St. George Island, Fla.

St. George Island has become a special place for my family. Starting in 2005 we have now spent week-long vacations on three different years, with ’06 and ’11 topping it off. It isn’t often that my immediate family, along with that of my brother and my parents get to spend a week together.

In ’05 we arrived a week after Hurricane Dennis hit the island. We drove over the bridge the first day it was open to non-owners, and we were greeted with lots of standing water, which remained in some portion the entire week. The water treatment plant was over run with the surge, and we could not get in the gulf until Thursday. Loads of sea worms (my best attempt at an official name) littered the beach, and generated quite a smell by mid week.

We got out in my dad’s pontoon boat during the week and after some fishing we headed over to Little St. George Island. Separated from the privately owned portion of the island in the 1950’s by a channel, or cut, to allow boats to enter the bay from the gulf, the only way to get to the island is by boat. As we beached on Little St. George at the cut, the beach was flat with hard ripples, and it almost felt like concrete. We walked to the wall of sand where the huge dunes started, and a whole sand dollar was embedded half way in the wall. It had been thrown into the wall so hard during the storm that as we tried to pry it out the sand dollar shattered.

One of my priorities on that trip was to see the lighthouse on Little St. George. It had been standing near the southernmost portion of the barrier island since 1852, and had originally been 500 yards from the water. Many years and numerous storms later, the natural movement of the barrier island had left the lighthouse in the water, with a precarious lean following Hurricane Opal in 1995. Through the efforts of grass roots efforts the lighthouse foundation was reinforced, but it fell in October 2005. Three months after I got one mile from seeing it.

We beached at the battered docks at the walking trail that led from the bay side across to the lighthouse in July 2005. The hurricane had blown the mosquitoes off the island ten days earlier, but the eggs had hatched. As I began my trek across the path and stepped into the black, murky wet trail, I was covered up. I ran my hands down my arm and shirt sleeve and left a black and red smear. I made it back to the boat after going forward about forty yards, and that’s the closest I ever got to the original location.

Fast forward to 2011. The lighthouse has been rebuilt on the main island using as much of the original structure as could be salvaged. It stands tall as you approach the island off the bridge. One more reason to visit beautiful St. George Island.

The St George Island State Park costs $6 per carload to enter, and the visitor is rewarded with miles of beach access, and the beauty of sand dunes that tower as high as twenty feet. This is how a barrier island looks when it isn’t built out.

The campground is large, and it was full during our July 2011 visit. A boat launch is available, and the eastern tip of the park is for foot and bike traffic only, along with a nature trail for hikers and photographers.

My brother and I rented two kayaks in the park, for $35 per day. Quite a bargain compared to other prices I saw online. We left the boat launch in the nine o’clock hour and we were greeted with a cool breeze and nice movement of the water. We split the day into two sessions, before and after lunch. I found out the hard way to wear shoes in Apalachicola Bay, in consideration of the oyster beds. Picture walking on glass; you get the idea. I stayed on the kayak after my first attempt to explore, unless we landed on a sandy beach. We saw eagle’s nests, lots of sea birds, blue crabs, conchs, and plenty of fish jumping out of the water. Rowing eastward, we ended up in a cove with high grass on either side, then it ended, and we headed back. After lunch we chose a different direction and we came across a large sand bar with a boat already anchored nearby. It was covered with shells, consisting mostly of oyster shells. All together we rowed around eight miles on a very satisfying day out.

Our return trip by boat to Little St. George was uneventful this time. My dad dropped me and my two teenage girls off at the cut and we proceeded to walk west around 2.5 miles each way. We had originally thought about taking the walk across the island that was interrupted in ’05, but we decided to not spend everyone’s time doing that. The others stayed close by to fish, while we walked the unspoiled beach and filled the burlap bag I brought with loads of shells and driftwood. We found seven whole sand dollars washed up in the surf, and all were already dead. We kept them. A tree not far from the cut was covered with shells along its trunk, a graffiti tree of sorts. We saw many areas marked as sea turtle nests.

I found the Apalachicola National Estuarine Research Reserve on Friday, and I wish I had stumbled across it earlier. Turn north at 6th Avenue East and you’ll run into it. You’ll have access to the bay and also a couple of small lakes that are probably good photo ops during different times of day. I plan to go back next chance I get.

The time spent with family was precious. My dad could not go a year ago due to severe back problems, and it was refreshing to see him enjoy this trip. Family means so much to him, and it was wonderful having everyone there.

A few other spots worth seeing as well: Apalachicola is full of rich history, and has some beautiful homes. An old cemetery is on Hwy 98, and many of the graves date back to the early to mid 1800’s. The waterfront park is a great place to photograph the sunrise. Unlike the beach on St. George, you can see the ball of the sun come up here. And, there are many shops and restaurants to enjoy.

St. Joe State Park is an hour away, but t features a 45 minute nature trail walk and beautiful beaches and camp sites It’s worth a visit. Entry fee is $6 per car.

On my wish list is St. Vincent National Wildlife Preserve. A ferry costs $10 or $20 if you take your bike. It’s over 12K acres, and hosts endangered red wolves, bald eagles, sea turtles, deer, alligators, and many different birds.

Lots to do at St. George Island. I could have easily have spent another week without slowing down. One word of warning, however. If you are looking for entertainment or convenience, it isn’t the place for you. No fast food, no miniature golf, just lots of opportunities to enjoy nature, and enjoy beautiful beaches.

Roadside Theatre

It's not rage that drives me, it's competition.
Lennox Lewis




A drive during afternoon rush hour, by its nature, is not meant to be exciting. Aggravating at times, but not terribly exciting. Yesterday, however, in an Atlanta suburb, I had the fortune to see an interesting exchange that thankfully did not end with someone getting hurt.

Paint the picture in your mind…..traffic backed up at a traffic light on a main road, with cars trying to turn right out of one of the many shopping centers sprawled all along the Lawrenceville area.

. Cars trying to pull out into the snarled traffic are at the mercy of a kind hearted driver, one who perhaps has gotten in line due to the favor extended by someone not too far back up the road. In this instance, an older car, eighties vintage, stopped in line, and left a half car length in front of him. The male driver was around eighteen years old. He was already on the main road, and had no reason to move.

A second vehicle, an eighties vintage pickup driven by a twentyish male and a younger male passenger, pulled out on the main road behind the eighteen year old, and could not clear the right hand turn lane. He needed the half car length I mentioned to make the turn. So he hit his horn. More than once. The eighteen year old was next to me, and he had no response, didn’t even look that way. I figured the light would turn, the truck would ride his bumper a while, then one of them would turn off the main road, and everyone would be happy. I’ve seen it before. The driver of the truck had a different idea, however, and he maneuvered before the light changed. He backed up, whirled around the eighteen year old, and nosed his truck in front of the offending motorist. He still blocked the right hand turn lane, but satisfaction was finally at hand. He was in front, the clear winner of the turf war.

Once again, the eighteen year old showed no emotion, no response, at least until the traffic light turned green and it was almost time to move. He abruptly leaned out of his open window, sat on the door where the door track was, and hurled a plastic water bottle at the truck. It had some water, but not too much. It bounced off the truck’s roofline and into the right turn lane. The male driver of the truck, turned, lit a cigarette, and screamed something at his new found friend. Then both drove off.

I drove off in the left lane, with both of the combatants in the right. I was watching for any signs that I should bail further to the left, but neither driver seemed too aggressive. It seemed they knew this game, and knew how to play.

A little further up the road, as expected, the eighteen year old managed to change lanes and as he passed the truck, he threw something long and metallic, hitting the truck, then the object bounced between lanes for the other commuters to drive over. The drivers who just wanted to get home. Not sure what the object was, but it reminded me of a slinky, one that was stretched out a bit. Like he had thrown it before.

Nothing happened at the next traffic light, for several minutes. I guess it’s in the rules of engagement.

Moving forward again, I watched in my rear view mirror, alternating between the thick traffic in front of me and the drama coming up a few car lengths behind. The eighteen year old again threw something out of the driver’s side, and it made a huge metallic thud as it slammed into the rear quarter of the truck, then bounced across the lanes behind them. Must have been a car part he didn’t need, or a brick. Something he kept in the car, just in case.

The truck turned off, much to my surprise. Maybe he had something under the seat that he didn’t want to be found during a police interrogation. As the eighteen year old came up behind me, a police officer got behind him, and I figured this was about to have a good ending. Much to my disappointment, the officer apparently had not seen anything, and he went about his business and drove past the eighteen year old.

Everyone involved was street smart and thugs; that much I could tell by their actions and appearance. Yet another reason to take a deep breath before laying on the horn or using other more pointed gestures to voice your displeasure with a fellow motorist. You never know who you’re dealing with, or what his/her day has comprised of. Makes me wonder how much of a civilized society we really live in now days. Take away the threat of punishment and watch how the masses react.

I made it home in one piece, and in this case, everyone else seemed to. Good thing neither of those guys had a girl riding that they would have felt obligated to impress.

Rites of Spring

Springtime means renewal. Our new hopes haven’t been dashed yet, and reality hasn’t had time to hammer our new found expectancy into its proper place. The ones we design through our thoughts and acquaintances, plus a few failures along the way. Okay, sounds a bit negative I know, and sometimes our planting in the spring, with proper care and watering turns into a great harvest in the fall. As long as we kill the weeds during the Summer, lest they take over.

This Spring marks the second straight year a mama bird has picked an outdoor light fixture as her safeguard against the elements and prey. The nest is just outside our bedroom window, which is on the second floor. As the photo shows, we don’t use the light; the bulb would cause harm to the babes, and it might even be a fire hazard with the bulb’s heat against all of the nesting material.

It’s a nice Spring ritual; everything new and coming alive, the serenade of hungry chicks when Mom brings another mouthful of nourishment, lush greenery and beautiful spring flowers filling out overnight, it seems. On Saturday mornings for a few weeks I hear the frequent sounds during a feeding frenzy. Today they are no doubt ready to go out on their own, exploring the big, new world with no self-imposed limitations on what they can do.

Check out the one on the left. Seems to be the ringleader. I figure this will be the first one out, the one that has the most fun, and the most likely candidate to get eaten by a cat. If only they can survive those teenage years…..

We’ll look out in a few days and they’ll all be gone, with an empty nest to remind us of the beauty and miracle of birth, the nurturing, and yet another cycle of life we’ve had the pleasure of experiencing.

I absolutely love Spring. If for no other reason, because life is renewing, if only for a season. It’s something to look forward to even in a trying time. Despite extreme hardships, there is hope, as reflected in Alexander Pope’s quote:

Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be Blest.

A Lesson or Two From Alice

Just finished a week that was completely off the beaten path. I was born and raised in Georgia, so a little snow accumulation is quite a novelty here. I’ve wondered if folks in the northeast or the Rockies buy out all the bread and milk before each hint of snow. If so, the dairy farmers must love this time of year.

This storm proved to be unusual for our neck of the woods. We like a quick snow, then thawing and clear roads two days later. Not this time. The snow stayed well beyond its grace period, and worse, night time temps dipped into the teens and created a very beautiful, but hazardous sheet of thick ice everywhere, including the roads. We are not equipped with the means to clean roads and keep them that way; we sometimes go a few years between storms.

After the Sunday evening event, I had to get out on Wednesday and Thursday. I spent over five hours each day on the road. On Thursday I drove under an overpass, with no visible snow or ice on the road, and did a 360 spin, at 1PM. A moderate down hill that normally bores you became a white knuckle ride. Quite an eventful week for us southerners.


One evening I went to my bookshelf in the living room and looked over the books, hoping something would catch my attention. I was in the mood for something different, but I had no idea what.

I picked a book I have owned for many years, but haven’t read in a long time: “Alice in Wonderland.” Probably a sixties edition or earlier, hardback. Sitting between my childhood copies of “Big Red” and “Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates.” For some reason it seemed to fit the mood of the week, so I sat down and read it.


Stories like this just read differently when we get a little older and have a few life experiences under our belt. Alice had an interesting journey and imagination for sure. The thought that stuck with me was the reoccurring theme of her trying to recite a story or rhyme, but the words came out differently in Wonderland than she expected them to or as she remembered them. Is this what environment does? Do we say it different, or does the interpretation change when the surroundings are different?

Interesting how her ideals that were ground into her came out for a minute when she tried to recite for the lobster. You just can’t talk low country boil around the main course or they’ll move on. Or telling the swimming mouse about her dear cat back home that keeps the house rid of rats. Sounds like we just don’t fit too well into a bevy of surroundings. And, changing sizes every time we come into a new environment is pretty inconvenient, especially when you get stuck. You are what you are; we can only fake it for so long.

Sometimes we’re thrust into unfamiliar territory however, and we have to make some adjustments, even if it’s temporary. Starting a new job, we have to find out what the office politics are like, find out what’s okay and what isn’t. The words we recited on the old job may not come out the same on the new one. It’s necessary and helps make a well rounded person, up to a point. Just remember who you are.


So, now I’ve finished up my week off the beaten path. Time to return to a sense or normalcy, whatever that may entail from day to day. It sure doesn’t include snow, although for some it does this time of year. Normal mundane events take on a different meaning after weeks like this, at least for a minute. I won’t be waiting for the traction to break and send me into a wild, uncontrollable spin. I’m ready for the normal, it’s all I know. It may seem utter nonsense to one, but….might well explain the utter confusion.

Turns out “Alice in Wonderland” was the perfect book for this week.

Banished

Had the strangest dream a few nights back. My wife and I were out for dinner with a couple we’re good friends with (Sandy and Mary,) and I decided to go outside and take a few photos while the others waited in line. As often happens when I get started with my camera, I got back later that I thought, and the others were already sitting at a nice table for four, without me. Nice open atmosphere, wood floor and matching décor. For reasons not explained to me in the dream, I was banished to sit at another table. I don’t know who sent me away, it wasn’t explained, but it was understood, I could not go to their table.

So here I am at a cafeteria style table, with another family to my left. I apparently won the lucky draw and got to sit next to their overly energetic kid, probably around five years old, and he kept bumping up against me and reaching toward my food. Notice I didn’t say my plate.

My food was brought out on a napkin; guess they ran out of plates. Then they brought out my main course, a piece of fish wrapped like a rolled up newspaper. It appeared to be cooked, at least it was hot. The sealed wrapper still had a Kroger price tag on it. And go figure; they were out of the special dipping sauce this place was so well known for. They brought me a small plastic container with some greenish, lumpy looking something that I could not identify for the life of me.

All this time my back was to my entourage. I just somehow knew not to turn around.


There’s a time and a season for everything, including sitting down for a meal. I still don’t see the problem with catching a photo or two; the opportunity may be fleeting.

Much of my writing comes from dreams; maybe my conscious is speaking. Or my fears. Sometimes I feel like I’m plagiarizing because I don’t come up with my ideas “on my own,” middle of the day, while sitting in front of a blank screen. But I do seem to do my most creative story creations while asleep, without all the distractions of the day beating down on me for my undivided attention. That unbridled imagination seems to kick in when nothing else overrides it. Still, I should keep a closer eye on what I eat at night.


I can’t remember what I was taking pictures of, but I sure hope it was good.

I need to finish that dream to see what was for dessert. And to see what I had to eat it out of.

And with that- to all a good night……….

Struggle

Some day, in the years to come, you will be wrestling with the great temptation, or trembling under the great sorrow of your life. But the real struggle is here, now… Now it is being decided whether, in the day of your supreme sorrow or temptation, you shall miserably fail or gloriously conquer. Character cannot be made except by steady, long continued process.------Phillips Brooks


Friday morning, around 7AM. I had set the alarm to go to my parent’s house, with my son, to pull the cover over the pool. It’s that time of year. I got ready about ten minutes quicker than Robbie, and I stood looking out the side glass on our front door. A spider had set up camp outside the glass on the right side, and an energetic mosquito had become snared in its web. I don’t remember ever seeing such a fight for survival.

I stood and watched for nearly ten minutes as the desperate catch flew in all directions, then began flying up and down, as hard as he could, back and forth when he reached the limits of his new territory. He slammed violently at the upper limit of the web, then the same at the bottom. Up and down, side to side. The whole web shimmied as the mosquito, knowing instinctively that time was running out, let it all loose in an attempt to survive.

I snapped a photo of the struggle through the glass, then we left.

Later I thought about how the spider was strangely absent during all of this. Wouldn’t it be simple for the spider to move it with the mosquito firmly ensnared and finish him off? That, however, is not how our struggles work a good portion of the time. I can just imagine the spider sitting back, watching the fight for survival, with a wisp of satisfaction, knowing full well what the outcome will be. For a high percentage of people, the struggle, whether brief or extended, has the same result- in the end, there you are, battered and bruised, ready to throw in the towel because it’s too painful, way too much work and struggle. All the spider had to do was sit back and wait, and if his web has a good enough snare, his meal would be waiting on him after hopelessness set in.

When we quit too soon we are giving someone else our good fortune. Savvy investors know to move in and take over an uncomfortable situation, therefore reaping our rewards that we worked so hard for, yet never claimed as ours.

Ever spent loads of money on a car, then practically gave it away when that “last straw” was reached? Might have been a bad battery. How many times has the buyer gotten an inexpensive vehicle that ran problem free from then on? Just look at what you’ve already swapped out; what else can break?

Or how about the idea that you walk around with in your head, unfinished. I mentioned to my wife a number of years back an idea I had that I figured would make good money in retail. Every so often I would mention it again, but nothing was ever done. It simply did not fit high enough on my priority ladder to get serious consideration. Good idea, poor execution. About six months ago I was in a chain clothing store and saw my idea for sale at all the registers. Looked like sales were pretty good, considering the half empty boxes on the counters. I wonder if the other hundreds of locations carry my invention as well?

Success in any endeavor means holding on when others are letting go. Without struggle nothing worthwhile will be achieved, so the saying goes. The struggle makes something of you that will ultimately give you the tools for success.

Walking Through Illusion---by Betsy Otter Thompson

For every emotional action taken, an emotional mirror returned.

Book review-

Walking Through Illusion----by Betsy Otter Thompson


Ms. Thompson’s unique insights using characters familiar to many is both bold and effective.

Beginning with the book’s title, illusion clouds many aspects of our lives, and this point is considered extensively throughout the chapters of “Walking Through Illusion.”

Each chapter delves into a unique subject that causes the reader to examine his/hers own relationship with oneself, and how to overcome the challenges and shortcomings that we all battle. Twenty three chapters cover a range from morality, beliefs, approval, truth, complaints, betrayal, death, and time. Biblical characters are used throughout, through their conversations with Jesus.

Paul tested unsuccessfully until reaching a place of giving suitably; you gave superficially and received superficially; you gave sacrificially and received superficially; to receive suitably you have to give suitably. (page 47)
Mark was instructed that If you think up an idea it exists. If you live an idea, it’s yours. (page74)

A common theme throughout the book, and one well woven in throughout, is that mirrors reflect our views and actions, and what we offer to others is reciprocated. The “mirror of the moment.” For some it takes much trial and error to figure this out, as she describes so well.

The “Personal Insights” at the end of each chapter are powerful, showing Ms. Thompson’s real life struggles and the learning process she has gone through. This section is a must read. It’s easy to understand, but very thought provoking. An example- I find it hard to trust advice. Not because it isn’t sound, but because it’s often generic. What is helpful to another might not be helpful to me. I trust an inner voice that I refer to as my instincts. (page 122) and What is a meaningful legacy? (page 153)
Another common thread in all the stories is this: we can often find the answers to our struggles within ourselves.

Insightful and full of thoughts that will both inspire and provoke, “Walking Through Illusion” is worthy of its place on your reading list, whether it’s the first time or a follow up. It’s sure to inspire.