Dan Remembers to Say Thank you

When I advised students at the University of New England who couldn’t wait to be done with college, I would crack, “Being an adult isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”  My point was to enjoy college life for all its worth.  The work-a-day world will always be there.

That said, I can’t say my College of Wooster (Ohio) college years were my best.  I thank my lucky stars that I did meet my wife-to-be Hannah there.   I was a suburban kid, growing up in Fair Lawn, NJ, just outside of Manhattan, NY.   For K-12, I went to Fair Lawn schools and grew up with the same kids.  Why, on my little cul-de-sac street of 16 houses, I must have had ten kids in my grade alone to play with.  We were the future boomers.   I didn’t realize until I went off to college there was a down-side to this existence. 

When I got to college, it was readily apparent that I didn’t know how to make friends.  I didn’t know how to initiate, to take the first step.  I had some dorm friends; I played on the tennis team.  But for the most part of college in the cold, dark, and often rainy part of northeast Ohio, I felt at loose ends when I wasn’t with Hannah.

What was a bright spot in a up and down college career in Ohio were my Uncle Bill and Aunt Carolyn who lived in Toledo, some 125 miles from Wooster.  In the late 1960s, no one had cars so I would hitchhike to their place in northwestern Ohio for the weekend, often with my brother.  We made a sign for our hitchhiking that said, “It’s Mom’s birthday.”  Who could resist such a sign?  Fact is, it was a winner every time.  Truth be told it was never her birthday, but it did get people to stop.  To be technically correct, we had written May 2 in small print.   When we fessed up, the ones who picked us up always said, “I knew that.  I just picked you up anyway.”

Three hours of hitchhiking later we were in Toledo.  At the time, I never thought much about the dangers of hitchhiking.  I was with my younger, but bigger brother Richard.  It wasn’t until I was hitchhiking the West that its perils became apparent to me.  Once hitchhiking south in southern Idaho I was picked up one early Sunday morning by two cowboys who had been drinking all night.  Once I realized this fact, I tried to talk myself out of their vehicle as soon as possible.  They’d have nothing of it.  They couldn’t do enough for me.  No, no.  We’ll take you all the way to Utah!  Another time, when the guys who picked me up learned I had no money they kicked me out of the car in the desert north of Tucson, Arizona.  And then for good measure came back and egged me. 

Bill and Carolyn’s home was a haven.  There were always snacks and pizza for dinners.  This was before the time of designer college cafeterias that put Panera’s or Starbucks to shame.  My college food was institutional and sorry.  Bill has the gift of gab and Carolyn is the steady strength of the family.  After dinner, we’d play cards.  Oh Hell was a favorite game.  It’s similar to Mormon Bridge and one I’ll teach you when we next get together.  We played Michigan rummy.  We laughed and before we knew it was after midnight.  Eating, watching the games on TV, and playing cards happened all weekend.  It was a getaway when getting away from campus was what my lonely soul needed.

As I look back at it, I don’t remember thanking them in writing or with a call after all their kindnesses.  I knew enough to thank them as we left their house, but I have no recollection of following up with a written note.  Ah, the follies and lapses of youth.  Please forgive the youth in your life who are still learning their social graces.  Teach them for it’s not always so obvious.  They are works-in-progress.

So when my brother Richard proposed taking our Mom, now 90, to see her brother (Bill) and his wife (Carolyn) in Lancaster, PA, I jumped at the chance.  I’d seen my uncle and aunt (pronounced ahnt here in New England) at family gatherings, but it could be years between visits.  Now retired, it is easy for me to clear up my schedule. 

Though a three hour drive to Lancaster from northern Jersey where our Mom lives, we filled the 150 miles with reminiscing about Bill and Carolyn, checking in with each other on how we were doing with our Dad’s death the previous May, learning that each of us has a child who is expecting this summer (our Molly is due in July!), and talking health issues (colonoscopy talk is just endemic to our generation!). 

Carolyn and Bill looked terrific, maybe moving just a little bit slower.  They passed around the jelly beans and pretzels and welcomed us back into their lives.  We settled into a nice groove of old friends.  We lunched at the all-you-can-eat buffet at Willow Tree Restaurant and just fell into a comfortable catch-up after all these years.  I talked to Bill about his writing process, he being an Episcopal minister, who was preparing a homily for a Monday funeral.  Sports is always front and center with Bill and me.

Hugging them good-bye, our Mom, Richard, and I just beamed the whole way home.  This visit will be a memory for a lifetime.  Mom was thrilled to see her little brother as were my brother and I to be in the presence of three elders who have supported us in becoming who we are.

Oh, and I did write them a note, but today’s posting is my more elaborate thank you to Carolyn and Bill for all the ones I missed writing in the past.  

Hannah and Dan Bike the Legacy Trail from Venice to Sarasota, Florida

The traffic in Florida is going to get us.  I don’t mean literally.  I mean in a metaphoric psycho-drama of frustration sense.  Driving north from Sanibel to Venice, we get snarled in Fort Myers uber-traffic.  My love with our GPS is waning.  Clare (the Australian giving the directions on our GPS) takes us through neighborhoods and then wants us to go 18 miles on traffic-filled Route 41, home to Pizza Huts, Shell Stations, and Subways, when the I-75 freeway is just five miles away.  In the future I’ll be two timing our GPS with Rand McNally.

What makes for successful, happy people?  I think persistence and resilience are two such characteristics.  I married a woman who has them in spades.  Midday, with temperatures easily in the upper 70s already on this mid-January day, we are in Venice, Florida on the Gulf of Mexico seeking a place to rent bikes.   Our first effort looking for Beach and Bikes takes us to a neighborhood and it seems like Clare (said Australian GPS Woman) is messing with us again.  Unbelieving that we should be in a neighborhood of homes, we stop at a convenience store, get their phone number, and talk to the owner who says he only delivers bikes to hotels.  That explains the home address.  We give Clare a pass.  He does direct us to Beach, Bikes, and Trikes but only with the vaguest of directions. 

Parking in downtown Venice, we stop at a beauty salon for directions.  Less resilient and persistent than Hannah, I suggest that we could walk the beach in Venice for an hour or two to get our exercise rather than aimlessly search for a phantom bike rental place.  Hannah will not be deterred.

Hannah has read about the Legacy Trail, a trail created by Rails to Trails that goes ten miles north from Venice to Sarasota, Florida.  Determined to make this afternoon an event, not just us filling the time walking the mushy sand of Venice Beach, Hannah remains focused.  We eventually find Beach, Bikes, and Trikes and learn that they only rent by the day and it’s $28 per day.  Too rich for our blood.  We just want 3-4 hours of exercise. 

They do say that back in town is Beach Destinations, so Hannah has us press on.  Parking in the downtown we give it one last chance and hit pay dirt.  Brian has two classic Huffy one-speeds for us to rent for the afternoon for $8 each. 

Huffy bikes 

Crossing the bridge from the Island (downtown Venice) to the mainland, we take the Legacy Trail at the Venice Train Depot.  True to what you’d think of as a rails-to­-trails trail, the path is straight as the cliché arrow and flat as a Florida landscape.  This straight shot ten miles north begins in the wealthy bay areas of Venice and travels through Florida scrub land of pines and small palms. 

Every few miles there are benches for sitting and relaxing.  Crossing a few main streets, we notice one that has a traffic light specifically for bicyclists. 

Over ten miles, we don’t cross more than three or four streets.  It can be a bit monotonous but it does take us away from the busy streets, traffic lights, and the rush of vacationing snowbirds. 

Reaching the turn around, we settle in on the benches for Clementines and baby carrots.  Warren (not his real name) with a husky voice, which he later tells me is because he had throat cancer, talks nonstop.  Word without end, Amen.  Soon I find a pause and just stand, give Hannah “the look” to put her socks and sneakers back on and save me.

One-speeds into the wind are an anaerobic exercise, a struggle, not an aerobic workout.  A ten miles trip that took 50 minutes with the wind takes nearly 60 minutes into the wind.  We’ve had our work out for the day and look forward to a final night in Florida ready to head for home in the morning, though snow is in the forecast for Maine. 

Ultimately in our quest to see if being snowbirds in Florida for two to three months in the winter is in the cards, we think not.  Yesterday’s relentless traffic was a sign that Florida is not for us.  Our inner voice speaks.  You two are country mice.  There is no small town New England here.  What were you thinking?  Stay where you are happiest.  Build your community in York.  Thirty years ago you left the hubbub and congestion of the Phoenix Metropolitan Area because of traffic and busy-ness.  Worked out pretty good, didn’t it?  There was a reason you ended up in small town America.  The upper 70s and sunny that you’ve had each of the past seven days is not enough.  Clearly, Florida is ideal for others, many others.  [Oh, you couldn’t resist one more shot, could you?]  It’s just not for you two.  

We all have to find our own way and ours is not in the Sunshine State.  

Dan and Hannah Bike Sanibel Island in Florida

If there is a more bike friendly island in Florida than Sanibel Island and its sister Captiva, we don’t know it.  Perched on the southwestern Gulf Coast off Fort Myers, Florida, Sanibel is the tranquil tropical garden spot of Florida.  For a mere $6, we take the causeway bridge from the mainland to tropical paradise. 

Causeway Bridge heading to the mainland from Sanibel

Some ten years ago, Hannah and I first came to Sanibel Island for the annual meeting of the American Reading Forum (ARF).  At the time, I was in an epic battle for promotion at Eastern Connecticut State University, my first fulltime university position, and then later for tenure at the University of New England, two division 3 schools where teaching was the primary focus.  But not so fast my friend.  Those of you thinking of a career in academia pause just a moment and hear me out.  Do you like to write for publication as well as teach?  Are you willing to be a graduate assistant as you bide your time for the big break into the ivory towers?  From my vantage point, academia advancement is a publish or perish proposition, make no mistake about it.  That said, teaching at the university was my dream job.  After twenty years in public schools, working with preservice teachers was the second entrée of my meal in education (I get the metaphor is a stretch, but you got to admit I’m trying [and not in the annoying sense, I hope]).  Throughout, my colleagues were supportive of my efforts to grab the brass ring of academia.  (Metaphor overdose alert)

While there, I learned that the American Reading Forum had an annual meeting, in of all places, Sanibel Island.  Presenting at ARF was win/win for me.  It was a warm winter place to take Hannah as well as a chance to build my vitae (academic resume).  Truth be told, I wasn’t what you’d call an academic’s academic.   I just wanted to teach.  But I did want a mini-career at the university in my 50s, so I paid my dues and wrote and presented.   Anyway, someone had to go to Sanibel in December!

In past trips to Sanibel Island, Hannah and I walked the beaches picking through millions of shells beneath our feet.  The warm Gulf water is home to manta rays, which we saw mere feet from the shore’s edge.  Morning walks on the Gulf-side beaches and seeing the sunset in the evenings over the water defined tropical paradise for us.  Soon our friends Rich and Mary, then later Steve and Amelia would join us for a few days in Sanibel.  One treat you must give yourself if you come is to breakfast at the Island Cow.  With these good Arizona State friends and wives, we had breakfast outside in January!  We have come to expect 70s and 80s every time we come to Sanibel Island, be it in December or January.  We have not been disappointed.

Today we cross the Causeway Bridge on to Sanibel Island and head for Billy’s Rentals  on Periwinkle Drive, the main drag.  For a modest $12 for four hours we rent six-speed bikes with fat tires and front baskets for our lunches.  Rarely do you see anyone wearing a helmet on the bicycle paths which are usually away from the traffic.  The bikes are slow going and made for exploring, not for aerobic exercise.  Most bikes have bells and riders are uniformly considerate.

In town, the 12 foot wide bike trails weave next to the main road and then head north where the bike path narrows on the Sanibel-Captiva Road towards the Ding Darling Natural Wildlife Preserve. 

Though those in cars are charged $5 to drive through the Darling Preserve, hikers and we bicyclists are charged a single greenback (i.e., a simoleon).  Alligators in the ditches by the parking lots and herons and egrets galore in the bays are all a part of the four mile one way roll through the park. 

Alas, the four mile road through the Preserve is less than friendly for bicyclists.  Its bumpy, gravelly texture makes for a jostling ride that makes us pine for the smoothness of the island bike paths.  Truth be told, we did some major bellyaching about the bumpy road and swore we would never bike it again.  Walk or go by car!

Back on the bike path which narrows to six feet across, we ride side by side for easy conversation.  In my quest to understand if a few months in Florida would be for us, I think about a young man I saw just playing guitar under a tree.  Fun fact.  I took up the guitar years ago, abandoned my pursuit within months, and stuck to playing the fitness game.  So activities that take time to learn and develop, such as improving one’s golf game or learning a new instrument, would be ideal for being in Florida.  I still wonder how I’d fill my time productively away down South.  Hanging out just isn’t enough.

As we head north into Captiva Island we ride in a 2-3 foot bike lane where the vehicle traffic is a pedestrian 25 mph or so.  Nothing says paradise like queen palms and the Queen Bee (Hannah B).

Captiva Hannah

Hakuna Matata means “no worries”

Our lunch of Spicy Italian (Hannah) and Tuna (Dan) Subway subs in a resort courtyard in front of the gated community’s barrier refuels us for the ten mile ride back to Billy’s - into the wind. 

Sanibel/Captiva is an escape from the North’s cold and the mainland’s traffic.  Later we cross back over the Sanibel Causeway Bridge, grit our teeth, and go one-on-one with the afternoon traffic.

It’s time to head for home in Maine.

Dan and Hannah Escape in Key West, Florida

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At the Key West Welcome Center just over the bridge into Key West on north Roosevelt Boulevard on this late Tuesday morning in mid-January, Larry, a burly American-African, greets us like family.  Having traveled nearly three hours on the mostly two lane roads of the Keys, we are looking for a room, quick and relatively inexpensive, so we can rent bikes for an afternoon of bicycling.  Alas, motel rooms are just more expensive in Key West than on the mainland.  Our usual $79 Days Inn room is $159 while next store at the Quality Inn a room is $149.   Just beyond is the Welcome Center where, with a wide smile, Larry, born and raised in Key West, says he’s got just the place for us.  He’s just so real that my doubting side doesn’t kick in.  We know the $129 at the Wicker Guesthouse is a good price for the area, especially being in the Old Town, where we learn we can park our car and don’t have to move it again on this boutique, island of merely 7+ square miles (roughly 4 miles by 1 ¾ miles).  We trust our instincts and jump at Larry’s suggestion. 

Driving into the downtown with lots of traffic, we arrive at the Wicker Guesthouse on Duval Street.  With our room not ready this late morning, we rent one-speed bikes for $15 for 24 hours right at the Wicker Guesthouse and settle into the car/bike roll and weave through the downtown. 

Flowing with the traffic to the Truman Waterfront with its insanely large cruise ships, we see tourists everywhere; but it’s not objectionable at all.  There’s a happy vibe of people enjoying the 75 degrees and, dare I say, escaping.

We continue our circumnavigation of the island by rolling past turn-of-the-century mansions, bungalows, many with only a place for a car and very little lawn.  Reaching out of the window of one house you could touch the house of your neighbor’s.  And talk about snug.  The crypts are literally on top of one other at the one city cemetery.  Speaking with a local gravedigger, we learn that the concrete crypts can be buried one below another as well as piled five high.  The limited real estate and the high water table are issues on this island where every inch of turf is put to productive use.

(The inscription reads, I told you I was sick.)

Once at the beach there is a wide sidewalk for bicyclists, walkers, and roller bladers.  We lollygag along and pedal down the White Street pier just because we feel like it.  We are so in vacation mode. 

 

Escapism at its finest.  BTW, if escaping is in your blood, consider picking up Quit Your Job And Move To Key West : The Complete Guide by David L. Sloan and Christopher Shultz.

 

Further down the wide ocean-side bike path, we spot this plaque below at the AIDS Memorial on the shorefront.  Tennyson captures the mood of the city and wisdom for us all.

Rounding the curve from South Roosevelt to North Roosevelt, there is the unromantic part of Key West common to most cities.  Burger King, Yamaha Ski-Dos and Wave Runners, Conch Republic Liquor, TGIFridays, Home Depots, and I Hop are all there.  Franchise America is never far away from even iconic cities like Key West.  Dinner for us comes from Publix, a local grocery store.  It’s a leafy green salad mixed with potato salad right from the deli.  We avoid the cliché, the island dressing. 

After three hours of biking, we return to our room at the Wicker Guesthouse, to read and write by the pool.   Wicker has a B and B feel.  Among the palms, hibiscus, frangipani, and passion flower sit 21 rooms in six restored houses with a feeling of tropical intimacy.  Each room has a deck just outside the door.

Later we sit by the heated pool with an evening Shiraz.  It's all good.

Later still we walk lively Duval Street to the same beach we biked to earlier in the day.  We pass a restaurant with no windows, just shutters for the inevitable rain storm. 

Prior to our complimentary poolside breakfast, we rise for 630A ride down an empty Duval Street the next morning.  Heading on the traffic-less street, we hear roosters in front yards and have this main drag to ourselves.  Panel vans selling food like hot dogs, fries, and Cokes just plant themselves by the sea wall.  Carts selling friendship bracelets, beach towels, and bottle cap necklaces sit on side streets ready to do business.    

Key West, like New Orleans and San Francisco is a don’t miss, bucket list city if you want to know America.  Here for twenty four hours, we have just scratched the surface of knowing this town of 24,000.  We’ve not found a winter home, but we have our number one place to escape to.   

Dan and Hannah travel the Keys to Key West, Florida

Driving to Key West!  Does it get any better for the traveling man?  I think not.

Heading south on Route One (the same Route One that lies within a mile of our house in Maine) through the everglades of southern Florida in mid-January, Hannah and I drive on an uncluttered four-lane highway with chain link barbed wire fences on either side of the highway.  Constructed to keep the gators and crocs from being roadkill and the traveling cars from a nasty speed bump, they bracket our drive to the southernmost part of the United States (further south than any part of Hawaii). 

As we approach Key Largo (97 miles east of Key West) on what is referred to as the Overseas Highway, the concrete barriers on the bridges are painted coral Florida blue, blending nicely with the surrounding marshlands.  Unfortunately, viewed from Route One, Key Largo is just another strip mall city USA.  Albeit, with a southern Florida feel.  We pass Phantom Fireworks, Shell World, Scuba Outlet¸ and Sandal Outlet, where one can get three tee-shirts for $10.  We see a Friday Nite Fish Fry, all you can eat, for $10.95.  Bait and tackle shops.  Do you know what tackle really is?  It is the equipment used when fishing.  Thank you, Dan, you must be thinking.

Dressed in tee shirts, shorts, and sandals, we totally forget the near zero temperatures in overnight Maine.  The Keys are just another world; a place to leave the world of work, day-to-day responsibilities, and the threat of snow behind.  We see boats for sale everywhere.  Seeing a sign to swim with the dolphins, we later pass a tanning salon.  Seriously?  Tanning salons in Florida!?

With 120 miles of sun-bleached road to Key West, which will take three hours today, we delve into the subject of how much to tip housekeepers at the motels where we stay.  Usually, I don’t think much about it, which I am well aware, is not impressive.  Early today Hannah saw an envelope left by the housekeeper for a tip.  I often think of tipping housekeepers as such an anonymous transaction - leaving a tip to someone you never see.  The maids come in at 9A and we are long since gone to our next stop.  Even so, I think tipping these housekeepers, who are often Hispanic or American-African women, says more about who I am than about them.  How do I acknowledge the plight of others clearly not as fortunate as myself with more than just words?  Do I appreciate and share my bounty?  What if I were the immigrant struggling to make ends meet in a foreign country?  What kindnesses would I appreciate?

It brings to mind the poem, Final Analysis, by Kent Keith. It begins with People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway… and ends with In the final analysis, it is between you and God.  It was never between you and them anyway.  (It’s a stunning, inspirational poem.  Click on the hyperlink above.)   We are blessed and are fortunate to share our largesse.  We quietly tip because we can, not because we must.

Along much of the highway south are bike paths, sometimes ten yards or more from the highway; at one time there was a railroad bridge from the mainland to Key West that operated from 1912 to 1935; sections of the old railroad bridges remain for bicyclists, fisher folk, and snowbirds walking.  Other times, bicyclists are no more than five feet away from cars bombing 60 mph to the land of Jim Buffett.  The highway is framed by deciduous trees which never lose their leaves.  Palms and Spanish moss give the area the feel of paradise.  I have a new appreciation of how vulnerable these islands are when the next hurricane comes.  Pelicans perch on the bridges as if in an island paradise painting. 

Taking over the driving south of Marathon (48 miles from Key West), I unfortunately will begin the Seven Mile Bridge.  

I’m not a big fan of high bridges, especially high ones with lots of water for miles and miles (acrophobia).  Though the speed limit is 55, I putter along at 45 with a death grip on the steering wheel; looking neither right nor left, fearing that doing so would cause the rental Chevy Aveo to veer over the side.  

Stealing a glance at our GPS, which counts down the miles to the next spit of land (the key), I feel a drop of sweat coming from my right arm pit.  Four miles to go!  With tunnel vision, I see the far side of the bridge and continue to say not a word to Hannah.   And them voila, I’m over the bridge on to dry land.  The Seven Mile Bridge (actually 6.79 miles) takes just eight minutes.  It seemed a lot longer. 

 

We cross into Key West and have the good fortune to run into Larry at the Visitor Center.  But that’s for the next posting.  (That’s what we call a tease in the business.)

Dan and Hannah Hike the Everglades National Park in Florida

Taking Route 41 south from the Naples area of southwest Florida, we head to the non-Florida part of Florida.  Billboards for airboat rides on the Tamiami Trail are ever-present.  We’re told you can get a 40 minute ride for $22 to see gators and crocs of the Everglades.  We pass.  To be clear, an everglade is a tract of low, swampy land, characterized by clumps of tall grass and numerous branching waterways.  The highway east is narrow with few businesses, fewer houses, and lots of scrub brush.  Signs to watch out for the Florida panther are about, but alas we never see one.  There is small town living.  Then there is being isolated.  Much of the past day we have traveled through very isolated territory, which is way too isolated for us.

On this 120 mile trip to Florida City, the gateway to the Everglades National Park and the Keys, it seems like a place to come if you never want to see snow and cold freezing temperatures again.  Ever!  Along the narrow two lane highway, we see some bicyclists pedaling their recumbents.   If there is a more boring, long distance way to get exercise, I don’t know what it is.  There are no paved shoulders and cars roar by at 60+ miles per hour.  That’s supposed to be a good time?  Such long distance biking again reminds me of why hiking the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine has no appeal for me.  Basically the same trail day after day.  The trees begin to look the same.  The leaves on the path look the same. 

Soon we arrive in the outskirts of Miami, but never hit the city traffic of that coastal city.  Horse and cattle farms and the fields that provide our dinner tables with strawberries, peppers, tomatoes, onions and watermelons bracket the road.

So we ask ourselves again as we grapple with whether to leave the cold of Maine for a few months in winter, what do snowbirds do who come to Florida?  If you like to fish, play tennis, or golf, this is your place.  If you like to walk in the fresh air and not at a gym, Florida is worth considering.   We are starting to get the idea that looking for small town Maine here in Florida is a quixotic quest. 

Just 12 miles from the Comfort Inns, Wendy’s, and Applebee’s here in this touristy part of Florida City is the entrance to the Everglades National Park.  

Arriving at the Visitor Center in the early afternoon after our drive, we are greeted by a typically helpful ranger who suggests a hike at Long Pine Key Campground just six miles from the entrance.   

Average temperatures in winter here are a high of 77°F with a low of 53°F.  Summers are hot and humid, with temperatures around 90°F and humidity over 90%.   Afternoon thunderstorms are common and mosquitoes are abundant.  We would never see a mosquito this January day.

With ample parking, we exchange our sandals (remember this is January!) for double socks and hiking boots.  We learn the highest point in the park is 3 feet above sea level.  As with so much of Florida our hike today will be level which allows us to catch an easy hiking/talking rhythm.  Some may say it’s boring, but hiking in 70 degrees is never a bad thing. 

As with much of our conversation this week, we fall into talking about retirement.   I’m nearing the end of the first year of my retirement.   Hannah wonders what the future is for her.  How long do you continue to do something just because you are good at it?  Gay Hendricks in The Big Leap writes about the Zones we inhabit when we make the work choices we do.   I believe Hannah is in the Zone of Excellence, where you do your job well and not many people can do it as well as you.  A higher zone is the Zone of Genius (I’ve renamed it the Zone of Passion, though Mr. Hendricks doesn’t know that.)  In the Zone of Passion, you have a job that you are excited to go to the minute you wake up.  An important distinction between these two preferred zones is that in the Zone of Excellence you are feeding others and in the Zone of Passion you are also feeding yourself.   If you can afford to retire, is it time to retire?  We have three hours of hiking and Hannah and I delve deeper into the subject.

The trail weaves through a grassland savanna that the Lion King would feel at home at.  The dirt trail covered with pine needles upon what appears to be worn inland coral rock is easy on the feet.  The trail winds its way through a sparse forest of long pines, short saw palmettos, and grasses.   

Occasionally we hear a bird, but animals of the savanna are not apparent.   We hike 90 minutes out and return by the same 90 minute route to get our three hour hiking fix.  Often, this trail is used by mountain bikes; four times per week, rangers lead a supervised ride along this trail.  The Everglades National Park has been a park only since 1947; prior to that, commercial interests heavily logged this area.  None of the pines that we see is more than 8-10 inches in diameter.    

At our turn around point, Hannah takes off her shoes and socks and I peel an orange while we share dried apple slices from our dear friend Nancy.  It feels like we are on a safari.  The location is a getaway jewel, if getaway is what you seek.  It’s an oasis getaway in a state where people abound.  But I gotta say the lack of elevation on this trail makes it more tedious than adventurous.

An easy 20 minute ride back to the Comfort Inn returns us to the comforts of civilization.  In mid-January we’ll sit comfortably by the pool in the low 70s and toast the sunset.  Alas, we’ve not found a home in this part of the state.

Dan and Hannah hike Lovers Key on the Gulf Coast of Florida

To be a snowbird or not to be a snowbird?   That is the question.  Do we take a two or three month bite out of Maine winters and spend the time in Florida or do we hunker down for the winter in Maine?

Flying from Boston to Fort Myers in mid-January, Hannah and I have scheduled a week in Florida to see if being snowbirds is in our future.  It’s nearly guaranteed that the weather in Southwest Florida will be in 70s and 80s all winter long.  Fact is, I also want small town New England in Florida but just warmer.  I want a place without the traffic and congestion, which is what so much of Florida seems like to me.  We may have a problem, Houston.  We don’t lie in the sun, shop, or eat out much.  We hike and bike.   As readers of this blog know, we are drawn to the Rocky Mountain West; either north to Wyoming and Montana or south to northern Arizona and southern Utah, with their open spaces, small towns, and slower pace.  We’d like a two bedroom condo so our kids, other family, and friends might stay with us for up to a week at a time.

After our motel breakfast on our first morning in Naples on the Gulf of Mexico, we drive 26 miles north on I-75 to the Bonita Springs exit and weave our way through city streets to Lovers Key in Fort Myers Beach.  For $8, we support the Florida State Park System and have found us a hideaway from vehicles of all sizes.  In the early 1900s these islands were only reached by boat, and the lore is that only lovers would make the effort to make it to this romantic island.

At the ranger station we are given trail maps and a guide to the shells on this Gulf of Mexico beach.  On the Black Island Trail, we first pass by Butterfly Garden before heading onto the mangrove forest.  Black Island was named after Black Augustus, a pirate who made the island his home.  We walk on this mid-January morning as if we are in a private park.  The sometimes sunny, sometimes shady trails are sandy and easy on the feet.  It’s easy to catch a hiking rhythm on this trail.  Let me say that hiking boots make for a pleasant hike on these trails, far better than sneakers would.  It is a 2.6 mile hiking trail, ideal for people who do not think of themselves as hikers.  Florida is flat, and then flat some more; they’ll have hell to pay as global warming becomes a reality. 

The trail is well-marked and filled with descriptive signs describing the f and f (flora and fauna).   Therein lays some cause for mild D and H divergence.  There are hikers whose predominant purpose is to get exercise and then there are hikers who like to learn a thing or two when they can.  Have you guessed that I’m the former and Hannah is the later?  I am just into keeping a good hiking rhythm going.  (One major concern with me ever hiking the entire Appalachian Trail is that I’d be hell-bent on bagging miles (i.e., focused on hiking many miles each day) and would miss the full the smell-the-roses experience of the blue blaze side trips off the main trail to fully engage in the trail towns and with the townsfolk.)  Hannah and I make it work as I mosey around without tapping my foot, whether figuratively or literally, and Hannah doesn’t linger forever at each sign.  The signs talk about snowy egrets, anhingas, and Virginia creepers.  (Ask Hannah.)  Bike tracks are evident on the sandy trail, but this Sunday morning we do not seen even one bicyclist.  Trash is nowhere to be found.

On this day of 75 degrees we learn from our son Will it’s less than 10 degrees in Maine at noon as we pick up his cell call.  Warm is a major vote for Florida in the winter, I can’t deny it.  From the parking lot at Lovers Key we take two walking bridges to the beach through the sanctuary of tropical birds and animals.  

We walk near the shore which is not too steeply sloped to the water along this 2.5 mile beach.  Shells abound including ones with live animals in small conch shells.  A little blue heron stands by a fishing pole waiting for the leftovers from the fisherman.  

Starfish and sand dollars abouund. 

We have found a haven, an oasis, an escape from the Florida traffic and congestion.  As we finish our two hours of beach walking, a couple sitting on the limbs of a sun-bleached, long since dead tree says to us that they have knee envy.  Their knees hurt while we just carry on.   We are lucky to have such knees.  Thanks Mom. Thanks Dad.

An hour on the Black Island trail and two hours walking the beach of the Gulf Coast makes for two happy campers.   Florida?   Maybe.  It’s warm indeed while Maine is muy frio.  Still we wonder what we’d do.  It’s got to include exercise in a big way.  It’s got to be about having a small town feel.  We are country mice.  

We have a week to find out if Florida is our cheese.