IKE JUAN PONCE DE LEÓN five hundred years before us, we arrived on the coast of Florida weary with thirst and age. Once named by its European captor for the lush foliage rising from its wet soil, the state now offered us heaps of gray sand, 800,000 cubic yards dredged from the ebb-tidal shoal and piled along St. Augustine Beach. Designed to put back what the U.S. Army Corps
