In communities across Florida, from Milton to Navarre, the quiet lines on zoning maps are being redrawn with alarming frequency. What was once a tool for thoughtful planning has become a revolving door for developers seeking exceptions. But zoning isn’t meant to be flexible on demand—it’s a promise to residents, a blueprint for sustainable growth, and a safeguard for the character of our towns.
Almost at every Santa Rosa County board of commissioners meeting, local Flood Defender Chris Curb, speaks to the commissioners during public forum encouraging them to use current rainfall data rather than the 1979 rainfall data they are currently using.
In late July, as the sun blazed over Navarre Beach and vacationers flocked to the Gulf, a health advisory blindsided visitors and locals alike. The Santa Rosa County Health Department issued a no-swimming warning due to high levels of Enterococcus bacteria—a dangerous signal that the water could pose serious risks to human health. But while the advisory itself was necessary and scientifically justified, what followed—or rather, what didn’t follow—may have created an even bigger problem. The silence.
In a place where powdery beaches meet vibrant community aspirations, the Navarre Beach Boardwalk proposal was supposed to be a rallying point for growth, tourism and smart public investment. Instead, it’s stirred up an uncomfortable debate: Who exactly should be enjoying the county’s most coveted waterfront real estate?
Last week I was writing about my critics and this week I started scanning pages of one hundred-year-old copies of the Milton Gazette, which is now the Santa Rosa Press Gazette. I found the following printed on May 1, 1925 – which could have been my column last week – just said in a different way…
Florida has some interesting rules when it comes to high school football.
I learned last week that apparently high school football teams here are not allowed to play an opponent from another state in a Kickoff Classic.
Most of my friends are considerably younger than me, as in, “I am old enough to be their father” younger than me. Our age difference is not an issue. It is not apparent in our conversations, at least from my perspective. My friends, of course, see what I do not: a white-haired man talking. But it doesn’t seem to matter. Occasionally, however, like a poker player’s tell, I will say something that instantly marks me as from a different generation. Usually, it is me quoting some iconic, funny line from a television show I grew up watching. Not only are my friends unfamiliar with the iconic line, but they usually have never even heard of the television show.
