Back To Florida

It was a long drive south from Nashville to the Florida state line. I am not a fan of the Governor but I am very fond of the Sunshine State and I was glad to be back. Nowhere has felt more like home to me. 

We stopped at the welcome center just south of Alabama and spent a quiet night off Highway 231. Look at that blue sky. It’s Florida. 

To make it easier to get a Temporary Import Permit in Mexico we decided to re-title GANNET2 as a motor  home so the plan was to get to a Florida tax collectors office in a small town ( for shorter lines we hoped) and change the type on the title from “VN” to “MH.” Thus it was,  the first courthouse we found in Florida, as it happens was in Marianna, the main town in Jackson County. 

If you think you suffer under the jackbooted heel of insufferable bureaucracy you should try doing this in Europe where it will take months and innumerable inspections and certificates and expense. We were out in less than an hour and $200. The only reason it took so long was because this isn’t done very often and the forms are rather obscure even to the employees. They were lovely people and the whole process was actually pretty fun. Our motor home:

We celebrated our title conversion with breakfast in the shade, coffee and sausage and biscuit a slice of egg for Rusty off Layne’s plate and a pleasant sense of the ease of being retired. Day follows day and with no deadlines life is very nice. 

So naturally herself had another deadline in mind more moochdocking this time in Pensacola so we had to drive. 

We skimmed through the woods and the long straight stretches of highway that comprise the back country of the Florida panhandle. 

Last year in winter I spent a couple of nights with Rusty on the shores of the Carrabelle River while Layne was in California and we liked it so I wanted to bring Layne back. 

Tate lost his dog in these woods the story goes, and when he and the dog finally staggered out he looked back and told his rescuers “It’s hell back there” and promptly died. 

It’s rather more pleasant now with levees and dirt roads but it was rather hellish in one hundred degrees and not much breeze. 

Nah, we said to ourselves and retreated to a forty dollar a night spot with hookups and saltwater to swim in.

St. George Island happens to have a state park with a campground and we needed a spot to spend one night. 

It’s a five mile long park on the barrier island in front of Carrabelle. 

There are parking bays along the beach where we could leave Rusty in air conditioned comfort while we swim. 

And the campground has all facilities so it is quite decadent. 

This is the third time the summer heat has pushed us to plug in for our air conditioner. Not bad over the course of months during the hottest summer on record.