Walt Disney World did not invent Florida tourism. In fact, Henry Morrison Flagler, Henry Rockefeller's partner in Standard Oil, did, by building the Florida East Coast Railway to tie the population centers of the Northeast to the (then) exotic and semi-tropical paradise of the far South.

Prior to the construction of the Interstate Highway System, US A1A paralleled the railway clear down to Key West; US 27 diverted more adventurous visitors through Central Florida, a remote and untamed land most familiar to tourists as the location of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings' 1938 Pulitzer-prize-winning book, The Yearling, a heartwarming tale about a boy and his fawn.

In a reverse of the Field of Dreams tagline, the tourists were coming and something had to be built for them to enjoy when they arrived. Silver Springs became the granddaddy and model for Florida attractions. It was also larger than need be, which made it possible to rent out some of its land for ancillary attractions. One of these, opened in the early 1960s, was Tommy Bartlett's Deer Ranch.

The "Deer Ranch" was actually a petting zoo with a somewhat limited array of species. But it did give kids, tired of looking at the placid gardens of Silver Springs, a place to go and burn off some energy. It also included "Santa's South Pole", which was most interesting in that it seemed to think that "reindeer" and "deer" were the same species or, at the least, interchangeable.

In 1971 I took my Mom and Gramma to Florida's Gulf Coast. We drove through Central Florida and stopped at Tommy Bartlett's Deer Ranch along the way.

This commercial photo of the entrance was taken in the early 60s, but it looked much the same when we arrived. (This building is now a Silver Springs gift shop.) The biggest difference between this photo and what we saw, was in the greenness of the grass and trees. This photo was taken in the summer; we visited in January, which in Central Florida is pleasant enough but the vegetation isn't quite so exuberant.

Frankly, I'm not sure what I was thinking when I made us stop. Mom grew up in the wild country of Vermont, but Gramma was a city girl. Still, buying them food bars from one of the ubiquitous vending machines was worth it just to see their expressions when the excited deer began to crowd for a share.

A "nature trail" connected the petting zoo and Santa's South Pole. The "trail" was really a boardwalk, and there were no interpretive signs to indicate what kind of trees one was walking among. (They were Live Oak.) Still, it was a pleasant stroll that wasn't too taxing for a city girl like Gramma.

"Santa's South Pole" was very funny, as in it was a remarkably feeble attempt to appeal to any Santa-lovers that might be in one's party. It actually looked more like someone had driven to the middle of the woods to dump their used Christmas decorations after a particularly unsuccessful holiday.

Even Santa had fled; there were no actors or costumed employees to liven up the place.

Prince of Peace Memorial

Also sharing the Silver Springs parking lot was a vaguely church-like building containing dioramas of the Life of Jesus. (Florida's Lost Tourist Attractions called it a sort of "Christmas manger scene that didn't know when to stop." ?ber-Catholic Mom and Gramma, of course, ate it up with all the enthusiasm Tommy Bartlett's deer had shown the granola bars (as we would call them now—there was no such term in 1971). There was also an external garden which, in spite of the attraction's name, featured not the Prince of Peace but his mother.

Still, all in all it was a pleasant stop that broke our 4½ hour drive roughly in half.