LIVING HISTORY
AWASH IN MEMORIES
OF COW CREEK RANCH
BY GREGORY ENNS
Splashing around in the waters of Cow Creek swamp is
one of my earliest memories of childhood. I was about
4 years old and my dad loaded my two older brothers
and me in a Jeep for a ride around Cow Creek Ranch in
the heart of Florida cattle country. As we drove down a lane
along various pastures we approached Cow Creek crossing,
a narrow swath where cypress trees and their knees had been
cleared so you could drive through the creek.
On most days — as I later learned — the old Willys Jeep
could pass through the creek. You merely had to stop the
Jeep, put it in 4-wheel drive and trudge through, the Jeep’s
muffler often gurgling in the water. But there were certain
days after heavy rains that you simply couldn’t cross the
creek. It became a matter of judgment when to take the
chance, and my dad, who spent most of his time in the Army
in Korea driving a Jeep in the motor pool, was a pretty good
judge of when you could make it through.
On this day of my introduction to Cow Creek, rains had
swollen the crossing to 4 or 5 feet, and my dad made the wise
decision not to make the crossing. It was a hot day — perhaps
in summer — so instead of crossing the creek, Dad pulled
the Jeep over and we went swimming. It was before I knew
about or had a fear of alligators, so I happily played in those
tea-colored waters, squeezing my toes in the creek’s white
sandy bottom. That is all I remember of that day from a very
brief memory reel of my childhood.
But ever since, I’ve always associated the name Cow Creek
Ranch with the image of that creek crossing. Over the years,
we would make many other trips to the ranch, crossing the
creek countless times with only a few interruptions like that
first day.
Visiting the ranch was both our recreation and entertainment.
60
In the mid-1960s — before Disney World and other
theme parks — who needed the Jungle Cruise when you had
the thrill of entering the Cow Creek crossing and a dark cathedral
of cypress and you often didn’t know whether you’d
make it out or not?
The Cow Creek Ranch of my childhood was 23,000 acres
of cow pastures, oak and cabbage palm hammocks, citrus
groves and pure fun. The ranch, equally situated between
Okeechobee and St. Lucie counties, was so large that once
you entered the main gate you had to drive four miles
through the ranch just to reach the headquarters, which in
those early days consisted of a horse barn, cowpens, dog
runs, two barns for jeeps and tractors, a bunkhouse, a weekend
house for the owners, the Sloan family, and three small
houses for the ranch hands.
A VAST TREASURE
How my family — which consisted of my mom and dad
and seven siblings — had come to enjoy unlimited access to
this vast treasure probably started with my mother, Katie. As
she recalled it, she had met Jo Ann Sloan, the ranch’s owner,
at a garden club event in the 1950s. As they talked and got to
know each other better, they learned that they had something
in common: they were both born on the same day and year.
They became fast friends and dubbed themselves the “birthday
twins’’ and, despite the wide economic gap between Jo
Ann and my mom, they shared an undying friendship for the
next 60 years.
I imagine their early friendship led to an invitation by Jo
Ann to visit the ranch. I’m sure my dad, Bob, an editor at The
News-Tribune, jumped at the chance. He was a country boy at
heart and had grown up at 11-Mile Creek west of Fort Pierce.
His father was the foreman of his family’s citrus grove and
from how my dad described his childhood up until the age
of 14 it was something out of The Yearling or Old Yeller. He
always qualified that he had lived in the country up to the
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This painting by E.L. Kenton circa 1970 depicts the Cow Creek crossing.