How Oviedo Got Its Name

The Chickens Got Here First

Everyone asks about the birds. They cluck down Broadway, roost on porch rails, and treat crosswalks like suggestions. But the chickens are the punchline, not the joke. The real story starts with a man, a post office, and a nod to Spain.

A Settlement Named for a Lake

Long before the roosters ruled, people settled near Lake Jesup, a mile northwest of the town that would eventually bear the name. The Lake Jesup Settlement took root in 1875 with around forty families. It grew into a trading post, the kind of place where you could get supplies, gossip, and direction all in one stop.

The settlement did fine. But it needed a name.

The Shopkeeper's Choice

Andrew Aulin ran a shop there. He also ran the post office, which meant he got to decide what went on the mail. Aulin looked at the settlement's Spanish heritage—this was Florida, after all, a state with deep Iberian roots—and picked Oviedo. The name comes from a city and university in Spain, a deliberate homage to that lineage.

So in 1925, when the settlement became a town, it wasn't named for a founder or a tree or a swamp. It was named for a Spanish university town, chosen by a shopkeeper with a sense of history.

Celery Money and Citrus

The name stuck, and so did the work. Agriculture drove Oviedo's economy into the 1940s. Citrus and celery were the cash crops. Butler Boston, a local grower, made his mark by grafting tangerine budwood and bringing the temple orange from Jamaica—a variety still appreciated by anyone who likes their citrus with a little attitude.

Celery money built the downtown. The chickens took it over. That's not a metaphor. That's the timeline.

From Town to City

Oviedo incorporated as a town in 1925. It stayed that way for four decades. Then, in 1967, residents voted in a referendum to make it a city. That's the official story.

The unofficial story is that the chickens were never consulted, but they've been running the place anyway.

The Numbers Since

Today, Oviedo is a city of 39,990 people with a median age of 37.2. The median household income sits at $114,092, and the median home value is $428,500. Rent runs about $1,963 a month. Unemployment is low at 4.6 percent.

The housing stock tells a quiet story. Of 13,823 units, only 78 are held for seasonal or recreational use. This is not a vacation town. People live here. 548 units sit vacant, which is just under four percent. The rest are homes with chickens in the yard and history in the soil.

Education is a point of pride. 55.8 percent of residents hold a bachelor's degree or higher. That's a well-read flock.

The Real Legacy

Walk downtown and you'll see the historic houses, the old buildings, the birds. The chickens are the mascots, but they're also the proof. A town that lets poultry run free is a town that doesn't take itself too seriously. That's rare.

Aulin picked a name that honored Spain. The settlers picked a spot near a lake. The growers picked crops that built the economy. And the chickens picked Oviedo as their permanent roost.

None of them would have predicted the other. All of them made the place what it is.

So when someone asks how Oviedo got its name, tell them about Andrew Aulin and the Spanish city. Then tell them about the birds. Because the name explains the past, but the chickens explain the present.