The Loftiness of it all

 

 

 

Sometimes, I just need to do things that are neither educational nor enlightening, useful nor inspirational. Things like clean out the junk drawer in the kitchen. There is probably some high-dollar pyschological study that explains why we need to do such tasks. These photos represent the mindless Happy Tasks I've worked on lately. A sidewalk that has been waiting ten years for installation; a Lois Ericson Kimono Vest that has been talking to me for several years from the pattern drawer; and a jigsaw puzzle that was a good meditation.

So, the sidewalk could be considered a good project. And, I guess I did learn that there is a difference in sand. I suppose that elevates the sidewalk to the Useful category.

Dreams

 

The mixed blessing of America is that anyone with a car can go anywhere. Travel is mostly about dreams - dreaming of landscapes or cities, imagining yourself in them, murmuring the bewitching place names, and then finding a way to make the dream come true.

Paul Theroux

Perdido River and Sta. Rosa Island

I have often wondered who drew the lines dividing one state from another. Think about the DelMarVa Peninsula. That one might qualify as the most nonsensical state-line-drawing of all. We have been reminded almost daily while in Pensacola that we're really in LA. Lower Alabama. True, that. So, I felt pretty good the day we paddled the lower Perdido River, which forms the line between Alabama and Florida, I felt as if I was finally, officially in Alabama. It was a rare December day, warm and fast moving clouds playing tag with bright sun. I packed a picnic of left-over hand-made shu mei, brie and sesame crackers and apples. It was a quiet paddle, only one motor boat passed us, in yet another swamp that reminded me of the NE Cape Fear River without grapevines, but with giant, old red cedar trees. Afterwards, we enjoyed a frosty friend at Ruby's Fish Camp bar, where we'd launched the kayaks. Those folks were playing corn hole and downing beers at 11am, I think they'd never gone home from the night before.

 
 
 
 
















































We moved from northwestern Pensacola out to Santa Rosa Island National Seashore, known to the locals at Pensacola Beach and Ft. Pickens. The fort was begun during the Late Unpleasantness, and used very little. The Navy being who they are, however, kept the place spiffed and ready for attack, guarding the Pensacola Bay from invasion until the mid-20th century. Today, it is a great wind break, creating sand dunes at the west end of the otherwise very low island. There is a campground on the island, managed by the National Park Service. The fort is a great place to climb higher, and get a look across the bay of NAS Pensacola, downtown and the tall hotels at Perdido Beach. The roadbed is lower than sealevel, and we could see huge piles of freshly moved whitewhitewhite sand by the side of the road. I'm reminded of the north end Portsmouth Island, NC, where it gets very narrow.

New Year's Eve the island was almost invisible in a heavy fog. Even the pelicans were hunkered down, not fishing at all. We had hoped to see the fireworks from downtown, but that was not going to happen.

I took these pictures at 3pm...It was almost eerie, so much dense fog. New Year's Eve night, I slow-cooked ribs on the grill, and made a delicious (if I do say so!) mixed greens gumbo. We ate dinner, listening to the dripping, watery air. The campground was full, but very quiet. I think everyone was celebrating inside their own rv. I was happy to be watching the end of the year, in such a beautiful place, even if I couldn't see through the fog.