Trippin' The Keys

My blog is letters from home (Florida) to home (California), a way to capture things I want to remember. The problem is that when I'm doing these things, I don't want to take the time to write about them, so I'm always working in retrospect.

Born, raised, and educated in Florida and never been in The Keys. It just doesn't seem right. For the past few years every time I've made my annual trip to Florida for the holidays with my family; I've tried to put together a family trip to The Keys. Somehow it never came together. This year, I'm here for four months. If I can't get the family to come along, I'll just go to The Keys by myself. I really, really, want to have a little taste of them.

My sister, Debra, came with me and we drove on down to the keys. Amazing how quick and easy the trip was. I had been led to believe it was all all day drive--it took us 3 hours. We stayed on Key Largo and it seemed like the minute we left the mainland even the air changed became somehow softer, more breatheable. The water sparkled in multitudinous shades of blue, green, and gray with aqua as the dominant theme. I immediately resolved to make this a part of my annual pilgrimage.

We had some trouble finding our motel. In The Keys, everything is located by means of the road Mile Markers. Ours was at MM 100. We easily found MM100, but our hotel was not in sight although a Best Western and a Ramada were. So we took the little road east at MM100 and found yet another motel, still not ours. We asked one of the staff who spoke very little English, but managed to convey that we had to go through the Best Western to get to ours.

She was almost right. We had to take the little road east just past the Best Western, go east a couple of blocks, go north another block, then go back west a couple of blocks. Sounds like we should end up back at US 1 a block north of where we started, but none of these roads are even remotely straight. After we checked in and hit the road again, it seemed that we could just go west again and hit US 1 and maybe find an easier way in while we were at it. But that path only led us to a dead end. So we tried taking the little road right out of the parking lot going north. After several promising blocks and several curves we ended up in a residential cul-de-sac. In the end, we had to go out exactly the same way we came in. That was the way in and the way out. The only way.

Our room, facing a marina, had a little balcony that was curtained in coconut palms. I later decided the coconut palm must be the "state" tree of the Conch Replublic, even though it's not a native here. But they gave us a cozy, secluded feel while still letting us spy on everything that was going on below. Along the another side of the marina was a restaurant/bar/grill which had tables right out next to the the boats. We had lunch there. Big mistake. Most of their customers must be people like us who are here for the first time and just pick the closest place to grab a bite. Or maybe they make their money on the bar. They have lots of night entertainment, live bands, etc. Someday we may have a drink there again, but not food.

On the way in I picked up a selection of brochures for area sights and activities. We also had a group of them with discount cupons that the motel had given us when we checked in. John Pennekamp Coral Reef Park seemed like the best bet. It's a great little park with several, very protected, calm, "pocket" beaches and plenty of interesting flora and fauna. Debra saw a huge iguana. We had thought to book a glass bottom boat trip and also a snorkel trip from the park. When we asked we discovered that we had just missed a glass bottom boat and that the afternoon snorkel trip had been canceled because they were unable to fill it. So I booked a snorkel trip for the next day. And we asked about a good place to eat, somewhere the locals liked. We were told to go to The Fish House and given its MM address.

We ate at the Fish House that night. It's big deal is that the fish are fresh, locally caught, and filleted in house. Except, of course, for conch. Conch has been so overfished in Florida waters that it is virtually non-existant. There is an absolute ban on taking any conch at all in Florida. I had the grilled mahi. There were other things on the plate, I remember some steamed veggies, but everything else paled in comparison to that perfectly cooked, absolutely fresh fish. It was exquiste. It may be the best fish I have ever eaten. I had forgotten how good a simple grilled fish could be when it is absolutely fresh. Debra had the grilled shrimp and they were equally good. Portions were huge. I was glad we skipped the appetizer. We each took a doggie bag with half our meal back to the hotel. A caveat if you go: go early. We arrived about quarter to six and it was fairly crowded. We were seated immediately but by the time we had our drinks a line was already forming. By the time we left the line was out the door.

Back at the motel we spent some time on the balcony spying on the marina. Debra guessed that most of the boats were locals who rented permanent moorings. We had a huge, three level, boat right in front of us. It was glanked by a couple of nice sailboats, then a couple of smaller but still good-sized boats and one so small that standing up inside had to be completely impossible. Debra guessed that most of them would be local who leased permanent moorings. As we looked and listened it became clear that they were all Yankees and were living on their boats, even the tiny one.

All but the big boy had a couple living on board. They were pretty much cookie-cutter people. A late middle-aged to older man with a bleached blonde woman of approzimately the same age, but valliantly trying to look younger. The big boat had two couples; one middle age, and one younger. The older man and woman were clearly in charge. The younger woman seemed to know what needed doing and how to do it. The younger man was clearly a novice, having to be told what to do and then told (and/or shown)how to do it. I guessed that the younger woman was the daughter of the couple and the novice guy, her new-to-boating husband. Later we overheard the skipper telling another man that they were here until April and then they would boat around The Keys for a while and then up to Panama City for a couple of months.

There were definite cliques in the marina. The four in the big boat socialized with no one. The sailors hung out together but had nothing to say to the others. The ones in similar size boats socialized and had each other over for drinks or dinner. They even invited the couple in the tiny boat, but he never accepted and never invited anyone onto his boat. Not hat they could hve squeezed on board anyway. Although he and his boat were the lowest rung of the ladder, he was loud and demanding and acted like he owned the place and everyone else was just staying at his pleasure. Over compensation?

We also reviewed our brochures and cupons and the motel book listings for local acitvities and tried to make a plan so that we could fit in everything we wanted to do in the three nights we were staying. My first plan was to go snorkeling first thing in the morning then take off for Key West, a couple of hours drive, late morning or early afternoon. Then take the glass bottom boat (Debra didn't want to snorkel) the next morning and a 1/2 day fishing trip in the afternoon. But, I was dithering. I was leaning toward snorkeling in the afternoon because I thought the water would be a couple of degrees warmer. It was at 74, chilly, but do-able, and I really don't like wet suits. Then I found a brouchre for a place that did the glass bottom boat and snorkel in the same trip. Perfect! New plan: go to Key West first thing tomorrow morning and don't plan anything for the afternoon in case we get involved down there. Take an easy, explore around morning the next day, snorkel and glass bottom boat in the afternoon, and take the 1/2 day fishing trip the following day then head for home. This plan means that we take the direct route back home instead of the alternate route through the Everglades that we had planned.

There is one road and one road only that runs down through The Keys, US 1. At some point we are expecting this massive, long, stretch, over water. We know the bridge is about 7 miles long. We take off and go island hopping, making notes of places and parks we want to check out on the way back. We go over lots of bridges and try to remember the names of all the Keys we pass, many of them are uninhabited or nearly so. We did go over a big bridge, but it certainly didn't seem like seven miles, nor was it the extremely narrow, very high, terror we expected. Actually we didn't even realize we had gone over the "Overseas highway". We were coming into another town of some sort. "I have no idea where we are" I said, "I haven't seen an MM in miles." Then I saw it MM2. We were coming into Key West. It doesn't even announce itself. Suddenly, the road divides and you must choose US1 to business district or A1A to beaches.

I chose the one I would choose. We went past lovely homes, hotels, motels, etc and came to one of the nicest, biggest, easy access, public beaches I've ever seen. There was virtually no one on it and it was a beautiful day. There were the usual curbside vendors of in line skates, parasail rides, etc. It was all very beachy, tropical but not what I expected. I expected some sort of Disneyized mash up of "Pirates of the Carribean and spring break". I expected the flavor of pirates and smugglers and outlaws. Or at least the flavor of wanna be's and use ta be's. My late brother-in-law was a smuggler and spent a little (very little) time in Key West. To hear him tell it, they all end up there every once in a while. But so far all I saw was some very typical beach town hoop la.

So we turned around and headed back towards the place where the road split. This is much easier written than done. We couldn't turn around anytime soon and by the time we did we couldn't find the beach road again. Not worried, just keep heading away from the direction of the public beach. Like Key Largo, the roads aren't just nice, neat, rectangular blocks. They wind, they slither, they dead end into one-way streets not going the direction you want to go. We go by lots of strip malls, fast food joints, and chain stores. Eventually there is a sign saying "Historic Marina" so I go that way. There is lots of road construction, several detours, and many close shaves in narrow streets that for some unknown reason allow parking on both sides. We pass through a very seedy area and hope we are still going the right way. Along the way we pass a cute little train doing the tour as well as several street cars doing the same.

Finally, we find the Marina and so much road construction that no one knows who has the right of way and despite bumper-to-bumper traffic have plenty of time to identify what we think is a local and ask her where we can get a good lunch, somewhere the locals eat. She tells us and we manuevre into the Marina parking lot and find a space. Then we empty our pockets of change for the meter using all our quarters, dimes, and even nickels in order to rack up 45 minutes of time.

I have been in other famous cities that had well known restaurants that drew the tourists but which were so good that the locals also lined up to eat there. But this one didn't seem like that kind of place. I could be wrong. The ambiance was good, though. We got a table right out on the pier surface next to the dingy moorings. It was interesting watching the boat folks load up their dingys with supplies. But none of it had that not-quite-legal aspect I was expecting. It was all very normal marina stuff. Except for maybe the two guys who loaded a huge carpet roll into a small, battered, dingy. That seemed a little unusual. Where's all that carpet going out to sea? Oh well, another mediocre meal. Nothing wrong with, just hum-drum. We re-iced our cooler and decided we had enough of Key West and headed back to Key Largo.

Only we couldn't find our way out of Key West. This just couldn't be happening, in the Twilight Zone again. We found a lot of suburban type housing, the projects (where we observed a young man sitting on his front stoop, shaving), more strip malls, more beach, and The Southernmost House in the US. Funny though, I could clearly see what looked like houses in the direction I believed to be south beyond The Southernmost. It was an old house, so maybe at the time it was built, that was true. It was old, and beautiful, huge and immaculately maintained. It was, in fact, a museum. By the time we realized all this (all the while trying side streets to get back to where we want to be) we were so desparate to just get out of Key West that we had no interest in going inside. Shortly after we found a bigger street (two lanes in each direction) and I stubbornly took it and refused to veer off of it at all, reasoning that any road that big had to eventually lead to US1 or A1A and then we could get out of there. And then it did, from the oposite way that I expected, but never mind, we found US1, we can leave.

The drive back was considerably slower as we did more exploring. Stopped at a couple of state parks. One had camping right on the water, the camp sites were also very close to US1 and although you could hide from the sight of the road, the noise was inescapable. Another had better camp sites and we learned that if you want to camp in a beachside park in Florida in the winter, you need to reserve about 11 months in advance. In August a couple of days early is sufficient. We also took a little side trip to a key that A1A does not cross. It had a Key Deer Reserve. Key Deer are very rare and highly endangered. They are tiny little things about the size of a German Sheppard. Unfortunately, we didn't spot any. We also stopped check out a couple of motels on the key we liked best, Islamadora. We're thinking next year, we'll stay there

Back in Key Largo we went to the grocery store and picked up some easy stuff for dinner and margaritas. Back in the room we realized we had no utensils. So, down to the lobby and pick up some of the plastic ones from the continental breakfast. We had already agreed not to have another of this motel's piss-poor continental breakfast. We ate and drank and spyed on the boat folk for the evening.

Thursday morning we got a late start and by the time we had breakfast it was time to change for the snorkel/glass boat trip. They wanted us there half an hour early and had given us directions that we were a little suspicious of since our recent tour of the residential area around our motel.

But the directions which included two detours got us there perfectly. The only problem was that the wind had kicked up and there were 2'-4' seas. That's pretty rough. She did her best to talk me out of it, but I just figured I would bob if the seas were high. In the end I did go for a wet suit since the temp was down a couple of degrees.

Then we find out that it's not just glassbottom/snorkel it's also divers. Now, I've spent some time in a mask and fins--not scuba--free diving where you have to see what you're going to see and do what you want to do in the space of one breath. But one thing I do know is that divers and snorkels are looking for mutually exclusive sites. Snorkelers (they called us floaters)want shallow reefs with lots of aquarium type fishes. Glassbottomers want pretty much the same--a reef forming a community of sea-life. Divers mostly want deep water and something to dive "on".

They tell us we're going to the "outer reef". On the way they tell us the rules and explain how to use the ladder---the horrible ladder. It's heavy aluminum, 4' wide, and when the boat is anchored, the part you step on folds down into the water, but is not attached to the boat. At the hinge point, just below water line, it swings. As we learned later, in 2-4' seas it doesn't so much swing as lurch. As the swell comes it rockets out from the boat whit a huge thunk, when it passes it returns to the boat with horrible force and a much bigger thunk. It's a constant thunk, THUNK, thunk, THUNK.

Once the ladder is let down, the divers go first. There are six of them, a couple, a couple of friends, and two single guys who are paired up becuase no one is going out in this swell without a dive buddy. The other set of divers, another couple, is not yet going because she started turning green on the boat ride out. We were abut 6 miles off shore and it took about 40 minutes to get there. We'd crest the wave and come smack down. I was yelling "Ya"on the up swell and "Hoo" on the smack. Having a great time, getting soaked in the spray every time we smaked. Her, not so much. At first he was very solitious of his partner and trying to help her out. Later, he just got annoyed because her seasickness was preventing his dive since he had no other dive buddy. He spent a lot of time on his phone and text messaging.

Next the floaters, three of us, a couple and me. I tell them I want to be last because this is my first time snorkeling. Not precisely true but it was certainly my first time snorkeling in 30' of water in very rough seas. They put out a line with a float on the end of it. I forget what they called it, I called it the life line. And they tell us to just snorkel around but keep hold of the line becuase "even if you're an Olympic level swimmer, if you let go of the line you will NOT be able to get back to the boat. When you're done snorkeling just pull yourself back on the line. When you get to the boat, keep holding the line and take off your flippers and hand them to us, then, still holding the line position yourself in front of the ladder, but don't let it hit you, get both feet on the ladder and stand up to get your weight on the ladder. Once you've got your weight on the ladder, it will quit bucking and you can climb up."

First the guy steps off the little flare at the end of the boat, pops back up, and looks terrorized, the crew tell him to just relax and put his head down and look around. He tries, but can't, and comes back aboard and says he'll go again later. Next, his wife goes. While she is making her way to the end of the line, I'm suiting up. She's almost to the end of the line when I jump in.

He's told me to hold the line loosely in my hand so that it can play out as I jump, but not to let it go. I bob back to the surface a good thirty feel from the boat and am very pleased to see that I still have the line. I put my face down and try to snorkel, but every time I breathe in the snorkel leaks water around the mouth. I'm not breathing sea water, it's just a dribble and I can collect it in the bottom of my mouth and still get a breath. Only two problems: one, I can't get a full, deep, breath without taking in some water; and two, every couple of breaths I have to surface, pull the snorkel out and spit out sea water. In the meantime, everytime a surge comes it is trying to either rip me off the line or dislocate my shoulder, whichever comes first.

This is not fun, and there's not much to see. Some yellowtail jack and some little black and white striped fish that are not sheepheads, period. I pull myself back to the boat dreading the terror of riding the ladder. Little did I know that an even bigger terror comes first. At the back of the boat I'm hanging on to the life line with one hand and removing one fin with the other while watching the back of the boat come hurtling toward my head with every surge. Fortunately it always stopped before it conked me, but it was too close. Rid of my fins I position myself in open water in front of the ladder, still holding the life line. I misjudged it and positioned myself too close. It swung out and whacked me good on the shins but I grabbed both hand rails and managed to get my feet on the bottom. It THUNKED the boat and bucked me back out again before I remembered to stand up and get my weight on the ladder. Then it settled down against the boat and I let go of the life line and climbed aboard. Altogether the removal of the fins was much scarier than the ladder. The other woman came back just after me.

Then they opened up the viewing port for the glass bottom. There was a wide, padded bench like thing just off center which split down the middle and folded up and was braced in the upright position and you could hang over it to see or take pictures. It was possible to sit on the port bench and lean over the upright for the glass bottom. Only the diver couple with the seasick wife had taken up position there. She leaned over the upright but was not watching. Her head was completely down and her eyes closed. Her husband stayed by her doing his text messaging and not even looking at all. Their gear was spread over the rest of the bench so that anyone else who wanted to see was forced to stand. Only the seas were rough. You couldn't just stand. You had to find something to hold on to or to brace yourself against or you simply went flying. Debra was really pissed. She had only come for the glass bottom boat and she couldn't get steady enough to take a picture. The crew tried to help her out--sorta. They several times said to the seasick woman holding her head over the glass bottom. "You don't want to throw up in there. You want to throw up anywhere but there." But she and her text messaging partner paid them no attention.

The divers came back and we went to a second spot just for the divers. It's the site of a very old wreck. So old the only trace of it is a bit of spar on the bottom. But it does have a humongous grouper. They call him Goliath. He's pretty famous. On Fridays one of the crew dives down to him and hold a fish in his mouth and the grouper comes and takes the fish. There are photos of it everywhere and it's been televised a couple of times. Apparently Goliath knows the sound of this particular boat. By this time both of the other floaters were also seasick. But not making near as big a deal of it. Just taking it in stride as one of the prices you sometimes pay.

The trip back was uneventful. Running with the waves now, it was much smoother and faster. We had dinner at an upscale restaurant nearby located on yet another marina. We were told it had a full bar. We really wanted a drink. But they only had beer and wine and an awesome conch chowder. By the time we got back to the room I was chilled to the bone and literally shaking. Took a hot bath and a whirlpool in the room. Folded up a pool towel and put it between my wet head and the pillow, stretched out on top of the covers for a little rest and passed out until Debra woke me up about midnight. Got up, had a smoke and a drink, passed out again until 5:00 AM. I guess sitting in a bucking boat, on a slippery plastic bench, holding on as hard as you can to the bottom of it and bracing with your legs to keep from going flying and then jumping into that water, and then just standing around on the anchored boat having to hold on and brace to keep from going back in the water can be very wearing.

The next morning I got Debra up very early so that we could go fishing although I wasn't really looking forward to it. I was sore and stiff and wanted my mommy. Debra also was too beat up to face another day of it. And it was rough again. So we packed up and headed home deciding to take the alternate route that, according to the map went through a significant portion of the eastern Everglades. Well, I don't know how old that map was, but we only saw about 3 minutes worth of sawgrass. The rest was mines and farms. Lots and lots and lots of sugarcane. Sugarcane everywhere. It eventually led us to the southeastern edge of Lake Okochobee (sp?) to a little town cann Panokee, where we promptly got lost. I'm reading the map and we're following the road we're supposed to and it's supposed to hook up with this other road. We're staying on our road and suddenly we find ourselves in a parking lot overlooking the lake. That wasn't supposed to happen. We backtrack. Yes, we were on the right road, but where did it turn or verr off? We get some directions from a sheriff. Debra wouldn't have stopped if the sheriff hadn't been there. We were in a bad part of town. We're not understanding the directions at all. She keeps telling us to stay on this road, don't get off this road, just stay on this road. We tell her we did that and where we ended up and she tells us to just follow her. We do. Apparently by "just stay on this road" she means "after a couple of blocks you have to make a right hand turn." We follow her through the turn (there is no road marker of any sort on this turn). Shortly after, she pulls over and waves us by. We keep with this new route until we connect up with the main freeway just a few miles from home.

One little postscript. After we got home we were telling our sister, Carla, that on brief acquaintance, we like Islamadora best of The Keys. She tells us that HGTV's Dreamhouse giveaway is in Islamadora this time. Debra and I have both been entering every day since then. I just figure it has my name written all over it.

Of Frog Legs and Thunder Storms

The Frog Leg Festival started Thursday. They predicted attendance of about 80,000, in a town of no more than about 4,000. It's not even big enough to have it's own grocery store. I've never been here before at Frog Leg Festival time, so I'm curious.

I'm no stranger to frog legs. I was born & raised in Florida of parents whose ancestors were here for generations. When my father got the urge he would go gigging and we would have frog legs for dinner. I freaked out the first time I saw frog legs cooked. They jump about in the pan exactly as if they are trying to get out. Creepy. My father sat me down and explained the anatomy of frog legs which cause them to do this bizarre dance. Frog legs were the first food I was told "tastes like chicken". It doesn't, it is, however, a mild flavored white meat. I've eaten frog legs in Florida and also in France. Funny, all the "f's" there, frog, festival, Florida, France. Food, too--one of the two things humans are reported to like best. I think the other one of the two also begins with "F". But I digress.

On (F-word)Friday, both sisters and I took ourselves off to the Festival. First (omg, another f-word), you walk in through the vendor area. It was mostly the usual carnival vendor stuff. Unusual in the amount of what was called authentic Native American products. There were three booths devoted to it and most of the others had a corner devoted to It except for the few booths devoted to something in particular. There was more Native American arts and crafts than I've seen at actual pow wows. Call me cynical, but either Native American craftsmen are getting far less skilled at what they do, or somebody is playing a little fast and loose with their terms.

Two booths interested me. One was a family run affair selling bottled hot sauces made from recipes the grandfather brought from Trinidad. I got some of the one labeled "Hot Pepper Sauce". It's mustard based, complex, and has a good kick.

The other grabbed my attention with a sculpture of a dragon clinging to a rough, slender, tree trunk. all natural colored. It was a very detailed, European type dragon without a trace of sentimentality. No "Puff, the magic...." here! Unfortunately, his smaller ones were completely mundane and full of vivid colors. He had many other types of sculptures including a small frog (every booth had at least one frog related item) with a stout plug crosswise through it's center. When you turned the plug, the frog croaked. It was well-modeled and fit nicely in the palm.

The young man selling these sculptures was the artist. He explained that he is a furniture maker and uses his sawdust mixed with a glue to form the statues--including the 5' dragon clinging to the tree.

Next came the food booths. All the usual carnival stuff: corn dogs, philly cheese sandwiches, hot links, blooming onions, funnel cakes, the whole list. I kept looking for the local booths featuring frog legs in various flavors. You know, the ones run by civic groups, usually for a good cause. Like the ones at the Gilroy Garlic Festival, back in my vicinity. Or the ones at the Calamari Festival, the Artichoke Festival, the Clam Chowder Cook Off, even the Burrito Bash, or any other food related festival. But no, there was none of this. If you wanted any of the fabled (oops, another f-word) frog legs, you got in a line, walked up to a table, paid your money, and walked off with a styrofoam container to the tented area full of chairs and tables. In the meantime, I treated myself to a corn dog.

I wanted to see what the legs were like. I had been told that they were very, very, small. Now, all the frog legs I've ever eaten or seen were bull frog legs, half again as long as a chicken drumstick, but more slender. They probably had about as much meat on them as a chicken drum. But the patrons here were eating leprechaun frog legs! They were tiny and the pair were still hooked together. They were the size and shape of small butterfly wings, not Monarchs, small butterfly wings. They couldn't contain even one good sized bite of meat, but the people had to take three or four bites to get it all. I don't think I can ever convey the humor of watching big people pick up little butterfly wings out of huge styrofoam containers, daintily hold them between thumb and fore finger, and nibble, nibble, nibble. Kabuki theatre without make-up. I had to leave before I laughed out loud, knowing that once I started, I wouldn't be able to stop.

The only thing left was the midway, none of us were interested. On Friday and Saturday nights there was also a rodeo. On Sunday there was a Mexican rodeo. I'm not now nor have I ever been a fan of rodeo. I don't know the difference between a Honky rodeo and a Mexican rodeo, except that the price of admittance to the Mexican one was $24.00 more than the Honky one. I was told that this was because the rodeo was only that, a rodeo; while the Mexican rodeo was apparently a variety of entertainments including a couple of live bands, thus, the price difference. Well, I still don't know the difference between the two having opted out on both.

The weathermen had been telling us that a cold front was creeping toward us and should arrive late Saturday. Saturday morning however, dawned bright and warm. There was a warm breeze out of the south that was pushing fluffy, designer clouds, full of moisture, across a bright blue sky. It was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold, just right, with a pleasant breeze. And I'm thinking, 'hmmmmmmm, south wind, moisture laden clouds, cold front moving in from the north....I might yet get the thunderstorm I've been hoping for.' This is not the right season for thunder storms, but since they are such a rarity on Monterey Bay, I'm always hoping for one when in Florida.

The whole day remained balmy. But just after 7:00 it clouded up and I began seeing flashes, definitely lightning. I could not see the actual bolt, but the sky would light up. It was so far away, there was no thunder. It kept happening off and on. Around 10:00 it started to rain. It was so loud I thought it was hail and turned on the back lights to see. But no, it was just rain. And in the far distance I could occasionally hear the lightest rumbling of a rolling thunder long after a sky flash. Well, it was a thunder storm if only a tired one. Then at 11:00 a real golly whumpus opened up on us. I turned on the lights again. This had to be hail. I couldn't even hear the TV. But, again, just rain, really, really, hard rain. The kind that could bruise if it hit you. I went out on the lanai to enjoy it. I had forgotten just how hard it can rain in Florida. The sky kept lighting up closer and closer, but if there was thunder, it was drowned out by the hammering of the rain.

I watched a lone car driving down our little dirt road, very, very, slowly. Then, it stopped. Left the motor running and the lights on, but just stopped in the middle of the street. I waited for someone to get out and check under the hood or something before I remembered: "Oh yeah, it's raining so hard they can't see at all, even with wipers going full." This type of rain blinds drivers as completely as a snow white-out. There's nothing to do but wait it out. Ten minutes later the driver was on hir* way. The sky was still lighting up and I got one (count 'em)--one-- good bone shattering thunder clap. The it was back to sky lighting and occasional distant rumble. Still, I'm counting it as a thunder storm, since I got that excitement and adrenalin rush.

It's been a good week.

*Not a spelling error. Hir=His/Her.

Snowing in Florida

The sunset sky
So sheer an apricot,
Blue behind it shimmers through.

Not quite tropical, thinks me.
Suddenly it turns
Electric Mango.

We've had three, or is it four?, cold fronts since I've been here. Apparently, in Florida, a cold front is anything that causes the temp to drop beneath 80. But this time they mean it. Low for my area is predicted to be in the 20's. And I've just transplanted a new bed. They're all fairly hardy and I would have no concern at all if they had just been in long enough to become established. But they haven't.

The plants I put into the bed along the porch might be OK. There are some pansies in full bloom with their sweet and delicate looking little faces. But I think they'll be fine--much tougher than they look. And the sunset colors oxalis (relax, it's not at all invasive) with it's tiny, short stem yellow flowers also in full bloom. And, uh-oh, two glorious chartreuse coleus with deep, deep, purple, almost black, blotches at the base of each leaf. They are never going to survive a dip into the 20's without help. I got a couple of empty plastic pots and covered the coleus.

Then there are all the ones in their containers waiting for transplant: four coontie, two starburst clerodendrum, one starfruit tree, and one grapefruit tree. Not worried about the grapefruit. It's about five feet tall, too young for fruit, and perfectly capable of standing up to a drop in temp. But the wind has already blown it over. So I put it inside a large, pot-bellied, terra cotta pot. All other container plants into the garage which gets closed at night. They'll be fine.

Now to the back bed with the new transplants. Three sheets, some bamboo stakes, and clothespins make a tent for them. The north wind is blowing like mad already, so just visualize the action trying to spread sheets and then keep them where you want them. It took me four different re-visits to the tents with additional clothespins, more stakes, and additional weights for the edges before I got it to my satisfaction.

Nothing left to do but to try and protect the two newly planted elephant ear type plants inside the pool enclosure. They hate both wind and cold. One is an Alocasia, African Mask type, with small, rather thick leaves. The other is a Colcasia, a black elephant ear. Leaves are about 12" x 8", held on foot high, slightly drooping stems. The slightest breeze sets them to swaying. Now, it's pillowcase and bamboo stake time. The African Mask is easy, the pillowcase just pops right over it. The African Mask requires more finesse. I have to take each separate leaf (4 in all) and carefully sorta roll and stuff them inside the pillow case. These leaves are thin and delicate. But, I do get them all safely inside the pillowcase.

A ferocious wind blows directly out of the north. But they say this is a good thing because it will prevent frost. It will freeze but not frost and apparently frost is more damaging than freeze.

Day dawns quite cold. It's time to check the damages. Garage pots all good, but it's still very cold and very, very, windy. I leave them there. Pansies and oxalis don't seem to have noticed anything. Both still in full bloom and no leaf burn or wilt at all. The coleus planted in the corner was shielded from the north wind by the garage and sustained a little leaf burn, but clearly, will recover. The one on the other end of the bed has been blasted. All leaves curled and crunchy, except for a couple of very small ones right at the center of the plant. Maybe it will recover.

Grapefruit tree, blown over, terra cotta pot and all. Wind still blowing, pick it up tomorrow.

The tents on the newly planted bed have been half ripped off. I go ahead and finish the job. All the blooms and buds on the white hibiscus and the pink Turk's cap have been blasted. The flame bush was also in full bloom, but has retained most of it. The poor little red salvias and white salvias really took a blast. All of the plants in this bed have burn on some leaves, blast on other leaves, but will recover, except maybe the salvia--but they're annuals, so no big deal. Everything just looks a little sad and scraggly right now.

It's still cold and the wind is so bad I decide to leave the pillowcases on the elephant ears. Later it rains. Next day I'm faced with trying to remove a soaked pillowcase without breaking the delicate leaves stuffed inside. Fortunately, thanks to the bamboo stakes at the corners of the pillowcase, it comes off easily, without any harm to the plant. The oldest of the big leaves is pretty well toasted. It was already on its way out before the storm hit. The others each have a scalloped etching of burn along their margins. I think it's a lovely varigation. I would love it if I didn't know it's injury caused. The pillowcase on the smaller, thicker leave, African Mask comes right off without incident. It appears to be virtually unharmed.

That was over a week ago. The pansies continue to carry on as if nothing happened. The protected coleus is looking very good. The blasted coleus is struggling to survive. The plants still in pots have all been planted out except for the grapefruit (which is now standing up again) and the star fruit. They both have to wait for their beds to be constructed before they can be planted.

The plants in the newly planted bed keep showing new damages and looking very scraggy, but they are also setting new bloom. Even the salvias are rebounding and putting on lots of leaves and one of the white ones is showing a bud.

The Black Elephant Ear is about the same. The African Mask only started showing it's damage a couple of days after the event. It's extensive. All leaves are wilting and mushy and showing brown splotches. The only hope is one small, as yet unfurled, leaf. Fortunately I also have a bunch of knee-hi sweet peas in that pot that help to camouflage the ugliness. They seem to have reveled in the temp drop.

Beautiful Coontie

Took a jaunt up to Dade City, about 3 hours north and west, to visit my sister-in-law, Jackie. I forget how lovely that part of Florida is. It's sort of rolling. Yes, yes, I know it's Florida and Florida is flat, but up there it's sort of rolling. I would not go so far as to call them hills, but the land has some curves. There are large meadows/pastures dotted with magnificent live oaks showing off their sturdy trunks, horizontal limbs large enough to sleep on, and their satisfyingly rounded crowns. I remember that in spring these meadows are literally covered with wild phlox in multiple colors. We don't get that as far south as Indian River County.

On the way up we (Debra and I) went through Plant City. I suppose it's the closest thing I have to a home town, although I feel little affection for it. Now, I hardly recognize any of it. At the center of downtown there are still some of the old buildings that I remember. None of them serve the same purpose they did when I was a kid. We drove past Tomlin, the old junior high, now sitting empty for many years. It's situated in what's probably the best neighborhood in town. I remember treacherous bicycling on those little brick streets, especially in the rain. Bricks can be very slippery. The houses are grande olde Victorian dames and oaks dripping with Spanish moss line and cover the street. The perfect picture of what many see when they think of the south, but not what they see when they think of Florida. I'm the same, when I think of Florida I see beaches, palms, hibiscus. It made me smile to see that little bit of my past.

When we got to Jackie & Buddy's my brother-in-law, Marty and his two daughters, were also there. I met Marty, and Jackie, at the same time I met my husband, while attending USF. So we had a little trip down memory lane, remembering those we knew, those we still know, and especially those who have passed on. We told stories and embroidered them quite prettily and naturally, remarked on how the politics of then (60's) seems to have returned. We are all very concerned about ecology and the ruination of our only lifeboat.

Jackie and Buddy have a plant nursery focusing on Coontie, Zamia pumila, a true Florida native. There seems to be quite a lot of disagreement here about just what constitutes a Florida native plant. The majority rule seems to be anything growing here before Columbus. Many of the plants commonly associated with Florida, and many that have naturalized here, are not natives. Hibiscus-not. Most of the varieties of Palm-not. Bougainvillea-not. Citrus-not. Gardenia-not. The not list just goes on and on. Coontie however is a definite native. It's been here ever since there was a Florida. Seminole and the natives before them dug the root and pounded it into a starchy flour for breads. In the mid 1800's Coontie processing plants abounded for extracting starch from the roots for use in Arrowroot Biscuits or Cookies. Coonties almost disappeared under that pressure.

It's a pretty plant that looks like a leather leaf kind of fern, or like a loose Sago palm. It's neither palm nor fern, but cycad, grandmother of all plants. Cycads ruled when the dinosaurs roamed. It's like growing a piece of pre-history. They max out at about 4'x4', are tough, tough, tough (as you would expect a plant that outlived the dinosaur) and are the only host plant for the Atala Hairstreak butterfly. See some Coontie at Jackie & Buddy's site: http://www.ducklakeonline.com/.

Atala were considered extinct in the 1960's, but were rediscovered a few years later. Their numbers had been depleted by the disappearance of the coontie. They are black with white spots, two bright red spots, plus, a few dark blue spots on the undersides of their wings. They've been somewhat re-established in Dade County and Palm Beach and there have been sightings as far north as Indian River County (us) and Brevard (one county north).

Jackie and Buddy were kind enough to give me six coontie. I might get to see one of those local butterflies. I'm situating them right outside the pool enclosure in order to get my best shot at it. Jackie also gave me a large clump of a "native lilly", might be white or pale pink; and two huge clumps of a six foot ginger with red cones and edible flowers. I shared all this with my sister, Carla, who is as big a plant whore as I am.

On the way home Debra and I took a little jog to find the Crystal Springs where we spent many hot summer days and nights swimming, fishing, and camping. Way back in the day there would be no more than two other families there, and often we were the only people there. The last time I went, when I was still in college, they had put a fence around it and charged people to get in, and it was packed. People apparently don't value that which is free and or not yet discovered.

We knew that we would probably be unable to get in. Apparently it has gone through quite a few changes over the years. We went down this little road until it made a curve to the right. Right after the curve, on the left hand side, was the place where we used to drive into the springs. Now it has a big fence, covered with bamboo stuff, and a sign that says "No trespassing".

"That's it," I said to Debra. "No, it's not," she says. "We would be able to see the actual springs now." A few feet farther on are big, bright, blue gates that say "Crystal Springs Preserve". They're locked, but a sign behind them says they accommodate tours and buses. It's pretty clear that nobody swims, fishes, or camps there any more, but you can arrange to look at it.

The next stop was just outside Plant City again, for strawberries. Plant City is the Winter Strawberry Capital of the World and the season is just starting. It's kinda ironic. I went to most of my school years in Plant City, and for the past 35 years I've lived in California in a town that considers itself the Strawberry Capital of the World. But, summer is it's big season. In Florida, everyone looks for Plant City berries--they're considered far and away the best. Watsonville's big berry reputation rests on the name of one huge grower, developer, genetic engineer, Driscoll. In California, people don't look for Watsonville berries, but for Driscoll berries. I've seen Driscoll berries in New York. Conversely I was always told that Plant City berries were sold big time to go to Europe!