The Seminole and the long road

Like so many people in Florida, the Seminole are transplants. After the indigenous population of northern Florida was decimated, many southern tribes along with run away slaves moved here and thrived. In an effort to extract this population, the US Army waged a series of three wars against the Seminoles. Many thousands were killed or forced west. The ones that survived retreated further and further south, eventually settling in the dense swamps of the Everglades. Small communities formed around the hammock islands. These communities hunted, trapped and traded amongst themselves and with the white settlers that were moving south with Flagler's railroad.
The increased influx of northern settlers was built on the promise of drained land in south Florida. The Seminoles traveled the shallow waterways of the Everglades in dugout canoes. Various, state, federal and private enterprises dug deep canals and built levees to facilitate drainage of the land for agriculture and housing. What theses canals also did was to allow non Seminole hunters and trappers access to the everglades. With there industry (trading, hunting etc) cut off and the population booming around them, many turned to tourism as a means of survival. This is where the famous alligators wrestling came about.
Though the Seminoles were eventually forced onto reservations, they remained industrious. They incorporated and now are quite prosperous. They have various agricultural arms including citrus and cattle as well as owning two HardRock casinos (Tampa and Hollywood).
All of this I learned at the Ah-Tha-Thi-Ki museum on the Big Cypress Reservation. If you ever find yourself in this remote portion of Florida, it is well worth $9 admission fee. I would suggest that you spend more than the two hours that I did. There is a well produced informational video, a trove of artifacts and dioramas as well as large boardwalk through a cypress dome and Seminole village.
I visited this museum, originally to purchase postcards, but got sucked into the experience. As a result I got a very late start on the day. As I was leaving, a woman asked if I was hiking the FT (the large pack must have given me away). She introduced herself as Lynne and told me that she was supporting her husband's (trail name Bushwacker) hike. He was with a group that had stayed at the RV resort that I had the previous night and were about a day behind me on the trail. The group had a van run by Chuck Norris (trail name) that was ferrying all their gear with them so that they could just focus on the hiking (I later learned this is called "slackpacking"). Lynne gave me her phone number with the offer of assistance down the line should I need anything.
As I set out from the museum, thunderclouds hung heavy overhead. It was just at noon and I had a long road walk ahead with no convenient camping for at least 13 miles. Within 15 minutes of my departure it began to rain. I hastily put on my pack cover and my rain jacket and pants. The only thing left unprotected was of course my feet. I had spent so much time with them wet, I had developed a few minor blisters. The prospect of wet feet again and the long walk along the road really soured my mood. I more shuffled my feet than walked.
Walking along the county road 833 was no fun. The shoulder quickly angles down toward a ditch and so my footing is offset. Though the rain subsides within half an hour, the grass along the road is still wet. Within an hour of walking in the wet grass along the uneven roadway my littlest toe on my left foot it screaming at me. Each step feels like a needle is jabbing further into my toe. I stop at a narrow bridge and take my shoe off. Sure enough the whole end of my toe is one big blister. I lance and bandage the toe, put on some dry socks and proceed shuffling along the road.
An hour or so before duck I find renewed spirit and my pace improves markedly. As the sun sets to my back I pass from county to private road with 2 miles still to go before I can camp for the night. The road is a wide shell pack grade boarded by a canal to the left and a levee to the right. With the sun fully set, I hike in near total darkness. Directly ahead a bright light shines, a lone beacon in the otherwise dark night. By 7pm I arrive at the source of this light; a very large water construction project at the intersection of the canal I have been walking along and the one that will be my next days companion. I proceed down the new levee heading north looking for a place to camp and to escape the light and eventual workers that will converge on it in the morning. I am not supposed to camp atop the levee, because there is a dirt road atop of it, but I soon come to a point wide enough to accommodate my tent just off the road.
The rain brought with it cooler temperatures and the night with it cooler still. With the winds strong atop the levee, I forgo a hot meal for a warm sleeping bag. I hope to rise early to avoid anyone who may drive by in the morning and question my camp.