Last week I wrote about the joy of discovering interesting places right in my own back yard, so when the weekend rolled around and the weather turned warm and balmy, I drove to Tarpon Springs, Florida, just an hour and a half north of Sarasota. Originally established in 1884 as an exclusive winter resort for wealthy northerners, Tarpon Springs earned its name from the Tarpon, a variety of sailfish abundant in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico surrounding the town. Although successful as a resort, it was soon discovered that the Gulf waters also held riches in the form of sponges covering the sea floor, and by the 1890′s the sponge diving industry had become the community’s most important industry. Greek divers who earned their living by harvesting sponges from the floor of the Mediterranean immigrated to Tarpon Springs and by the 1930′s the sponge industry was generating millions of dollars.
Today, Tarpon Springs proudly bills itself as the “Sponge Capital of the World” and offers something for everyone. Shops line the sponge docks, displaying wooden bins overflowing with half a dozen varieties of sponges, from the inexpensive silk sponges used for applying makeup to the pricey Sea Wool sponges used for bathing and washing cars.
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I LOVE to travel. I can only stay put for a few months before I get the urge to head out for another one of the distant, exotic places that I haven’t yet checked off my list. Unfortunately, I can’t travel all the time. Once in a while I have to stick around and make some money to pay for all this travel about which I am so passionate. When I find myself grounded for a while – like now – I have to find a way to scratch that travel itch or I go crazy. That’s when I start looking around in my own back yard.
I am ashamed to admit that, despite the fact that I was born and raised in Chicago, I never visited Lincoln Park Zoo, attended a concert at the downtown band shell, went to the top of the Sears Tower, toured Frank Lloyd Wright’s home, visited the Old Water Tower, or watched the futures trading at the Chicago Board of Trade. It’s a mistake I don’t intend to repeat, now that I’ve relocated to Sarasota. Read the rest of this entry »



















































