Rural Perseverance: A Tale of Two Cities

By Alicia Stevens

Chapter 3 - Bertha's Produce

     In my yellow 1987 Olds Cutlass Ciera, Jesse and I pull off SR 46 into Bertha’s Produce parking lot. Within a few seconds, an energetic, adolescent boy, Alfonso, comes up to us. He shows a beautiful smile. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asks. “I know I’ve seen you before.” But, the truth is, I’ve never seen him before in my life. We buy some boiled peanuts and a pear. I look around Bertha’s shop, notice fans blowing cool air on the produce, and stand amazed at all of the family pictures and numbers written in blue marker on a white wall behind her. Cars blur by on SR 46. She says she has lived here since 1958. She travels across the Wekiva River daily to pick up her produce. I tell her that I’ve read about her before, in the Orlando Sentinel. Her eyes sparkle, her cheeks glow. Within one second, she has pulled out a magazine article featuring her. In its pages sit a younger Bertha and her younger husband.
     We begin talking about growth and the citizen’s desires. Because most of Sorrento’s citizens are aged, Bertha states that they, including herself, naturally want things to remain the same. However, she believes that development benefits the younger generations, that their lifestyles necessitate it in order for success. The conversion makes perfect sense to her: what the elderly want ultimately should not matter, because they will die soon. The world belongs now to youth.
     Regarding the power plant, Sorrento and Mt. Plymouth residents fight it essentially because the energy produced would not go to their area. In fact, it would not even remain within Florida. And while she credits people’s perseverance, she recognizes the government’s authority. At this point, her husband walks near us, and interjects his own words into the story. He tells an anecdote of some “rich farmers” whom Lake County Government forced off their land because they did not comply to build a retention pond. “If the government wants something, then there’s no use fighting it. What the government wants, the government gets.” If SR 46 is widened, Bertha’s Produce, sitting fifty feet from its asphalt, will be destroyed. I ask her what she will do if that happens. “Sell it in a second,” she replies. “My kids don’t want it. They leave and then visit. The government gets what it wants.”
     At thirteen years of age, Alfonso represents the younger generation of which Bertha speaks. Rock Springs Run and camping serve as some of his most fun recreations. And, he actually wants the area to stay the same, although, at the same time, he realizes that certain things, specifically SR 46, need improvement. Both he and Bertha bemoan the state of the road: at two lanes, traffic precludes anyone or anything from traversing it. I ask Alfonso, who is Bertha’s nephew, if I can take his picture. Immediately he straightens his back and gives Jesse’s camera one of the most sincere smiles it has ever seen.

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