There is nothing in the world quite like the Everglades. Stretching once from Central Florida to the southern tip of the peninsula, this slow-moving, shallow river – often referred to as a “river of grass” – was a complex, dynamic ecosystem that supported incredible biodiversity.
It wasn’t a river in the traditional sense; there were no steep channels or roaring rapids. Instead, it flowed gently southward in a wide sheet, barely perceptible to the eye, fed by the Kissimmee River and Lake Okeechobee. This unique hydrological system sustained a patchwork of habitats, from pine uplands and hardwood hammocks to sawgrass marshes and mangrove swamps.
And yet, in less than a century, the U.S. government and the State of Florida managed to fundamentally unravel this ecological masterpiece.
The Birth of a Park, the Start of a Battle

When Everglades National Park was officially established in 1947, it was hailed as a victory for conservation. That same year, Marjory Stoneman Douglas published her iconic book, “The Everglades: River of Grass,” which helped spark national awareness of the ecosystem’s beauty and fragility. But Douglas understood what few others did at the time: drawing a boundary around a piece of land doesn’t protect the system if the forces destroying it lie outside. The park preserved only a fraction of the original ecosystem, and the damage was already well underway.
Understanding the Hydrology

The Everglades’ power lies in its water. It’s not just a wetland – it’s a landscape sculpted by flow. From Lake Okeechobee, water would naturally meander southward through sawgrass marshes and sloughs, the slow, near-flat topography allowing for rich biodiversity to flourish. The slope from lake to bay is only about twelve feet over one hundred miles – less than two inches per mile. That subtlety meant even small alterations could throw the system off balance. Every slight rise in elevation created a different plant community, and every plant community shaped what animals could survive there. In this system, water was life, and timing was everything.
A History of Interference

Even before the National Park designation, humans were attempting to conquer the Everglades. As early as the 19th century, efforts were made to drain the swamps and make the land arable. But repeated failures and persistent flooding made it clear that without radical intervention, the Everglades would not submit easily. Then came the hurricane of 1928, which devastated communities around Lake Okeechobee and killed thousands. In response, the U.S. government funded a system of levees around the lake to reduce flooding risk. It worked – but at a price.
The Severed Artery

Those levees cut off a vital artery of the ecosystem. Historically, when Lake Okeechobee overflowed, its water would slowly nourish the southern Everglades, maintaining a steady, crucial flow. The levees prevented this overflow, halting the gradual movement of freshwater that had shaped the region for thousands of years. Without that flow, the river of grass began to dry out, and the complex dance of elevation, vegetation, and wildlife began to unravel.
Engineering the Land

In 1948, Congress passed the Central and Southern Florida Project, a sweeping initiative to control water for agriculture, urban growth, and flood prevention. It resulted in more than 1,400 miles of canals, levees, and pumping stations. This was no small operation – it was a complete transformation of the Everglades’ natural flow into a series of man-made discharges. The purpose was clear: tame the wetlands, make them useful for human purposes. Over half of the original Everglades were drained, turning wetland into farmland, wilderness into suburbia.
Agriculture and Its Hidden Costs

With the water gone, the rich black peat soils of the former wetlands became prime agricultural land. Crops like sugarcane, lettuce, celery, and rice flourished. But peat soil isn’t meant to stay dry. Once exposed to air, it begins to oxidize and shrink. What was once fertile land begins to collapse in on itself. At current rates, scientists estimate that this farmland might only last a few more decades. On top of that, fertilizers and pesticides from agriculture began to seep into what remained of the Everglades, damaging water quality and further stressing an already broken ecosystem.
The Highway That Dammed a River

Another blow came with the construction of the Tamiami Trail, a highway connecting Tampa and Miami, completed in 1928. Engineers cut through bedrock and elevated the roadbed, creating what was essentially a 25-mile dam. This road sliced through one of the Everglades’ most vital water channels – Shark River Slough – which carries the bulk of freshwater into Everglades National Park. Unlike the canals and levees, which redirected water, the Tamiami Trail blocked it entirely. The downstream effects on plant and animal life were devastating.
The Illusion of Protection

Here’s the hard truth: protecting a sliver of an ecosystem while destroying the rest of it is a half-measure. Everglades National Park remains the largest subtropical wilderness in the U.S., but it’s no longer the heart of a living river – it’s a remnant. Its survival depends on water that no longer arrives as it once did. Without the upstream flows, without the natural rise and fall of the seasons, the park cannot function as intended. It’s a cautionary tale of what happens when ecological systems are divided by political lines.
The Push for Restoration

All is not lost. In 2000, the Comprehensive Everglades Restoration Plan (CERP) was authorized – an ambitious, multi-decade effort to undo some of the damage. Portions of the Tamiami Trail have been replaced with bridges to allow water to flow again. Water storage projects, revised management protocols, and pollution reduction efforts are slowly taking shape. But restoration is a monumental task, and some damage may never be undone. The Everglades won’t be what they once were, but they might still have a future if we act with urgency and humility.
A Lesson in Interconnectedness

The Everglades are a living, breathing testament to how ecosystems function, how water shapes life, and how easily the balance can be lost. They remind us that nature doesn’t obey our lines on a map. We tried to contain a river with walls, to freeze a living system in place, and the consequences were dire. The Everglades’ story is one of beauty, exploitation, loss, and – hopefully – redemption.
Looking Ahead

If the Everglades have taught us anything, it’s that ecological health depends on systems working as a whole. You can’t sever the headwaters and expect the river to survive. As climate change threatens freshwater supplies and rising seas push saltwater into the system, the need to restore the Everglades becomes even more urgent. The story of the Everglades is still being written. With continued effort and public will, we can give this unique corner of the world a fighting chance – not just as a park, but as a living ecosystem that supports all life downstream.

Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, John developed a love for the great outdoors early on. With years of experience as a wilderness guide, he’s navigated rugged terrains and unpredictable weather patterns. John is also an avid hunter and fisherman who believes in sustainable living. His focus on practical survival skills, from building shelters to purifying water, reflects his passion for preparedness. When he’s not out in the wild, you can find him sharing his knowledge through writing, hoping to inspire others to embrace self-reliance.