stopping by!



When I first arrived in Panama City, Florida some 22 years ago now, Apalachicola was one of the first little nearby towns I visited. The place was kind of famous, according to legend, and I couldn’t find any locals who didn’t highly recommend it as an enjoyable day excursion. So I went.

There’s something about the salt air that I truly think is good for the human soul. I have a friend who swears by it, even getting a little surly when she can’t get her fix of the salty elixir. But beyond that, Apalachicola just makes me feel happy in lots of different ways. It’s small town USA. The streets are bright with sunshine, and the whole place has managed to keep its down home vibe, with nothing but small Mom and Pop shops, lots of great restaurants, and plenty of maritime culture and American history to soak up, whichever way you turn. I’ve been to this fantastic little place numerous times, both with friends and family, and always leave with the feeling that it won’t be too long before I go back.

So, it’s a bit of a concern to know that Apalachicola has been hit really hard on a couple of different fronts. If you read the paragraph down at the bottom of the free posters they give away, showing the river and the bay from satellite height (one hangs on the wall of my home because I really like the way it looks), you’ll discover that it is one of the most important estuaries in the southeast United States. And for generations, the place has been home to some of the best seafood you’ll ever taste for hundreds of miles around. Apalachicola Bay is home to blue crabs, shrimp, numerous kinds of saltwater fish, and of course…those famous bay oysters (this bay supplies 10 percent of the nation’s supply, and there are thousands of jobs that depend on the success of the oyster).

Their annual seafood festival is something to experience. I had never seen so many oysters in all my life. The vendors serve them up a dozen different ways, and all of them delicious. Baked on the grill with some parmesan cheese, hot sauce, butter and lemon juice…oh, my mouth is watering just thinking about it.

So the part that’s disheartening is the fact that the oystermen haven’t had the kind of catches they did in times past for years now. The seafood festival I went to was twenty years ago. I hear it hasn’t been the same for quite a long while. It’s hard to determine just what the cause is, and there seem to be several factors involved. Although some would say it comes down to drought and drought only, others maintain that the real cause behind the oyster shortages has everything to do with river flow, and that means Georgia is to blame.

This water feud has been going on for decades now. Florida claims that Georgia needs to loosen its grip on the spigot that controls the flow of water downstream. Oh, if it were only that easy.

You have to go way back to the late 1930s, when the Army Corps of Engineers (they seem to be behind a lot of the troubles that are caused by water) proposed the construction of a dam in northern Georgia, to provide water for nearby Atlanta, as well as to control flooding, and a host of other reasons that sounded good at the time. Buford Dam was finished in 1957, with Lake Lanier created as a result. Of course, nobody knew that nearby Atlanta would become the water-starved metropolis that it now is, gobbling up every available drop it can get its hands on. (P.S. I lived in Atlanta for two God-forsaken years. Why anybody would want to do that to their soul is beyond me, although I guess traffic gridlock for hours on end may be a charming way of life for some. Take my advice…visit often, but live somewhere else).

The problem started way back when, after the Corps authorized that the water used for the hydroelectric component of the dam be diverted, instead, to supply Atlanta residents with more drinking water. Alabama immediately cried foul, filing a lawsuit against Georgia and the Corps. Florida wasn’t far behind. When you start depriving citizens of the water they’ve come to expect, trouble’s bound to ensue. That goes double for people whose livelihoods depend on it. The Apalachicola River supplies 35% of the fresh water that flows into the eastern portion of the Gulf of Mexico, and is critical for maintaining proper salinity of the waters in the bay. When things get too salty, oysters don’t grow, and people don’t eat.

All parties decided to settle down a bit and try to reach favorable agreements for all concerned. The devil’s in the details, of course, and there’s two sides to every story (although there’s three in this case who can’t play nice together). A couple of compacts were the result, but these didn’t last for long, and everybody climbed back in the saddle, ready to kick things up to the next legal level.

From there, the story just gets very litigious, I’m afraid, and I’m not adept at making good drama out of lawsuits and arbitration that just drag on and on. Things have been mired down for a while, with big players in Florida, like Senators Rubio and Nelson, and Governor Scott all weighing in for Florida. Meanwhile, the oyster industry has been recognized as “in collapse,” with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) recently issuing a fishery disaster over oysters.

Essentially, there’s been trouble over water in some aspect or another between these three states for nearly a quarter of a century now, and a happy compromise seems nowhere to be found. Maybe the Supreme Court justices can throw the hammer down.

Several conclusions can be drawn, and you’ll probably make most of the same ones I have. Population growth continues to strain the nation’s natural resources (Atlanta is the nation’s ninth most populous city, and with no slowdown in sight). Water is, of course, one of the most important natural resources we have, along with every other nation on the planet, and how precious we are finding it to be these days.

In the meantime, I’ve known some families, either directly, or through friends, who have decided to walk away from the oyster and fishing industries after making their living on the water going generations back. That’s a tough call, and another piece of Americana that’s slipping away. Apalachicola’s economy depends heavily on the bay to stay open for business. But people have decided to call it quits, with some long-time restaurants, distributors, and other supply-chain interests shuttering their doors for good.

We can always hope things get better, but, at least for now, the once-thriving Apalachicola Bay is just a shell of its former self.

Check out these other related posts, and sincere thanks for stopping by!

Big Ball of Bio-Water

Falling Electricity



Things Fall Down

In Florida, where I live, there is the occasional bizarre headline, and always with a terrifying picture, about the latest thing or things the ground has decided to swallow up whole.  Usually something heavy and substantial, too, like a car, or a house.  These horrifying spectacles (or maybe we should call them events) are known as sinkholes.  The phenomenon didn’t make any sense to me until I took the time to look into the science.  Then I was simply surprised (and grateful) that these gaping holes occur as seldom as they do.

(Note: I suppose the term “seldom” is relative, since a map of Florida designed to show where sinkholes exist looks remarkably similar to Swiss cheese, or a moonscape that’s full up and simply unable to accommodate even one more crater.  Although sinkholes are nothing new, the idea of new ones forming as a result of human activity certainly is…read on).

One word—limestone (that’s actually two words pushed together, isn’t it?)  Florida has bedrock made up, in large part, of this stuff, as well as dolomite, gypsum, and some other minor actors to round out the mix.  Naturally acidic rain falling on the earth percolates into this limestone, physically (chemically) altering the rock, slowly eating away at the delicate substance each time there is precipitation.  After long periods of this persistent eroding action, the landscape may ultimately find itself too weak to offer support.  The result is a cave-in, sometimes to the extent that stuff like homes and neighborhoods get gobbled up (there must be a recipe for a bad sci-fi movie in there somewhere).

From a geologist’s viewpoint, sinkholes are simply the natural result of erosive processes occurring throughout the world.  In fact, all across the planet there are numerous tourist attractions centered around one or more sinkholes.  Many are truly spectacular to behold!  You can discover these beauties for yourself simply by typing “sinkholes” in your favorite search engine, then enjoying the colorful images as your visual reward (be sure to check out Devil’s Sinkhole in Texas, or Sarisarinama Sinkholes in Venezuela).

Many of Florida’s lakes are the result of sinkholes.  One indicator that a lake may have been formed that way is its characteristic round shape.  For example, Kingsley Lake in north central Florida, when viewed from the air, is so perfectly round that pilots have dubbed it the Silver Dollar Lake.

There are times when, instead of the roof caving in, it stays intact, resulting in breath-taking limestone caverns one can step into and explore (sort of…you might be told not to touch anything, and don’t go blazing any new paths in the darkness).  Florida Caverns State Park is one such example, and the guided tour through the tunnels is well worth the trip (but again, don’t touch—you will be reprimanded (snicker)).

This article isn’t about just touting the visual splendor –like lakes and caves and such—that can result from sinkholes or other geological activity.  In fact, it originated as a result of my discovery that many cities around the world are slowly sinking into the ground as a result of a phenomenon known as subsidence—the scientific name for what I’ve been discussing—the ground giving way, slowly or abruptly, compromising the structural integrity of anything that might be resting on top.  The most startling information to convey here is that, in a growing number of instances, subsidence is occurring (or is at least being accelerated) as a result of human activity.

Urban development, including housing and businesses, roads and parking lots, retention ponds, well digging, aquifer access, fracking…all can contribute to shaking up the stability literally under our feet, causing undesirable consequences like…well, like sinking cities.

On this website, which revolves mainly around “all things water,” I include in these discussions all the ways in which humanity is increasingly influencing the course of future civilizations with the actions we take today.  Sinking cities is just one of the hundreds of topics we talk about, including how such situations are caused, as well as the many ways in which science attempts to mitigate the damage when we humans find ourselves slipping in the mud, trying not to be eaten whole by a bus-crushing sinkhole.

Check out these related articles on my website.  Enjoy and sincere thanks for stopping by!


Sinking Bangkok

The Ground Beneath Us

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