 In a region of semi-tropical beauty located in central Florida, where the Oklahoma River winds its picturesque course, is the Ocala National Forest. Most of it is as it was in days when dark-bearded conquistadors lured by Indian stories of a fountain of eternal youth pushed their way through the cypress swamps in search of the mighty springs of perpetual life. And there today in the depths of silence the swaying draperies of moss seem to whisper softly of ghosts of the past. Along its many waterways the Ocala region was and remains a jungle where alligators sun and sport themselves lazily. Where strange birds wing slowly over the lily pads and where a colony of privately planted wild monkeys voices a chattering protest at the invading cameraman. A region where many rivers rise each from a single group of springs out of the ground like this, the Alexandria, its birthplace in the heart of the forest is the swirling spring in the foreground, bubbling its crystal clear water into the sunlight in such volume that the Alexandria is full grown at birth. While the river banks and lakeshores offer an alluring peace and quiet amid luxuriant beauty, surrounding them is an area of severe contrast, the big scrub. A land where a species of scrawny trees, the sand pine, has won a battle for existence in a nearly sterile soil. Through apparently nothing but sheer persistence, it has fought its stunted way into an almost impenetrable mass of tangled growth. The big scrub, well named, unfriendly to man, scarred by abandoned homes of forgotten pioneers. The big scrub, a despised unwanted problem land for two centuries, producing no crops, paying no revenue, a reptile infested wilderness, a source of disastrous fire, a menace, a challenge, a liability that must be turned into an asset. In 1908 came the awakening from a stagnant indolence. The desolate area became the Ocala National Forest. Foresters moved in to examine the possibilities and plan their development to make the scrub contribute toward the economic stability of the community. The intense seasonal inflammatory of the sand pine required that immediate protective steps be taken against fire. Loads and fire breaks were built. Today, CCC enrollee smoke eaters backed by modern firefighting equipment and other precautionary measures ensure against fire losses digging too deeply into this new forest treasury of public wealth. They set aside a 100,000 acre tract as a game refuge, natural sanctuary for the thousands of deer and other animals that make their homes and raise their young within its sheltering safety. An open school of nature for the study of wildlife. Outside the refuge, controlled hunting has become a favorite sport. State and federal officers work together to make this past time alluring. Also to keep the number of animals to the level of the food available and to assure a future game supply. Fishing is great sport most anywhere, but casting for bass along the Oklahoma is a dream come true. Pulling moss, the natives call this, and it supports many families. The moss, by the way, is not a parasite but an air plant and grows again quickly. But it is useful as well as ornamental. It is processed in a moss gin and finds its way into furniture as opposed to it and into pillows and cushions. Fire and wind have taken their toll in the big scrub, but in their wake of level trees is found an important source of work, gathering fuel wood. It is hauled to the roadside, then trucked to town and sold. With its bounteous beauties unfolded and made accessible, with its hidden resources exposed and bent to serve the community, with its recreational facilities developed, and with the movie industry taking advantage of the distinct individuality of the scenic environs, the region soon became a mecca for tourists. This meant further prosperity, work for many and many kinds of work. Wood carvers keep themselves busy gouging out a livelihood, making articles both useful and ornamental for the souvenir stand. With a little coltsing and a lot of perspiration, sections of the big scrub have been thinned out. These can produce 25,000 cords of pulpwood every year. Natural growth will replace the crop regularly. In occasional patches of longleaf pine, gangs of laborers busy themselves with gathering and distilling curpentine, and all important essential to naval stores. Having in mind that helpful recreation is a necessary balance to our jittery modern mode of life, beauty spots have been developed where old and young may find relaxation. Most interesting of all, however, is the fact that this puny pariah of pines hitherto scorned and despised is now being fabricated into attractively finished paneling for interior decorating and bids fair because of its economy to replace the more expensive varieties for this use locally. This is Ocala, the land the gods forgot. Ocala, the land that man remembered and molded to serve his needs to a social and economic importance. Ocala, once problem land of waste and want, transform now into a land of work and play and romance.