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My dear mermaid darlings of the Stillwater Petticoat Society,
There are certain places that settle so deeply into one’s affections that they cease to feel like buildings and begin to feel like old companions. Chinsegut Hill has always been such a place for me. Some houses occupy land; others occupy memory; and every so often, one encounters a place that gathers stories, hopes, disappointments, history, and possibility until it becomes something rather greater than the sum of its walls.
For many years now, Chinsegut Hill has occupied such a place in my thoughts.
I have written about her often. I have wandered her grounds beneath the oaks, studied her history, attended meetings, read reports, examined records, and imagined what might become possible if such a remarkable property were entrusted to thoughtful stewardship and careful restoration. Yet there is one part of this story I have perhaps never fully explained.
Many people know that I have written about Chinsegut Hill, far fewer realise that I spent more than six years attempting to become involved in her future.
Long before a proposal process existed, I was developing educational programmes, preservation ideas, horticultural plans, workshops, historical interpretation projects, and ways in which the property might once again become a living place of learning and community. When Hernando County eventually invited proposals for the future stewardship of Chinsegut Hill, I did not remain upon the shoreline watching the tide. I submitted a proposal of my own.
Unlike many of those involved, I did not have consultants, grant writers, institutional partners, university affiliations, a preservation organisation, or a committee standing behind me. I had years of research, a profound affection for the property, and a willingness to undertake the work because I believed participation ought to matter when citizens are invited to participate.
The experience was not without challenges. Certain procedural requirements became fully apparent only as deadlines approached, leaving precious little time to assemble what was required, and there were moments when I felt rather like a guest invited to supper only to discover the menu after the meal had already begun. Nevertheless, I completed the proposal because Chinsegut Hill deserved every serious effort that could be made on her behalf.
What remains remarkable to me is not that my proposal did not prevail.
It is that a single citizen working largely alone received approximately 42% of the available points, whilst an established preservation organisation supported by numerous individuals, advisors, volunteers, and resources received approximately 73%.
Those figures tell an interesting story.
Not because they suggest the outcome should have been different, but because they demonstrate that devotion, preparation, and commitment are not always measured by the size of an organisation or the number of names appearing upon a letterhead.
Indeed, I have often thought that stewardship may depend less upon structure and more upon affection; less upon administration and more upon whether one is willing to devote years of one’s life to a place without any guarantee of reward.
Yet even now, my thoughts return less to the outcome than to the purpose of the process itself.
Citizens were invited to participate. Proposals were assembled. Research was conducted. Plans were developed. Scores were assigned. Rankings were published.
Yet the institution that ultimately awarded stewardship did not itself participate in that same proposal process.
I mention this not out of anger, nor out of any desire to diminish the efforts of others, but because certain questions seem to arise naturally whenever public assets, public processes, and public trust meet at the same table.
If proposals were requested, what role did those proposals ultimately play?
If scores were assigned, how heavily were they weighted?
If citizens devoted months and years of their lives to participating in the process, what influence did that participation ultimately carry?
These do not strike me as hostile questions; they strike me as responsible ones.
There is another question that deserves equal attention.
Over the past several years, more than half a million dollars has been directed toward Chinsegut Hill through various agreements, partnerships, management arrangements, and operational structures, and that figure does not include the current year’s budget. At the same time, we have repeatedly been told that operations remain in the red.
I know this because I have taken the time to read the reports, review the documents, attend the meetings, and speak directly with those involved in managing the property.
This ultimately leaves me wondering what many citizens may reasonably wonder, and where are the measurable results?
Historic houses possess a remarkable honesty. They care very little for announcements, administrative arrangements, partnerships, presentations, or carefully crafted statements. They reveal stewardship through outcomes.
One expects to see restoration, completed projects, and visible progress that correspond to years of investment and effort.
That is not criticism, it is accountability.
For one cannot speak endlessly of preservation whilst avoiding conversations concerning benchmarks, timelines, restoration goals, public reporting, and measurable outcomes.
Perhaps these questions matter because Chinsegut Hill does not belong to a university, an organisation, a commission, or an administration.
The county of Hernando serves as the steward and leaseholder, but ownership ultimately rests with the people of Florida. The property is held in trust for future generations who have yet to walk her grounds, sit beneath her oaks, or discover her history.
Stewardship, at least as I understand it, has never been a matter of contracts or control. It is a matter of responsibility.
And perhaps this is also the appropriate moment to say something I have rarely stated quite so plainly.
I did not devote six years to Chinsegut Hill merely because I admired the view from the hilltop. I spent those years preparing because I hoped one day to help steward her future.
That vision was never rooted in ownership. It was rooted in stewardship, and my darling stewardship is not possession; it is service.
It is the quiet promise to leave a place stronger, healthier, and more meaningful than one found it.
Perhaps that is why I continue writing about Chinsegut Hill after all these years. Not because I seek conflict, nor because I cannot accept that others may see things differently, but because genuine care rarely departs when circumstances become inconvenient. It remains attentive. It watches. It hopes.
Long after contracts expire, administrations change, committees dissolve, and organisations move on to other priorities, Chinsegut Hill will still stand upon her hilltop overlooking the county she has watched for generations.
Future citizens will not judge us by the number of meetings we held, the partnerships we announced, the reports we published, or the responsibilities we transferred from one entity to another.
They will judge us by whether the house was preserved, the history survived, or the stewardship proved worthy of the trust placed within it.
And in the end, that is the only measure that truly matters.
And if you should wish to follow the continuing story of Chinsegut Hill, I do hope you will visit me here upon the blog, where I endeavour to share developments with honesty, care, and as much transparency as the circumstances allow. I also keep a dedicated corner for the manor at ChinsegutHill.com, where records, observations, and updates may always be found gathered together.
For those who cherish the beauty of the old estate as I do, you may also enjoy my illustrated books and watercolour paintings inspired by Chinsegut Hill itself; its winding paths, ancient oaks, quiet rooms, and the enduring spirit that lingers upon the grounds. Over the years, I have sought not merely to document the place, but to preserve something of its atmosphere upon paper; a small remembrance of a Florida treasure that has captured my heart for many years.
You may also find further conversations, walks through the history of the estate, preservation discussions, and countless reflections upon the manor and its future upon my YouTube channel, where I have devoted many hours to sharing its story.
However, the next chapter unfolds, I shall continue to keep a faithful watch upon the hill, and should you care to follow along, I would be delighted to have your company.
For more than six years, I have dedicated myself to studying Chinsegut Hill, and I intend to continue following her story with the same care, curiosity, and commitment that first drew me through her gates.
After all, stewardship begins with paying attention.
Most affably yours 'til my next enchanting swim, LR
