Cabin P.S.

It seems appropriate to mention that during the cabin visit, my guests and I went for a short hike on The Yearling Trail. It's a microcosm of the best sort of hiking: nearby, scenic, and historic.   

Yes, it's summer in Florida. Yes, it's H-O-T. 

We were looking forward to an easy 3 miles with plenty of water and sight-seeing, and then happy hour at the cabin, probably including some wading in spring water which is always a superbly refreshing 72 degrees.

Little did we know . . . .

A portion of the surrounding forest burned a few years ago, and I've been there several times since. It's thrilling to see how the robust new greenery surges back from the blackened landscape. Scrub ecosystems in Florida actually depend on fire for their continued life. Without fire, the trees grow too tall and shade out the smaller plants, the habitat becomes inhospitable for the creatures that live there (like scrub jays, who like a short landscape where they can easily dive for cover and where predatory hawks can't spy on them from tall trees), and it all changes. Some pines actually require a fire's heat before they will open their cones and release their seeds! 

All that to say, I wasn't worried about the burned parts adjacent to the trails. What I didn't take into account was how many of the bushes and smaller trees, damaged by fire, were knocked over by some of the violent thunderstorms we've had recently. The trail had not been cleared, so we often had to climb over downed trunks and branches. It slowed our progress considerably, and the day became hotter and hotter as we moved in fits and starts through the landscape.

I've always been able to soldier on, but the heat really got to me this time. When kayaking, I loathe portaging over obstructions or struggling through thick vegetation, and this was much like that -- as one friend remarked, "Deadfall is the land version of water hyacinths." So true!

I kept having to rest, and balance between drinking enough water and saving enough water for the rest of the walk, and navigating the deadfall became more and more daunting as the day wore on. At one point I seriously thought about giving up, concerned for my health and not wanting to risk actual heat stroke. But the practical aspect of calling 9-1-1 convinced me that my better course of action was to make it under my own power. I pictured some helpful and burly rescuers hiking out to our location, strapping me to a backboard, and carrying me at various terrifying angles while they clambered over all the deadfall . . . and that seemed way worse than doing the clambering myself, thanks very much.

Eventually, with lots of encouragement and patience from my companions and the loan of one of those wearable fans, I made it back to the trailhead. Once in the car, air conditioning blasting, I recovered quickly -- thank goodness! After dipping my toes in cool water, clutching a cold Bud Light, I was entirely myself again. 

But you won't catch me hiking in summer anytime soon, and maybe never again!

Home Again for the Fourth

My time at the cabin was lovely, but I am happy to be home again. I like my house enough (and the cats!) that I miss them when I'm away. And with at least two nights of fireworks in the offing (the city did theirs on the 3rd and then the amateurs took over for the 4th), I wanted to be home. 

My fireworks protocol is to bring the outside gentleman cat into the bathroom for the duration of the evening, close all the blinds, and play "spa music" to muffle the noises. When things get really loud, I distribute treats to everyone. No matter how startled they are, they gobble up the treats and I hope that gives the noises a positive association -- or at least provides a few minutes in which the cats have something else to think about! 

Fortunately, the noise and smoke didn't seem as awful this year as in years past. Old-school fireworks celebrations are still hard on veterans, wildlife, pets, sensitive humans, and people who dislike pollution. I've seen pictures of drone displays that are more impressive and quieter. Perhaps that's the wave of the future and it would be okay by me!

Here are a few highlights from the cabin. Hiking, strolling, reading, canoeing, socializing, and plenty of good food were the order of each day.

  

Road Oak

A friend has given me a week at a remote cabin and I will be taking full advantage of the opportunity to rest in beauty like this. 

Back from Reality

Lucky me! I spent Thanksgiving on a houseboat on the St. Johns River!

Sixty-three feet of floating home-away-from-home gave the 8 of us plenty of space (although the sleeping quarters were a tad cozy), including a front deck, a back deck, an upper deck, a bath and half, and a kitchen that was big enough for a lot of cooks and the usual turkey and sides, plus 3 kinds of pie.

We anchored out on the river two nights and spent the other night docked at a state park. Kayaking, hiking, and music jamming kept everyone busy. Only one person did any Black Friday shopping! I got in a lot of reading time, which was like heaven for me.

There was plenty of time for reflection, too.

We saw lots of birds, a few snakes while hiking, and on the last morning we had a very special visitor: a manatee! We think he/she was enjoying the warm water from our generator, because we've had some cool nights and the river water is also cooling. What a treat to see this placid, friendly marine mammal up close! 

Monday Outdoors

Live oak

It's so nice not to be chained to a desk anymore. My work allows me way more flexibility than most people have, and I try to make the most of it.

This is Washington Oaks State Park, about an hour from here.

Cottage with interpretive displays inside

Like many places in Florida, it has layers of history. There's a Native American midden there, a combination trash pile and living area -- which sounds weird but makes sense, given the landscape.

The Native Americans piled up the shells of the snails and clams they ate, and when the pile got big enough (a few generations later, perhaps), the chief and other important people lived on top of it, catching whatever breeze there was and avoiding wet ground and most of the mosquitos.

Over many lifetimes, these mounds got huge. Some are 50 or more feet high, and some are just a few feet high but several acres in size. Many of them were hauled away to make roadbeds (ah, progress) so we will never know which one was the largest, or what it might have contained. Only a few have been found to contain human remains, but so many were destroyed, we'll really never know for sure.

Very interesting footsteps to follow in, certainly. This midden provides what passes for a nice overlook in ultra-flat Florida.

View of the Matanzas River

That's one layer of history. Atop that there's Spanish and English ownership, early statehood land grants, a sale to developers for a plan that failed because of the Great Depression, and a purchase by a super-rich husband for his also-a-millionaire wife as a wedding gift. What a romantic life story this place has!

Mala Compra Trail

Tidal marsh along the trail

What's especially nice is that this couple loved it enough to keep it largely natural, and to see that it went into conservation when they passed on. The gardens are maintained, and the rest of the property hasn't really been touched since the 1880s. And what a beautiful place it is.

In the rose garden

North American millipede

Golden ear mushroom

There is an ocean side, also, with a large grouping of coquina rocks interrupting a wide expanse of sand. That gives us Floridians something we hardly ever get to see: tide pools!

The coquina shoreline, rare in Florida

Barnacles and tiny shells, clinging to the rocks at low tide

Tide pool fish (very small)

So, a little hiking, a little exploring, a little dabbling in the ocean -- all in one place. And all on a Monday, as well!

(Hey, guess what? I got these pictures processed, too. Yay for me!)    

Overheard at the Beach

This post could also be called "The Picture I Didn't Take."

As part of a project I'm involved in, I went to the beach yesterday.  My friends and I were just walking and observing in our clothes, with neither the relaxed attitude nor the abbreviated attire of the other beach-goers, most of whom were clearly there for the day.

While we were walking, we saw 4 women and a little girl coming toward us. Each of the women was wearing what I can only describe as a string bikini plus one other article of clothing. One had on the bikini top and a pair of yoga pants. Another was wearing the bikini plus a pair of beach shoes. There were a lot of tattoos in evidence, and each woman weighed over 250 pounds.  As you can imagine, there was a lot of swinging and jiggling going on. It was definitely a case of TMI.

What made me want to take a photograph was the contrast of these heavy women laboring along the sand, while the little girl skipped along in front of them in her blonde curls and cute little one-piece suit. She might have been 5 or 6 years old. It was just a great visual.

But I didn't want to be rude and scramble for the camera to take a surreptitious photo, and I wasn't quite ready to be bold enough to ask permission - so I let the moment go by.

Just as we passed them, I heard one say, "And you know, I still have to deal with your sister's probation issue."

That made me even more sorry I didn't take the picture.

       

Working on Someday

About a year and a half ago I wrote a post about someday breaking out of my old self in a big, life-changing way.

Now that change begins to come into being, in earnest.

Since that post, I have moved forward to a new haircut, a new car, and a new home. A new job is not in the offing, but I have added new, fun responsibilities to the old job, so that's still on target.

As for the larger aspects -- losing practicality, radical change, "She did what?" and "I always knew she was crazy" and "I wish I had the nerve" -- they are now in progress.

A friend and I are planning a major vacation adventure. It will involve logistical planning, scouting trips, sustained collaboration, practice sessions, physical training, recruiting help from various directions, and the advice and support of the man in my life. It will also involve a long trip on my favorite river.

I'm having a little trouble believing that I've committed myself to this adventure.  But there it is.

Someday comes sooner than we think.

  

Looking Back, Looking Forward

Hello and happy new year!

After a long absence, I am determined to reopen the Cafe again in 2013. Frankly, I've missed the writing and the visiting and you, my bloggy friends. Part of my focus for this year (I hesitate to say "resolutions") is to spend less time on the things that matter less, and more time on the things that matter more. And so, here I am again.

Since I last wrote in any detail, I said goodbye to a sweet companion of 17 years. The Princess was devoted to me from day one, when she stole my heart as a tiny, wild kitten with a broken leg. One of my favorite memories of her is that on cold nights she used to sleep on my head.  It was like wearing a warm, fuzzy, vibrating hat, and thoroughly cozy for both of us. Our last years were particularly good ones; she enjoyed becoming an only cat and having all my attention.  I miss her every day.

I also moved into a new neighborhood, much nearer to the man in my life and in the midst of an artsy and historic small town that is doing its best to keep its main street character intact. I'm renting a house I would love to buy and enjoying its 1930's character and quirkiness.

I used the opportunity of moving to organize my bookshelves by color. The finished shelves, decked out for Christmas, turned out nicely! (This is most but not all of the books. Very deficient in purple, for some reason.) But it was terribly difficult to find things as quickly as I wanted.  I am about halfway through organizing them back into subject areas.  

The house that led me on such a wild chase this summer has been purchased and is being renovated. I imagine it will become a rental and I am still keeping an eye on it. I'm no longer interested, but I still like seeing how it is doing, now and again.     

I have been to some lovely places, made some wonderful new friends, heard some great music, and seen some fantastic art.

One of my law professors used to talk about how juries award damages to injured people by assigning a monetary amount to each year affected.  It's a flawed method, and he used to highlight the flaws by asking, "Aren't some years better than others?"

I can confidently say that yes, some years are indeed better than others, and overall, 2012 was one of the very best. Perhaps 2013 will be one of the best, as well. 

Over the Edge

I was the shuttle transport for a group canoe trip recently. The launch point was the back parking lot of a major office complex. Because when you drop over the curb and down the slope, here's where you are:

Pretty amazing, isn't it? About 15 steps take you through a magic journey from pavement and parking stops to green leaves and clear water.

The water is so clear that it's hard to tell, but this really is deep enough to float a canoe.

Okay, so I got a little carried away with the lichens down there.

What are these pink-rimmed ones called? I have so much to learn.

At the take out point, there were several special sights. Remember how I said that I'd heard that burning a well-dried Christmas tree produces a dramatic torch effect? Now we all know what that looks like. And this is in the daytime.

After that display, we went to see The Colonel.

The Colonel is a cypress who lives in a very beautiful ancient-feeling forest on private property that is now held in trust.

The Colonel is massive.

You might look a little weathered, too, if you were 2,000 years old.

Pause for a moment and think about what "2,000 years old" means.

Confidential to Me

One facet of this blog is its role as a diary, one of the places I write down things I want to remember. Many times I've looked back through old entries and been reminded of things I'd forgotten (most recently: the clever remark made by the airport shuttle driver in New Orleans).

Apropos of that, here are a few things I want to remember, even though they didn't fit into my previous posts about New Year's:

Host, calling out to his wife, as guests arrive: K., B.'s here with a beautiful woman!

Later, while kayaking:

Q (with extreme tact): How much paddling have you done?
A: Um, this is the most, right now.

And also:

Q: I can't see him anymore. I think he's turned off his light.
A: Well, that wouldn't surprise me.
Q: Oh, so you've known him long enough to know that?
A: Yeah -- but that only takes about 15 minutes.

Other little bits of the weekend:

A celebratory kiss in the car at the end of the journey. Loading kayaks in the dark when your fingers are numb is exhilarating!

The tone of awe folks used to describe a previous bonfire that included the Christmas tree. Apparently a well-dried Christmas tree produces a dramatic torch effect. You either move your plastic chair well away from the fire or risk melting it.

The fleeting deliciousness of wedding-cake flavored vodka -- palatable in tiny quantities only.

Cinnamon raisin bread, homemade by a good ol' boy from his mama's recipe, hand delivered on a holiday visit, slightly warmed with butter or cream cheese, shared with affection, consumed with reverence, and delicious enough to make the heavens open and the angels sing.

It's a Watery World

Lest you think the moonlight paddle was all romance, there was plenty of reality, too. For example . . .

At one point, logistics required us to catch a ride in a pickup truck. For some reason I decided it would be a good idea to ride in the bed. It was only when we were zooming down the highway that I realized what a poor decision that was. Of course, nothing bad happened (praise be!). And next time someone asks me what's the most dangerous and/or stupid thing I've done lately, I've got my answer ready.

I got pretty much soaked during the paddle, due to poor paddle technique. The temperature was in the 50s and I felt nicely warmed while on the river. By the time the bonfire portion of the evening arrived, though, I could hardly stand close enough to the fire. Eventually I noticed that I was producing my own fog -- my wet clothes were actually steaming as they dried!

We returned to civilization just in time for a midnight supper and to watch Lady Gaga drop the ball on Times Square, followed by a long, wide-ranging talk out in the garden. All in all, 2011 ended and 2012 began in a perfect equilibrium of active and quiet, social and solitary, wild and cultivated.

On New Year's Day I still felt like being outside, so I explored some new territory. There is a wetlands side to that lovely reserve along the St. Johns River (photos here and here), but I hadn't seen it. It seemed like a good match for the new year.

Apparently I was the only person who felt like a walk so early. I had the place to myself, and it was worth the small effort.

When you walk through here

you reach all this

While the other side feels very old, on this side it is easy to imagine you are the first person ever to see it. Perhaps it's because the floodplain is just that, and everything there gets periodically immersed and reborn by the lake's waters.

The grasses grow thickly and are matted flat from the water. They feel slightly spongy to walk on, even though it's dry there now. It's a good clean place to be on the first day of a clean new year.

On your way back, if you happen to look up, you might see

Anybody home? Yes, there is! Two anybodys, in fact.

Good thing I had my camera this time. I didn't even see the second bald eagle until I looked at the photos.