When I was about 12 years old, through a strange sequence of events, I found myself living with my grandmother in Big Pine Key, FL. Like much of our neighborhood, we lived in a trailer on a canal. These homes were the homes purchased by the WWII generation in the 60s and 70s for next to nothing, and by the early 90s, were going for $200,000+. I remember walking to the bus stop in the mornings and being chased by mosquitoes. I remember the strange buzzing sound of bugs in the woods as I walked to my friend’s house and the eerie feeling that I was in a Tales From the Darkside scene. What I remember most vividly, though, was the warm trade winds at night buffeting our home.
There were so many nights that I would sneak out of the house into our backyard, the white rocks pressing into my bare feet, as I made my way to the canal. I would climb onto Daddy’s sailboat, and lay back on the bow. The warm air smelled of the scarlet Hibiscus that grew in a wild, carefree fashion about the yard. I would gaze up at the bright stars and dream of the future as the soft summer breeze caressed me.
I don’t suppose I have a moral of this particular posting. I just wanted to share a lovely memory of long ago that snuck into my mind last night. It’s fascinating how the most innocuous incidents can effect you.