Did I have any story ideas for the newspaper’s features pages? My editor at the Ocala Star Banner wanted to know. Of course I did. In fact, it really was a no-brainer.

My idea of a good time is a tankful of gas, a latte to go and time to meander. I love to look for new adventures, and find a few great places to eat along the way. I love the rest of the story, the funky surprises and heartfelt heritage, the destinations waiting to be discovered.

Long before Pilgrims got their feet wet arriving at Plymouth Rock, Florida had a Spanish city named St. Augustine, complete with settlers, soldiers and plenty of parties on payday.

So, I suggested, let’s do authentic Florida places, the kind of destinations people are hungry to find after they’ve done the major attractions.

Great, he said, go do it. Wahoo, I had permission to play! I confess that any day spent discovering the real Florida is more exciting to me than a day in the office.

I headed out the door and down the road before he could change his mind. I visited small towns and out-of-the-way places. Micanopy. MacIntosh. High Springs. Every week for two years, I visited a new place. There were a lot to visit. And there still are.

Long before Pilgrims got their feet wet arriving at Plymouth Rock, Florida had a Spanish city named St. Augustine, complete with settlers, soldiers and plenty of parties on payday. The Plaza de la Constitucion was set up by royal Spanish decree in the 16th century. Now that’s ancient. I love walking along its old streets and waterfront. Saying hello to the carriage horses. Checking out the fort – the Castillo de San Marcos. Strolling the narrow streets lined with art galleries, museums, churches and a sampling of international restaurants.

Not too far from the “oldest city,” it’s easy to get hooked on history, both ancient and recent. At the Kingsley Plantation near Jacksonville, docents tell an engrossing story of a plantation owner and the slave he freed and later married.

Tallahassee has the Knott House Museum, built by a free black man before the Civil War. Every year on the steps of the house, there is a reenactment reading of the Emancipation Proclamation.

A park in Pensacola marks the spot where Andrew Jackson accepted all of West Florida from the Spanish on July 17, 1821.

History has even left some spectral reminders here. Take a ghost walk in Tampa, St. Augustine, Miami, Monticello, Key West, Fernandina Beach or the town of Madison in north central Florida.

And there’s natural history, too, including swamps, a river of grass called the Everglades and gardens with native and exotic plants. See rare orchids at Marie Selby Botanical Gardens in Sarasota. Walk the Anhinga Amble in Everglades National Park and encounter water birds, alligators and the rest of the Everglades ecosystem up close.

Marjory Stoneman Douglas changed the perception of the Everglades from a “worthless” swamp into a national treasure when she wrote The Everglades: River of Grass in 1947. She died in 1998 at the age of 108.

In 1989, I interviewed her for a story on the Everglades. She was 99 years old, and we met in her home on Stewart Avenue in Miami’s Coconut Grove. The Tudor-style house had a steep, thatched roof and a specimen garden that had become overgrown. It was completely her house; it was built in 1924 with earnings from stories in The Saturday Evening Post.

Inside the living room, it was cool and dark in the way of Old Florida homes before air conditioning. She sat in a wingback chair, wearing a black-and-white checked cotton dress. Small in stature, Douglas sat up very straight and still, with her hands folded in her lap.

It surprised me that such a powerful person was so short. Surely, I thought, the savior of the Everglades must be as big as a gladiator to take on the politicians and developers. But her mighty pen and voice knew no height. Age had taken its toll. Her glasses were thick enough to serve as the bottoms of soda bottles. I was probably a blur, and I had to speak up to be heard.

The former reporter and gossip columnist hated being asked questions that reporters had asked before. This was a challenge since folks had been interviewing her about the same topic for 50 years. If a question seemed trivial, her reply would be tart, delivered with the same sure, strong voice that had silenced senators and skeptics over the years.

I asked if we could go outside on the patio to take some pictures. She smiled a girlish smile. After all of the serious talk about Florida’s environment, suddenly I saw the young beauty, the eager and curious girl who still shone from behind the white hair and thick glasses.

Her passion for saving the Everglades belied her years. And it was catching. I left touched by that same passion for the real Florida – its cultural, natural and historic riches.