Those Beautiful Gulf Beaches...

February 6, 2012

Laundry and errand day in Perry – whoo hoo!  We busted ass and really got a lot done, while washing our clothes in the scummy, run-down laundromat.  A quick lunch at Goodman’s BBQ – super yummy and a lovely waitress – then our final stop at 7 Scuba for my snorkel gear.  I was not leaving that shop without my equipment – success!  Here’s what I got:

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Back home in time for the sunset at the dock, with our new friends: Frank from Alabama, he fishes out of a bass boat ALL DAY, and catches beautiful sea trout and red drum; Lynn, owner of the Old Pavilion RV Park, friend and mom to all of us; Wanda and James, Alabamans who are kind and funny; Whisper, Lynn’s ridiculously cute little white yapper dog; Eddie, kayak fisher who also catches beautiful fish, occasionally; Missouri guy, came in the night before in his cute little Casita trailer, retired from construction, very articulate and nice.  We all talk in ones and twos, trading off, with Lynn at our center.  I can hear her once in awhile in quiet response to someone’s statement, that old southern repetition of sounds and words: “Mmhm hm hm hm hm.” 

They all have a distinct rebel drawl, these northwest Floridians sounding much more southern than their southern compatriots, who have generally been assimilated into northern language through media and shifting geography.  But these “Forgotten” or “Nature’s” Coast folks drawwwwl with the best of them.  And it is a comforting and lovely thing to hear from another human being; it warms you, it wraps its’ arms around you and welcomes you home.  I fall hard for this.

The Alabamans, on the other hand, come at you from a soft corner – you do not expect to be watching their mouths speak, trying hard to be courteous and decipher what they’re saying.  They roll everything like a gumball in their mouths, it is mumbled and richly beautiful, and we stare and stare, eyes squinched tight, mouths hanging open, trying-trying so hard to understand what they are saying! When enough time passes and our ears attune a bit, we are just fine, we’re at home with these folks.  They are kind and genuine.  They have stories similar to ours about family and community, marriage, traveling together.  They love to fish and hunt, eat and love their “grandbabies.”  They call Grandpa “Pa Pa.” 

We fit right in at Old Pavilion and truly hate to leave.  The morning we take off the sun pops out after a cloudy day, and the world is good again.

February 8, 2012

We take a short hop to St George island State Park, who our camper-neighbor Laura at Manatee Springs State Park had told us about.  Being a free lance travel writer, she extolled the virtues of the park, the white sand beaches, the lack of tourists.  We were able to secure a spot for two nights, but the park is so popular that extending was impossible.  We discovered that we wanted to move anyway, as the weather was so-so, the shelling was repetitive, the park itself kind of boring.  Believe me, this is one beautiful Island, the beaches are white sugar-sand, and the birding just around our site is phenomenal.  There are cardinals flying everywhere, both the head-crested bright red males, and the more demure colored greenish/brown, still head-crested females.  There are doves, owls and red winged blackbirds, as well as black grakels.

Unfortunately I awoke this morning noting the red-tipped feathers floating around the box that Roku is sleeping in.  My suspicion peaked, I made a quick check through Blue, and found my worst nightmare – a dead cardinal!  Damn that cat!   I picked the poor feller up and we studied his beauty – the reddest of reds are his body feathers, even his beak is red!  So lovely in life sitting in a pine tree, red body contrasting against the green pine branches, and in death, so radically different from all other birds.  Roku got quite the tongue lashing from me, which Tony says he does not understand.  I believe he does.

February 10, 2012

A 42 mile drive to our next destination which our friends Wanda and James picked out of the Passport America book, Mexico Beach.  We passed through a quaint and busy little town by the fantastic name of Apalachicola, at the end of a long bridge.  I was driving the car, tunes cranked, having a lovely catch-up talk with pal Anne Tripp, when Tony called to say he’d like to stop and eat.  I found a big old spot made for Blue and the Sebring to park in, finished my call, and we headed toward the nearest restaurant.  Another RV had pulled ahead of us and I noticed that it was two women, and that one kind of looked familiar.

As we entered the restaurant they were close behind so I turned around and found that one was a woman I’d met on the beach shelling the day before, and we had stopped to have a pleasant talk.  The place was packed, there was one large table left, so I asked if they wanted to eat with us.  They did, and we had a great lunch and great conversation.  Their husbands, who had been fishing, showed up and added another layer to our group.  Tony and I went to walk this gorgeous town, and when we returned to Blue, there were two of the huge clam shells on our step, along with a note.  Cool!  The note, however, was from Wanda and James!  They had seen our rig on their way through town and stopped to see if we were OK.  Gotta love it.

Scenes of Apalachicola:

One major problem.  Raining like a son of a bitch.  Arctic winds tomorrow.  My sinuses hurt.  I itch everywhere from no-see-um bites.  Indoor stuff tomorrow.  And a gumbo fest next Saturday!  I'm thinking of entering.

And my final picture today, is of a size.....I don't know, I've never seen anything this large.  It was in a Goodwill in Perry, and I just fell in love with the girth.  The clerk saw me looking at it and said, "In't that purty?!"  Yes indeed.