About 15 years ago, John Drury was sitting at a local bar in Tavares, Florida, contemplating the future of what was then a “dying town,” when he had an epiphany of sorts. As two people walked up and ordered a soda and an iced tea, he recalls, “I looked at their feet…and I saw Crocs, and seaweed dripping on the floor.”
A pilot himself, Drury suspected they had landed their seaplane at Lake Dora, a short walk from the bar. His hunch proved correct. “They said, ‘We just splashed in, in that seaplane. It’s kind of hard to get from the water to the restaurant…but you get a pretty good hamburger and a pretty good meal here.’”
