Naples, FL-Marathon, FL 11/9 183 driving miles; 7.8 walking miles

We had a nice cup of ambition at the downtown Starbucks in Naples, a quite lovely place, even if a bit too stylish for our tastes. After a fairly medium breakfast, we made our way down Aligator Alley (Highway 41) toward the keys. Notable was the absence of aligators, but the vast swamp land of the Everglades promised that "them 'gators" are out there. Just as notable were the miles and miles of bird egg blue concrete barriers along side the road and median. Only in Florida, I guess. We scouted a couple of possibilities for our boat ride in the swamp on our way back from the keys, and generally enjoyed dipping our toes in the keys. We're staying two nights in Marathon, using it as our base to tour Key West tomorrow. In the morning, we'll travel the 55 miles to "the end of the road" and spend the day there. It remains to be seen if we'll like it enough to rent a room there. Ed has done his usual superior job of arranging our accommodations. Tonight's suite at the KingsSail Resort is really quite charming. We could cook in the full kitchen if we chose to. The pool is very nice, and the back dock, which is an entrance to the gulf is a very nice refuge. This evening, Ed spent time reading the paper while I cooled off with a dip in the clean, cool water. We were directed to a very nice bayside "tiki" restaurant by a local lady we met at the T- shirt shop. Ed wanted the "best" Key Lime pie in Marathon. It turned out our plates of Mahi Mahi were excellent, too. After eating, (We both ate too many of the delicious hand cut fries), we decided to get in a few steps. I was on a mission to get a manicure while Ed felt the need to walk off the meal. He still wouldn't cross the manicure street ( Too girly), so while I had my nails done, he walked back. The Cuban girl (Leidy Laura Alfonso) who did my nails is the "best" human of the day. She has been in America for six years, has a three year old boy, a hard working husband, and her sister and parents are here as well. She is exactly what America promises. She came, went to cosmetology school, and is now working hard to improve her life. I asked her what she liked about America. Her reply, "Everything". I can tell you one thing. Her English is far better than my Spanish, especially my "Cuban" Spanish. I've been reading a book called Dixie Be Damned, which is about labor revolts in the South, both of slaves and poor white mill workers. I've just finished the story about the revolts in textile mills in Appalachia which was a response to the "mill town" enslavement during the depression. One sriker was quoted as saying, "Our choice was to starve and work, or to starve and starve." They chose to strike instead. When I see a young mother like Leidy who is trying to do the best she can for her family. Who am I to refuse her the opportunity? I, for one, can't think in terms of building walls. I think bridges would be better. But guess what, they're not asking me. I'd wager that Leidy agrees with me, though, that life is good, especially today.

Naples, a very pleasant place, is coated in soft pastels.

Our first look at a "key" beach.

Moms applying sun screen.

Vistas.

Selfie of the day: Palm Timmy.

Gulf toes.

Good spot!

Good food.

Leidy Laura Alfonso.

Eduardo lounging like he likes to do.

The pool.

 Last picture of the day.

One road in.

One road out. Tomorrow we head for the setting sun. 41 bridges, one stretch is seven miles long. Can't wait. ( I hope I haven't built this place up too much, you know, like that Christmas present that doesn't hold up). We'll see.

Bartow, FL-Naples, FL 11/8 130 driving miles; 8 walking miles

Sometimes the news is so slow, you just have to make stuff up, but just like the Republicans in the race for the President, the reality is harder to believe than the fiction. The reality is David and Donna ushered us out the door today like poor, ignorant white trash after Ed threw his tantrum. It all started when Donna wouldn't turn the TV to the NASCAR station. She said the incessant roar disturbed her meditation. Ed went into a myopic rant, yelling, "But Donna, it's all about me!" The next thing I IMAGINE, Ed and Donna transcended into a massive power struggle, reminiscent, I suppose, of the illusory Mission days. Behaving just like a brother and sister arguing about how long a shower actually should be, they started to rumble like an approaching gulf storm. David and I, who were out in the studio painting at the time, heard the rumble, but we thought it was a late afternoon squall. Then Crack! Boom! Suddenly, the futon came flying out the porch slider like a flabby cotton frisbie. There was wailing, a strong rush of wind, and simultaneously the skies opened up with lightning and rain, or so we thought. David and I rushed back into the house, wet acrylic paint dripping from our smocks only to find the futon frame shattered, Donna brandishing a kitchen knife, jabbering Sicilian expletives at Ed who held the cat in one hand and a chair in the other. He was babbling incoherently, "Really, Donna, it's all about me!" To that she flicked her nose with one finger, and threw the knife at him like Jim Bowie. Luckily for Ed, the knife impaled itself in the underside of the chair, and even luckier for Ed, David used his considerable skill as a therapist to calm his wife's ire. He asked, "Sweetie, what do you hope to gain from this behavior?" She mumbled a bunch of words I didn't understand, but suddenly slumped onto one of the kitchen stools. David turned his attention  to Ed who stood in a daze, chanting, " Me, Me, Me." David calmy said, "Ed, give me the cat, put the chair down and sit in it." Like a patient in a hypnotic trance, Ed did just as he was told. David's ability was magical. In two deft movements, he killed the monstrous anger that had overtaken the two former JVC volunteers. It was really impressive, maybe more impressive than Bill Clinton's record as President. I don't really know what happened between Donna and Ed, or which old Mission memory set them off, but without David, I believe the coroner may have been called. What I do know is that carnage lay in its wake: a ruined futon, a traumatized cat, and a stabbed chair. What I also know is that this morning Donna and David kicked us out of their home like Northern white trash right after they made us coffee, cooked us breakfast, took us on a nature walk, and fixed us a lunch to go. I mean really, it's no fantasy. Life IS good, especially today.

Was it something he said?

The storm begins

Perhaps, the final straw.

Inexplicable.

Art shot of day: The artist as mediator.

St. Augustine, FL-Bartow, FL 11/7 181 driving miles; 7.6 walking

We met two lovely examples of "best" humans straight away this morning. They were the barristas working  at Kookaberra's. They were lovely in part because both were from Washington State. Michelle is from Kennewick and Cheyenne is from Prescott, which for the geographically challenged is a few miles Northwest of Waitsburg. They were also very cordial, sweet one would say. After coffee, we ate a medium tourist breakfast at a busy little thirty seat cafe on the water front. And then we walked the one historic district in town we hadn't visited yesterday: Nice colonial homes, a historic military base, and some exquisite old trees. We finished our tour of St. Augustine with a tour of the famous fort, Castillo de San Marcos, a stone and tabby structure with four diamond shape corners, walls thirty feet high and sixteen feet thick surrounded by what looks like a former moat. The highlight of our fort visit was the cannon shooting demonstration. Lots of regimen, cool, authentic uniforms, and two loud boom booms to finish. Living history at its most impressive. Then we ran the three hour gaunlet down five lane wide I-95 to Daytona and across I-4 through Orlando. I didn't have time to see Mickey, dueling as I was with the "big dogs", but we made it without incident to David and Donna Kent's house in Bartow. Donna killed the fatted calf, which David then barbecued, so naturally we dined heartily on another portion of thin gruel. As has become consistent with this family of "JVC (Jesuit Volunteer Core)", these two are as gracious as can be, even though David married into the "family". After dinner, Ed and Donna slipped right back into good old Mission days talk, while David and I talked pets, baseball, politics, psychology, socialism, and other what naughts. I was in heaven, loving a good jibber jabber session as I do. Essentially, life is good, especially today.

Cheyenne and Michelle.

150 cannon of various sizes provided what they called an interlocking field of fire, which made the fort impregnable.

 Prepare to fire. The hat covers the flame so the wind doesn't blow it out.

The cannons of old fired a variety of projectiles.

The cannon crew retiring from action.

The fort remains protected for another day.

Selfie of the day: Castillo de San Marcos behind.

Donna's welcome sign.

Donna, just as she was in her JVC days.

David, posing in front of his latest painting.

The Kent home as taken from lawn chairs while we noshed on shrimp before the BBQ.

The thin gruel (Feast): Steak, Chicken, Salmon, Baked Potato, Mixed vegetables, and sweet treats. Life is truly a trial-get that tongue out of your cheek!

My portion. Life is good.

Art shot of the day: Give thanks.

St. Augustine 11/6 0 driving miles; 20 walking miles

Sunny skies, light breeze, and the might as well like it ooze os sweat pressing from every available pore, the eighty-four degree temperature made for workout walking conditions, and we made the most of it. Founded in 1565, St. Augustine lays claim as the oldest currently occupied city. We covered most of it. The city wears its charm in an understated, but charming way. While clearly geared to shake tourists free of their dubloons, sheckles, greenbacks, and silver, the city has retained just enough historical authenticity to make it worthy of a visit. Home to Flagler College, a private (2,500) school whose central building is the Incredibly grand. In fact, the mind bogglingly ornate Ponce de Leon Hotel, which is now a multipurpose structure that entertains tourists, feeds students, and serves as the primary female residence hall, is just jaw dropping. St, Augustine also boasts a magnicent water way and has easy access to the Atlantic. Even though I'm not really the tourist type, I'm findingthe place pleasant. Mostly, it was a great place to get steps, especially considering the distances we drove yesterday and the long haul we'll make tomorrow. We encountered two "best" humans today. Daniel was fishing for flounder on the dock below the St Augustine light house.He was  a little reticent at first,and didn't quite roll his eyes when I asked him if both sides of the dock was salt water (I thought it might be a two-way like up in Brunswick). Once his eyes made it back down into his sockets, he warmed up a bit, answering my questions about fish types, bait, and what not. I even got a giggle out of him at the end. The second human, Melena, was this darling girl who was working in a salon/spa. I had passed the place earlier while Ed was taking his siesta. I noticed then the hand painted message on the window: "I will always be cruelty free". I love the sentiment, even though I have to amend it for myself and say ...from now on. On the way to dinner, I stopped in the salon and asked Malena is she was responsible. She said, "Yes", which of course, confirmed that life is good, especially today.

Art shot of the day.

Hot Rod of the day. Very rare!

Ponce de Leon Hotel.

The foyer ceiling. My goodness!

The pirates have landed.

Daniel.

Malena.

What if we all practiced this, you know, like a religion?

Last night in St Augustine meant I had to risk a slip down the slippery slope and sip a Sangria, the town specialty. Worry not, the fruit wilk be sweat restorative and will most assuredly prevent scurvy

Brunswick,GA-St. Augustine, FL 11/4 263 driving miles; 8.7 walking miles

More grey drizzle and disappointment greeted us this morning as the eighty mile round grip to the Gulah site proved fruitless. Closed again. No matter. We squeezed the lemons into lemonade and headed straight away to the Okefenokee Swamp.  Almost immediately, the skies cleared, the temperature soared, and the liquid air began softening my skin. We toured a turn of the century homestead where three generations of Chessers lived before the family sold the sixty-five acre farm to the refuge. We walked the island's eerily cool boardwalk, which suspends pedestrians safely above the mirky water which houses a myriad of mythically scary creatures ranging from aligators to water moccasins. At one point, we saw the slippery black hump of some slithering creature sliding silently into the darkness beneath the boardwalk. My childish fears imagined a poisonous tongue slipping up through the cracks. Even the rustling leaves played tricks with my mind (I'm really just a chicken-livered city slicker, truth be told). Glad I was I wasn't trudging through the marsh submerged to my chest, or worse. At the end of the  boardwalk, we shared the sixty foot viewing tower with several slender lizards not more than eight inches long. One little guy even tried to hide in plain sight as I snapped its picture. Sweating like fat men chasing a bus, we returned to the car where we exchanged the swampy backroads of Georgia for the five lane freeway traffic of I-295, battling metal behemoths, humpbacked beetles, smart cars, mid-sized sedans, and motorcycles for time and space on our way South. Thankfully, we made it to St. Augustine without incident, checked in, and made our way to the historic old town on foot. Though warm, the evening was pleasant, the city interesting, and we both look forward to more exploration tomorrow. On the way back to the hotel, we met our "best" humans of the day. Believe it or not, it was the infamous pirate, Blackbeard (Daryl) and his friend, a lovely blond wench (Debra). Blackbeard brandished his saber and the wench wielded her flint lock pistol, but we quickly surrendered to their gracious acceptance. In truth, Daryl and Debra are in  St. Augustine for pirate's weekend. There are three days of revelry planned including a parade, a sail around the bay, and, of course, a large number of buccaneers roaming the inns, taverns, and eateries, all in search of skullduggery, crimes, and misdemeanors. Daryl, who is active Army, and his girl friend, Debra, live in St. Petersburg. They say that now that they don't care what people think (Debra says she never did), they enjoy events where they "costume" up. Daryl showed me a picture of him running in a 10K event in Washington D.C. dressed as Batman. Clearly, they like to have fun! I enjoyed talking with them, and as a bonus, Daryl gave me the name of three places to eat in Key West. He pegged me for an "off the beat and track foodie". He said he could smell it. Once again, I'm impressed and amazed. It seems everywhere we go, we meet great humans living the dream, proving over and over again (Thank you for your service, Daryl) what a great place America is. Naturally, this leads me to the conclusion that life is good, especially today, so Carpe Diem, you mottle-necked scurvy dogs! Or if that's too harsh: Sieze the day, you anchor clanking, porthole peeping, deck swabbing oyster eyed individuals. And if that's still too much: just be grateful.

We didn't have time for the ninety minute boat ride, but there's 'gators out there, baby.

The Chesser homestead. 65 self-sufficient acres. No plumbing. No electricity. Ten kids. Wow!

 Before this kitchen was added, there was a cookhouse out back.

Bedrooms were added as kids arrived.

The boys bathed in the sink, but Mom Chesser built this "private" bath for her daughter.

Art shot of the day: Who knows what lurks beneath?

Chesser Island is 600 acres in total. This photo belies the mushy marsh below.

Ed, scouting for 'gators.

This little guy was trying to hide in plain sight.

Selfie of the day: Swamp Fox.

Ponce de Leon landed in 1513.

The pirates have landed: hear them roar.

Blackbeard (Daryl), Ed, The Wench (Debra). Aaargh!