Notes on Florida

We’ve been renting a place in Florida for a month every year for fifteen years, so now I’m something of an expert on the Sunshine State. I’m kidding, so please don’t send emails.

I didn’t grow up vacationing in Florida. We went to rustic fishing cabins in Canada. My sister and I would sit on the dock all day, catching bluegills and crappie. (We were too annoying to go out in the boat with our father.) My brother would be in the cabin, reading. My mother would be preparing meals—against her will—in an electric skillet.

I’M STILL WORKING, WHILE YOU’RE ALL ON VACATION, she used to say. And she was right.

At night, we would go to the dump to watch the bears.

The first time I visited Florida was on my honeymoon. We stayed a couple of days in Miami on our way to Puerto Rico. Disney World had recently opened, and we thought, “We’re right there in Florida—we should go.”

So we boarded a bus at 3 a.m. and rode six hours to the Magic Kingdom. Spent eight hours in the park, and then took the bus back, arriving late at night.

I don’t recommend that plan.

After that, we came back to Florida every year or two for business or vacation. We came on our own at first, and, eventually, brought our young children.

Early on, we came in the summer, because school was out, and it was cheaper in the summer than in the winter. It was also blistering hot, which was fine so long as you were neck deep in the Gulf. Not so great on asphalt at the theme parks that were springing up like mushrooms after a rain.

We slathered on sunscreen and built legendary sandcastles. We instilled in our children a lifelong love of the beach and a hatred of noseeums.

Legendary Sandcastles

PRO TIP: do NOT try and take your children on a hike in Florida during the summer. Two words: giant spiders.

It wasn’t until our kids were grown and we didn’t live by school schedules that we discovered the appeal of Florida in the winter. Big crowds and high prices, but also flip flops in February, cool breezes, low humidity, and no snow.

Well, except the time my husband had a meeting in Orlando in January. I came along, with plans to lie by the pool and write. You’ve heard of en plein air painting? I favor en plein air writing. Which is hard to do in Ohio in January.

But it snowed. In Orlando. I bought fleece. I never seem to learn that lesson about Florida in the winter. I bring shorts and tee shirts. I buy fleece. I have an entire collection of Florida-themed fleece. Florida in the winter is like San Francisco in the summer—fleece is the biggest-selling tourist item.

It just seems so wrong to be freezing in Florida.

Beleaguered citrus growers should pay me to stay away.

Florida is exceptional in that it is home to some of the most beautiful places in the country—and also some of the ugliest. Most of the ugly places are man-made. They also have many quirky attractions.

Environmentalists are engaged in a constant battle with developers, who are intent on paving over Florida and building gated communities that keep the real Florida at bay. Keeping us out is a bonus.

I personally believe that golf courses are the anti-Florida.

I don’t like walking on lawns in Florida. The grass is coarse and strange and all I can think of is fire ants and pesticide. Give me a shell path or boardwalk through a preserve.

There are hazards in Florida that we don’t have to worry about at home. And vice versa, I guess. For instance, icy roads are uncommon in Florida. And it is very, very difficult to fall off a cliff.

If you go to Florida very often, it’s hard not to develop an interest in birds. They have amazing birds, especially during migration season, and they’re easier to see than the birds at home.

Spoonbills, Herons and Egrets

I don’t know if drinking is extra popular here, or if it’s just extra popular among tourists who frequent gift shops. Those places are full of signs that say: Today’s soup: whiskey with ice croutons. Or Everyone Needs Something to Believe in. I believe I’ll have another beer. Or wine glasses inscribed with Corks Are For Quitters or Just Another Wine Drinker with a Reading Problem.

That said, a glass (bottle) of wine on the beach at sunset is lovely.

I eat my fill of fish when I’m in Florida. And I do love me some key lime pie.

Florida is noisy. My favorite soundtrack for writing is the sound of waves on the beach. We can never afford beachfront property, so, instead, I work to construction noise. Seems there’s no place in Florida that doesn’t need building, repairing, remodeling, or tearing down.

If not that, it’s gas-powered mowers and leaf-blowers. Everything grows here, and both Florida flora and invasives are hell-bent on taking over the state. Keep moving is my advice.

In some areas, golf carts are street legal. I find it hard to take people in golf carts seriously. Are you driving or are you trying to pretend you are not? I keep imagining golf cart vs tanker truck collisions, sunburned bodies flying.

I do love walking on the ever-changing beach. I love sailors’ valentines. I love water clear enough to see my toes. That hasn’t been as common in recent years (see environmental battles.) More and more, I’m encountering murky water and something called “red tide,” in which a toxin produced by algae kills buckets of fish that litter the beach. When it aerosolizes, it irritates the respiratory tract. Which can sure kill that beach vibe

.I’m told that red tide occurs naturally, but is exacerbated by human activity-- nutrient enrichment from nitrogen- or phosphorus-based fertilizers, stormwater and sewage plant runoff, and failing septic tanks that fuel the algae growth. Hopefully environmentalists can join with the wealthy property owners near the beach to put a stop to that. Hopefully the state government will realize that some things are not fixable.

I love Florida skies and Florida sunsets

.One cool thing about Florida is they don’t have pandemics there. We rented a house on Sanibel Island in February, 2021, during the height of COVID, figuring we could isolate at the beach as well as anywhere. Lo and behold, down there in free Florida, people were mingling unmasked like there was no tomorrow. And, for some, there WAS no tomorrow. As of mid-February, 2021, Florida had verified 1,872,923 COVID-19 cases since the outbreak began and 30,065 resident deaths.

Party on.

I used to meet a lot of Canadians in Florida in the winter. These days, not so many. When I do meet a Canadian, I have a strong urge to apologize.

We’ve fallen in love with Sanibel. Back in the 70’s, the residents took a stand against runaway development. So these days, it’s 70% preserve lands--all scruffy with native palms, seagrapes, silver buttonwood, and mangroves. Home to birds, alligators, bobcats, and other wildlife. Famous for shelling. Once, on well-groomed Marco Island, when we said we were staying on Sanibel, they said, “Oh, that’s kind of overgrown, isn’t it?”

Right now, it’s kind of ‘undergrown,’ due to damage from several hurricanes including an overwash of salt water from Hurricane Ian. (I’m from Asheville, so we have hurricane trauma in common.) These days, the only people who can buy property on Sanibel are folks that can afford to lose a house now and then. (Dammit, Madge, we lost the Sanibel house. Again.)

We are not those people. Anyway, I love the mountains, and Florida is not bumpy enough to make me want to live there full time. But, like so many others, we hope we’ll be able to keep visiting. Because, despite everything, Sanibel’s siren song calls us back.

https://www.local10.com/news/local/2021/02/22/florida-passes-30000-resident-deaths-from-covid-19-as-us-nears-500k/

https://www.flhealthcharts.gov/ChartsDashboards/rdPage.aspx?rdReport=Covid19.Dataviewer