swfl defenders of the gulf 2026 florida oak tree
Photographed by Anna Nguyen at Koreshan State Park

Defenders of the Gulf 2026: Stewards of Resilience in SWFL

From working waterfronts to revived traditions and expanded access to the arts, a look at seven people helping keep the Gulf as we know it—a paradise.

Philanthropy

In Southwest Florida, resilience reveals itself not in grand gestures but in sustained, local effort and determined work that shapes the region’s character over time. These individuals are safeguarding what endures, from coastal ecosystems and time-honored traditions to the inclusive spaces that anchor community life. Their work forms a collective stewardship, one that continues to define, and protect, the spirit of the Gulf.

Christine Gala

Big Daddy’s Seafood Market

From the docks on San Carlos Island, between the mainland and Fort Myers Beach, Christine ‘Chris’ Gala gazes at the steel-hulled shrimp trawler, Big Daddy. She sways along as the crew swings heavy, wet bags of blushing pink shrimp. After months spent staring at storm wreckage and sitting through regulatory hearings, her eyes soften.

In 2024, the Southern Shrimp Alliance (SSA), of which she was as a founding board member two decades ago, recognized Chris with a lifetime achievement award. Shrimping runs through her family: Her grandfather, father, brother and husband, George, all worked the Gulf. For 45 years, George and Chris operated Trico Shrimp Company, an integral part of Southwest Florida’s fleet until the 2022 storm destroyed it. Two years later, she opened Big Daddy’s Seafood Market on Fort Myers Beach, a new venture rooted in the same trade.

The familiar industry she grew up in has narrowed. Fifty years ago, most of the shrimp consumed in the United States was wild, much of it harvested from the Gulf. Today, roughly 90% of it is farmed and imported, largely from Asia, according to the SSA. Chris still remembers the ‘pink gold’ era of the 1950s and ’60s, when Key West and Fort Myers pulsed with shrimp boats. “When people buy local Gulf shrimp, that money stays here,” she says. “It supports boats, crews, docks, mechanics—our whole waterfront.”

In 2002, while serving on the SSA, she organized processors, fishermen and dealers across eight states to counter unfair trade and protect domestic fleets. As Florida director, she helped hire scientists and Washington attorneys to challenge flawed federal data, pressed for tariffs and accurate labeling on shrimp—often farmed overseas with antibiotics and subject to limited inspection—and supported DNA testing that exposed widespread misrepresentation of Gulf product. The SSA also pushed back against blanket closures of Gulf waters, arguing that bycatch goals could be met without harming other species or sidelining working fleets.

More recently, Chris helped secure zoning overlays that preserve working waterfront parcels for marine use rather than residential development. “The value of that property is not just the land,” she says. “It’s what it lets us do—unload boats, sell Gulf shrimp, keep an entire industry alive.” —Chanda Jamieson

 Ashley Glantz

Second Glantz 

For Ashley Glantz, environmental consciousness can start with a well-worn accessory. A thrifted leather jacket saved from a landfill reduces demand for newly produced garments and the dyes that can leach into waterways before emptying into the Gulf. “[Fashion is] worse than air travel,” Ashley says, pointing to the industry’s ecological footprint. Studies from the United Nations and the Center for Biological Diversity estimate clothing production accounts for roughly 10% of global carbon emissions.

Through Second Glantz, Ashley encourages shoppers to buy what already exists rather than chase fast-fashion cycles that fuel overproduction and waste. By her estimate, she has diverted thousands of pounds from local landfills. “I’ve sold over 1,000 pairs of jeans,” she says noting how every reused pair weighs a little over a pound. “And the amount of clothing I’ve given away is well over that.” Small shifts, compounded, in a region where what washes away rarely disappears.

While her appreciation for the natural world drives her clothing resale business, it was born out of necessity. Ashley was working as a charter guide for biologist-led Good Time Charters on Fort Myers Beach when Hurricane Ian tore through town, taking the dock and the boats with it. She was 22 and left with no source of income. The Nebraska native had spent summers on the Gulf Coast with her grandparents before moving down to attend Florida Gulf Coast University. “I just needed the ocean,” she says.  

After Ian, Ashley shifted her thrifting hobby into a career, selling previously loved threads, ranging from beaded silk gowns and mink coats to a 1980s Neil Young concert T-shirt. Ashley maintains a steady flow of quality garments and designer bags and has built up a strong following for Second Glantz, popping up at events throughout the state. But she’s never left the Gulf behind. 

Since Good Time reopened in 2024, she has returned to leading tours. She’s also earned her certification as a Florida Master Naturalist and become a shell ambassador via Sanibel’s Bailey-Matthews National Shell Museum & Aquarium. On a recent February afternoon, she’s on the new boat, docked in Estero Bay, when a manatee calf surfaces nearby. She watches the animal navigate the unseasonably cool water—a reminder of her mission.

Years spent studying mangroves and marine life have sharpened Ashley’s sense of what’s at stake. Development along fragile shorelines leaves little room for reversal, she says: “When our ocean suffers, we suffer.” —Jaynie Bartley

Sonya McCarter

Bridging the Gap

Theatre Conspiracy’s 2015 For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf casting call appeared like a lighthouse on dark waters. For six years, Sonya McCarter, an actor raised in Fort Myers’ Dunbar neighborhood and now living in Cape Coral, had scanned local theater calendars in search of complex roles for Black performers. Most productions had none. When they did, the parts were narrow: maid, nanny, servant.

For Colored Girls was the opposite, with rich writing, layered characters and interior lives—it was a celebration of Black culture. Sonya leapt at the chance to perform in the show. The production, staged at Florida SouthWestern State College with an all-Black cast, ran for two weekends and drew a strong response. When it closed, Theatre Conspiracy’s founding and producing artistic director Bill Taylor asked Sonya what she wanted to do next.

Rather than wait for roles to appear, Sonya began seeking out scripts by Black playwrights and producing them locally. When she couldn’t find a director who understood the cultural context of The Bluest Eye, she stepped in herself. 

Finding scripts was one challenge. Building a pipeline of trained actors was another. “I realized that, if this was going to be sustainable, we had to create some sort of training,” she says. Alliance for the Arts’ then-executive director, Lydia Black, brought Sonya on as community outreach coordinator, where she met with leaders in Dunbar and Harlem Heights to draw more of their residents into the arts. In 2019, Sonya launched the Alliance’s CHANGE (Communities Harnessing the Arts to Nurture and Grow Equity) Program, which provides acting education and expands the theater pipeline for people of color. More than 50 adults completed the CHANGE program under her leadership until 2023. 

Last year, Sonya built on the momentum with the launch of Bridging the Gap, a nonprofit focused on removing barriers to participation—transportation, cost and stigma—by bringing theater classes and performances directly to Lee County schools, assisted living facilities and community organizations.

Since their production of For Colored Girls, Sonya and Bill have produced more than a dozen shows led and directed by people of color. Now, she is less focused on landing roles than on expanding who gets to stand on stage. Whether introducing audiences to August Wilson or mentoring first-time performers from Harlem Heights, she is building the infrastructure that did not exist when she started. “We have to cultivate that idea that there is value not only in experiencing the arts, but in participating in the arts,” she says. —Emma Witmer

Aaron Tabor

Parkway Marina and Motel, HavAnnA Cafe

When Aaron Tabor bought Chokoloskee’s 1950s-built Parkway Marina and Motel and the neighboring Parkway Village with his husband, David Ardelean, in 2021, he figured he’d clean a couple of toilets, make a few beds, sling some shrimp and gasoline. He didn’t expect to become a steward for one of the region’s last intact small-town waterfronts.

Established by the storied Smallwood family, the Parkway Village served as the community’s first fishing camp. Aaron, who moved to Chokoloskee in 1980 at age 5, spent his childhood roaming the island’s beaches, playing tag across the boats and running atop ancient shell mounds. As a teenager, he worked at the motel and marina before leaving for three decades. The pandemic prompted his return—and the decision to reinvest in the place that shaped him.

“I like Old Florida,” Aaron says. In Chokoloskee, that means low buildings set close to the water, docks that unload working boats and businesses run by the people who live on the small island, formed by the Calusa millennia ago, now home to a few hundred folks. That way of building and belonging has grown rarer. Across nearby mainland parcels, newer construction rises where older structures once stood, and shell mounds have been cleared, flattening layers of history.  

Aaron aims to preserve his hometown’s physical structures and community memory. He restored the marina’s 1961 boat lift, keeping parts that date back to World War II. He also keeps the free-roaming chickens on the property, despite visitors suggesting they be removed. 

A year after purchasing the marina and village, Aaron and David bought HavAnnA Cafe across the street. Established in 2003, the charming Cuban-meets-Florida-Cracker restaurant beckons from Smallwood Drive, its porch facing the backwaters of the Ten Thousand Islands. “We could tear down the restaurant and build townhomes and a pool and make a bunch of money,” he says. Instead, they keep the building intact, along with its role as the island’s gathering place. Staff shirts support Everglades City School teams. A sister from the Chokoloskee Family Church of God hosts a weekly bake sale.

On some nights, the dining room fills for drag bingo. To him, preserving the island’s character includes protecting the sense that anyone who calls it home belongs at the table. “We’re changing hearts and minds, one person at a time,” he says. —Andrew Atkins

Simge Tunali

EcoWave Naples

On weekend mornings, Simge Tunali lines up her stock of plant-based skincare and herb-scented cleaning supplies at local farmers markets, each labeled and arranged in sleek, reusable containers. Customers bring back empty vessels, and she refills them on the spot.

The instinct to reuse was planted early. Growing up in Turkey, Simge watched her grandfather tend tomatoes on their apartment balcony. “He would tell me, ‘We need to take care of the environment and these plants because they’re healing us,’” she says.

Years later, living in Boston, she began making her own skincare and cleaning products at home, experimenting for nearly two years. When she moved to Southwest Florida in 2022, Simge found herself living minutes from wetlands and beaches, more aware of how everyday ingredients move through water systems. The setting made the impact of people’s daily choices more tangible. Noticing the lack of refill stations for household products—a common feature in larger cities and part of her routine in Massachusetts—she launched EcoWave Naples. 

Through the brand, Simge sells refillable soaps, detergents and lotions online, at farmers markets, at Fifth Avenue Wax Center and Spa, and at Bayshore Bodega. She offers door-to-door pickup and refill service from Marco Island to Fort Myers, keeping packaging in circulation. “You bring products into your home, so what you’re using affects your body, your house, your water system, your land,” she says. “You start to think about how everything is interconnected.”

She sources aloe vera from Naples’ Green Door Nursery and honey from Fort Myers’ Walker Farms. She donates soap scraps to Eco-Soap Bank, where they are repurposed for global hygiene initiatives. EcoWave products appear at local charity events supporting organizations such as STARability Foundation and Florida Breast Cancer Foundation. Partnerships with Airbnb hosts extend refillable products into vacation rentals, reducing reliance on single-use toiletries.

At home in Golden Gate Estates, Simge and her husband, Stoil Stoyanov, recently completed construction of a tiny house built with reclaimed concrete blocks, salvaged wood and rebar. They chose non-toxic adhesives and sealants. Next, they plan to create a natural pool and expand Simge’s garden, shaping a home that, like her products, leaves little behind. —Addison Pezoldt

Matthew Young  & Morgan Layton

The Great Canoe Races

For nearly four decades, Naples’ Great Canoe Races marked the end of season, a homegrown spectacle that began in 1977 along Crayton Cove, where families and work teams built their own vessels, and first responders competed for an oversized paddle trophy. After the COVID-19 pandemic halted large gatherings, the tradition stalled. For five years, residents wondered whether it would return.

Matthew ‘Matt’ Young didn’t want to see it fade into memory. When he ran for president of the Young Professionals of Naples in June 2024, reviving the canoe races became central to his platform. A transplant from Tampa, he saw the event as a way to root himself in his adopted city and restore a tradition Naples had grown up with. He recruited YP’s development director, Morgan Layton, and the two began rebuilding from scratch.

They formed a nonprofit, courted sponsors and navigated city approvals while larger, professionally produced events across the region continued to expand, bringing higher security costs and steeper barriers to entry for grassroots gatherings. “We see these events are trending in the wrong direction,” Morgan says, reflecting on the impact of national events taking over. 

Before anything else, they had to find a new location. The original race site at Crayton Cove had raised concerns about overcrowding in previous years. Securing Baker Park, with its open lawn and direct access to the Gordon River, proved key to winning the Naples City Council’s support. With only three months to plan, they mobilized vendors, volunteers and racers. “We’re building the plane as we’re flying here,” Morgan says.

Throughout the process, they heard from longtime attendees, children eager to follow their parents’ footsteps and vendors who depended on the exposure. Visiting past participants’ homes, the guys saw shelves filled with paddle trophies and decades’ worth of Great Canoe Race T-shirts. 

On race day last May, nearly 1,500 residents lined the riverbanks and gathered on the Blair Foundation Bridge. Paddles sliced through brackish water, and first responders reclaimed their dedicated race. 

For Matt and Morgan, the effort goes beyond the single event. In a landscape increasingly defined by ticketed galas and large-scale festivals, the canoe races remain volunteer-driven and participatory—a homegrown tradition that strengthens locals’ sense of belonging. “If we can put in this effort to save this [event] and potentially even grow it into something bigger, I feel accomplished,” Morgan says. —J.B.