Two years ago I didn't own a campervan. Two years ago I wasn't walking properly either. In the wake of my scooter wreck I was loaned a wheelchair friendly apartment in Key West to give me time to get on my feet. So it was that I would bring Rusty and my walker to Little Hamaca where I would totter after him, my grossly swollen feet in slippers as we shuffled around the park. He was I have to say a very patient dog as he slowed right down to accommodate my slow shuffle.
So nowadays to come back to Little Hamaca is to remember the winter of two years ago and to be glad all those hours of physical therapy, time in the gym and long walks to nowhere pushing that dammed walker have paid off. I got to hate wearing wooly slippers instead of proper shoes and the heels of my hands grew thick calluses where I held on to the walker frame for dear life. The parting injunction from the hospital was to not fall over and i lived every waking moment concentrating on not wrecking my pelvis or the numerous nuts and bolts holding me together. It was a very interesting time.
I found the most annoying thing about being in the wheelchair was relying on my wife all the time to pull it out of the trunk and line it up with the door so I could lift myself into it. Even now every time I get in or out of a car I spare a thought for those days spent clinging to the roof, unable to rely on my legs to hold me up. I took lots of pictures of Little Hamaca in those days, my practice ground for learning to walk.
Aside from all the nostalgia stuff Little Hamaca is a place to get away in the middle of Key West.
You will see some dog walkers lots of bicycles, a few homeless people especially in winter and a few joggers. People wandering with cameras, like me, are few and far between. I met Mick sheltering from a shower and we exchanged a few words. I didn't mention it to him but I used the same walker as part of my recovery when I was able to walk a little better. I seem to keep coming full circle in Little Hamaca!
The old Hawk Missile Battery towers left behind after the Cuban crisis ended in 1962 make for for something different to photograph and I take advantage:
The mangroves and the salt ponds are of course everywhere, even here in the city, next to the airport.
Rusty likes it after all these years:
I find the mobile home an ideal spot to hang out and be by myself. With Rusty of course.
