Welcome to Gnat City, where the main attraction is … gnats
This was our campsite outside of Lessburg, Florida, in the early 1970s The campground was overrun with gnats. Photo by Del Stone Sr.
My camping adventure comes to a merciful close at a campground we christened “Gnat City.”
Gnat City lies somewhere in the vicinity of Leesburg, which lies somewhere in the vicinity of the Twilight Zone. Gnat City is memorable for (A) hordes of gnats that can exist only in your eyes and nostrils, (B) a lake that possibly hosts tiny, amoeba-like creatures that crawl into your eyes and lethally infect your brain, (C) a gigantic watermelon patch featuring real watermelons in various stages of decomposition, (D) wild birds that will actually fly up to you as you eat and take a dump in your plate, and (E) Satan, the goat with devil eyes.
It is hot when we arrive; it is hot after the sun goes down; it is hot the next day, when, for some incomprehensible reason, we decide to stay. Other than that, it is a nice place, except for:
The gnats – We are talking biblical plague here. The gnats crawl into your ears, your eyes and your nose. If you aren’t careful, you breathe and swallow them. This just about covers the gamut of all human functions, rendering life essentially impossible outside of little screened-in enclosures. Sitting in these enclosures is a truly memorable way to spend a vacation in Central Florida.
The lake – The lake is populated with various animals that are not friends to mankind: alligators, snakes and amoebas that eat their way into your brain, just like in that episode of “Night Gallery,” causing a slow, agonizing death. Fortunately, we go swimming only when we have to, such as when we are attacked by gnats while darting from screened-in enclosure to screened-in enclosure and have to seek refuge underwater.
The watermelon path – I feel like Tom Sawyer as I skulk into the patch after dark to steal a watermelon. I chose a likely candidate, pick it up, and hand sinks into it to the wrist.
The birds – This is a true story. These wild birds, called scrub jays, are so tame they will perch on your hand and eat Wonder Bread, which may explain why so few of them exist anymore (I’m just kidding, little Wonder Bread elf who will clip this and send it to your corporate dungeon masters).
Satan, the devil goat – I call the goat Satan because it has vertical pupil slits for eyes, which remind me of a rock ’n’ roll album cover. Satan lives in a fenced-in enclosure around what I suspect is an open cesspool, which I believe is how Satan travels back and forth to hell to manufacture rock ’n’ roll albums. I notice the gnats don’t seem to bother Satan. Hmmm. Maybe the goat has something there.
At last, mournfully, it is time for our camping adventure to end. I will return to civilization, with is corrupting influences of color television and Jiffy Marts.
We load up the car, and it is with tears in my eyes that I watch the campground disappear behind us in a cloud of dust and gnats, painfully aware I could have spent the past two weeks in an Econo Lodge.
This column was published in the Thursday, June 16, 1988 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
On the way to Camp Do-Not we spotted this waterspout in the distance. Maybe you can see it in the red box. Or maybe I'm lying. By this time we were delerious with heat stroke because Dad refused to turn on the AC in the car because it dropped the gas mileage by 2 mpg. These days I run the car AC in the dead of winter with 8 inches of snow on the ground. Photo by Joyce Stone.
Sadly, it is time for us to end our idyllic week at Manatee Springs State Park and move on to another Campground from Unspoiled Hell.
In the 20 or so seconds it takes us to pack our belongings, I stop to reflect on the highlights of our visit:
(A) I found an opossum skull. Aside from satanic rituals, I could think of no practical use for it, but I kept it anyway. I now proudly display it in a cardboard box in the attic.
(B) Watching moths go up in little balls of fire in the kerosene lantern – an early, crude version of the electronic bug zapper.
(C) Picking up garbage the raccoons scattered during the night – the SAME garbage I picked up the day before, and the day before that, ad infinitum. This vicious cycle of scattering and picking up has been going on since the time Indians roamed the area and had their garbage scattered by raccoons. I think some of the garbage I picked up WAS Indian garbage.
As we depart, we wave a fond farewell to the Bobs, who have threatened to someday return to their home, if they can get Bob out of the lawn chair.
As we head south, despite my fervent desire that we turn north in the direction of home, we pass many fascinating sights. They were too expensive, so I don’t get to see them. But we stop at some of the less interesting sights, which include:
Reptile Land – This linchpin of the Florida tourism industry features, among other things, a caged duck that plays a piano. I am not kidding. You put a quarter in the slot and the duck uses its bill to bash out a tune worthy of any 10-year-old after $5,000 worth of lessons.
I also feel that Reptile Land sells a superior quality plastic alligator, and now one of those is on proud display with the opossum skull in the attic.
Weeki Wachee – I don’t actually see the show, but I use the bathroom in the lobby and I am impressed.
Miles and miles of dead orange groves – There they are in all their natural dead splendor, those famous Florida orange groves you hear are threatened every time the temperature plummets below 85. They are a stark reminder that Anita Bryant no longer lives in Florida.
We arrive at our new home, a campground on Sannibel Island. We call it “Camp Do-Not,” because everywhere you look is a sign telling you what you cannot do. We spend one night there, immobilized in our tent. Although the rules forbid it, we break camp and leave the next day.
We wend our way northeast, to the interior of Florida, where the humidity is always higher than the temperature, even inside most homeowners’ ovens, which few residents use because they find it less expensive and more convenient to do their cooking on the sidewalks.
There, we complete the final leg of our journey across the heart of darkness of Florida, and I promise that next week’s column will be the last I write about camping, at least until I run out of ideas again.
Next week: Satan, the devil goat.
This column was published in the Northwest Florida Daily News on June 9, 1988 and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Here are the continuing highlights of my camping adventures at Manatee Springs State Park, and elsewhere:
The coral snake: Just as the Indians did hundreds of years ago, we sally forth from our campsite in the morning to gather provisions, which means we invent an excuse to ride in the air-conditioned car to the Jiffy Mart to buy Twinkies. When we return, we are told that one of our party, having nothing better to do while we were gone, took an ax and chopped in half what appeared to be a coral snake, although it might have been one of the many harmless varieties of snakes which roam the campground, slither into your sleeping bag at night devour you in a single, 20-hour sitting.
When I examine the half of the snake that did not flee into the woods to kill again, I quickly remember the old rhyme about identifying coral snakes by their color stripes:
Red touch yellow,
Kill a fellow.
Red touch black,
Go ahead Jack
And try your luck, fool.
Yes, this is definitely a coral snake half. As we stand there congratulating ourselves on our deadly snake-killing prowess, it occurs to me that there is half a coral snake still out there somewhere, and it is probably angry, and maybe we should relocate our campsite to a safer location, such as the Econo-Lodge in Minneapolis.
Since there is nothing better to do until the after-dark woodlands “Star Wars” sound effects, I take the coral snake half and coil it at the door to the ladies’ restroom. For hours, I entertain myself by watching women emerge from the restroom and blithely tromp on the snake half. By now, an intact coral snake would have put itself out of its misery by biting itself.
The tick: The woodlands of Florida abound with insect life, as to the homes, places of business, hospitals and major theme parks of Florida. The entire state is a vast, writhing breeding ground for insect life, and Manatee Springs State Park is no exception. At night, we entertain ourselves by watching giant roaches crawl up the tent, secure in the knowledge that they will probably be stomped to death by wild hogs, or eaten by the Bobs.
One insect visitor to our campsite is a tick. For you camping beginners who do not know the difference between a tick and a Port-a-Potty, I should explain that a tick is a disease-carrying organism, just as every living thing on this planet is a disease-carrying organism, except Julie Andrews. Ticks attach themselves to you and suck your blood, just like television evangelists.
One of our party is bitten by this evil tick. We apply all the traditional folk remedies: touching the tick with a lighted match, spreading oil and peanut butter over its abdomen, bribing it with offers of its own syndicated talk show. By the time we get it out, our victim is ready to say to hell with everything and have the leg amputated.
This column was published in the June 2, 1988 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .