FOURTH IN A FIVE-PART SERIES

Like happy endings? Then you might not want to read this.

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NOV. 2, 2004: What a great day for Seminole County residents. Hurrah. By their votes, they were actually going to protect precious land against the sound of the bulldozer. Not many other counties in Central Florida could claim that, now, could they? After all, who in Seminole hadn't made the trek to the Black Hammock?

It's hard to believe that just a few short minutes from their subdivisions with homes cheek-to-jowl, they could sit at a fish camp on the shores of Lake Jesup. Residents could sip a drink and watch gators slip through the water while a snowy egret, maybe even an eagle, soared above. Nearby they might spot an endangered wood stork making its way through the dark swamp. And they knew they could take a look at something called the cuplet fern, a plant so rare that this is the only place in the continental U.S. where it can be found in the wild. Now this is more like it. This is why they stay in Florida.
  They also knew that the Black Hammock, with its dripping Spanish moss hanging from the water oaks that fill the swamp, was only the beginning. It was the gateway to rural Seminole County. Lake Harney, the Econlockhatchee River, the St. Johns River. They all now would be protected from city like subdivisions. Finally.

NOV. 16, 2004: No, this can't be happening. The city of Winter Springs, which sits right next door to the Black Hammock, is in court to stop the voters' bid to save the hammock and the rest of rural Seminole County. Please say no. Was their vote just some sort of bad joke cooked up by a prankster? Why else would Winter Springs' lawyers be marching into the courthouse with a piece of paper arguing that the voters had somehow violated the city's rights? The county can't tell the city what to do, it says.

Then we come to our senses. We realize we shouldn't have been surprised. Winter Springs was the reason that Seminole commissioners asked voters whether they wanted to keep the area rural. And can you blame them? Winter Springs was making moves to put sewers -- sewers -- in the hammock even though it wasn't even in the city limits. Anyone who has been in Florida more than 10 minutes knows what sewers mean. They mean subdivisions and plenty of them. All Winter Springs needed to do now was bring the land into the city, a simple feat in Florida. Even worse, Winter Springs wins the first round in court. It may actually win the right to prevent the Seminole commission from protecting the rural area. Pardon us if we're not cheering. But Winter Springs doesn't stop there. It also supports a bill gaining steam in the Legislature that would allow Winter Springs to ignore county voters who want to protect land. The Winter Springs cheerleader for all this is City Manager Ron McLemore, who has backed one scheme after another for the Black Hammock.

Ready for the punch line? The Winter Springs commission now says it doesn't even want to put a subdivision in the hammock. It just wants the right to do so.

So let's take Winter Springs at its word: It's not going to develop Black Hammock or other wilderness in eastern Seminole. Why does it want to give other cities the right to? Why does it want to leave this precious land victim to any developer who can sweet-talk the next new commissioner? We all know how those conversations turn out. And what about the next Oviedo City Commission? That city also sits right next door to Black Hammock.

Well, it can't be that bad, can it? Can a win for Winter Springs really destroy Seminole's way of life? Well, yes it can. Here's the ugly truth: If cities are allowed to fill rural eastern Seminole County with subdivisions, that area alone will have more residents than the entire city of Orlando has now. It would house even more residents than presently live in Osceola County. All told, it could mean 80,000 new houses, 240,000 more people. Wonderful. Houses replace the critters. Now are you happy, Ron McLemore?

But at least in Seminole there is some hope. Maybe Winter Springs will come to its senses and drop its suit. Or maybe it will stop backing the bill in the Legislature.

In Lake County there is one case that has no hope. There, Groveland went to court against its own city voters to pave the way for a subdivision in the Green Swamp. Yes, that's the same swamp the state 30 years ago vowed to protect against just this sort of development. The 560,000-acre swamp is filled with waterways and endangered animals that need plenty of space. Groveland too had a city manager -- Jason Yarborough -- engineering the assault. Thankfully for the Green Swamp, he's no longer there. But his big reason for supporting this Banyan subdivision is that the developer might donate a park. Welcome to the new Florida. Do whatever you want as long as you donate a park or a school. Works every time.

That was last July. So has Groveland gotten its park? Not yet, says the new city manager. They are still working on it.

THURSDAY: Eagles for Sale. Will Osceola chase away America's bird?