Cheyenne likes to share the office with me when I am at the computer and some days I am of a mind to let sleeping dogs lie. 
But then where would she be without a daily off leash ramble? Bored is the answer to that, so off we go, on this occasion to Big Pine Key on the island's southern shore.
The addition called Cactus Hammock is located between a trailer park and a collection of shore front homes and the long stretch between them is covered by a delightful shady footpath winding through the bushes. To get there we had to park the kennel and cross some flooded land:
One unusual aspect of this particular trail is that much of the plant life has been labelled:
Some of it has been labelled by vandals rather than botanists:
I got it into my head it might be amusing to record these labels and have them to refer to when writing about other walks I might take. 
The trouble is, there is no way in hell I am going to remember all these names:
The walk itself is quite delightful on top of a sandy ridge next to the water. 
It forms much of the hedgerow along the path: 
Then there's something called a coral bean. That one's new to me:
This next one is a familiar piece of history, if not botany: 
And these are everywhere and native: 
These were beach combers from, I suspect, the adjacent trailer park: 
Black mangroves are easy enough to identify because they have little stubby roots that grow out of the mud surrounding their trunks. 
It's the white mangroves that I have trouble identifying. I think their leaves look rather similar to these black mangrove leaves:
The other problem with this splendid botanical idea is that leave sin pictures tend to look pretty much the same to my eye:
The tourist tree is an easy one:
And as you all must know by now the gumbo limbo gets that nickname because it's bark turns red and peels, just like a tourist: 
I've got some gumbo limbos around my home and I am very fond of them and their bright green leaves. I also have a cactus that looks something like this:
And the trash can is a sign that human interference is never too far away:
And my other favorites, the date palms:
This one vaguely resembles the poisonwood tree, known in the Caribbean as the manchineel:
The poisonwood tree has nasty black splotches on it's bark, the dogwood doesn't:
There were more bushes and trees and labels than you could shake a stick at. Why they call this the "Spanish Stopper" I couldn't rightly say. Perhaps it was impenetrable to early explorers:
The batteries in my camera went dead before I got a picture of the purple flowers produced by this bush but by then we were both a bit exhausted by this...exhaustive labelling and we called it a day.
My assistant and I:
I wonder if I will pluck up the courage to try to document the other labels I left behind this trip.
But then where would she be without a daily off leash ramble? Bored is the answer to that, so off we go, on this occasion to Big Pine Key on the island's southern shore.The addition called Cactus Hammock is located between a trailer park and a collection of shore front homes and the long stretch between them is covered by a delightful shady footpath winding through the bushes. To get there we had to park the kennel and cross some flooded land:
One unusual aspect of this particular trail is that much of the plant life has been labelled:
Some of it has been labelled by vandals rather than botanists:I got it into my head it might be amusing to record these labels and have them to refer to when writing about other walks I might take. 
The trouble is, there is no way in hell I am going to remember all these names:
The walk itself is quite delightful on top of a sandy ridge next to the water. 
It forms much of the hedgerow along the path: 
Then there's something called a coral bean. That one's new to me:
This next one is a familiar piece of history, if not botany: 
And these are everywhere and native: 
These were beach combers from, I suspect, the adjacent trailer park: 
Black mangroves are easy enough to identify because they have little stubby roots that grow out of the mud surrounding their trunks. 
It's the white mangroves that I have trouble identifying. I think their leaves look rather similar to these black mangrove leaves:
The other problem with this splendid botanical idea is that leave sin pictures tend to look pretty much the same to my eye:
The tourist tree is an easy one:And as you all must know by now the gumbo limbo gets that nickname because it's bark turns red and peels, just like a tourist: 
I've got some gumbo limbos around my home and I am very fond of them and their bright green leaves. I also have a cactus that looks something like this:And the trash can is a sign that human interference is never too far away:And my other favorites, the date palms:This one vaguely resembles the poisonwood tree, known in the Caribbean as the manchineel:
The poisonwood tree has nasty black splotches on it's bark, the dogwood doesn't:
There were more bushes and trees and labels than you could shake a stick at. Why they call this the "Spanish Stopper" I couldn't rightly say. Perhaps it was impenetrable to early explorers:The batteries in my camera went dead before I got a picture of the purple flowers produced by this bush but by then we were both a bit exhausted by this...exhaustive labelling and we called it a day.
My assistant and I:I wonder if I will pluck up the courage to try to document the other labels I left behind this trip.
My thoughts of cruising are fueled by the time of year; I know hurricane season is scarcely weeks away but this is when I like to be in the Bahamas, when the weather is warm and the waters are hot. This is the time of year the crowds have left and the islands are quiet. And even though a June hurricane is a possibility, early and late season storms tend to form in the Western Caribbean where the waters are warmer at those times of year. As you can tell I have given a fair bit of day dreaming time over to the notion of going sailing. 
The fact is, I have turned a corner. For the first time my itchy feet are quiet. I like my life, my wife, my job, my surroundings. What's not to like? I grant you cross country skiing is in short supply, mountain biking is feeble and river rafting is not possible, as there are no rivers down here, but for a tropical sloth like me, a day in the life of the Florida Keys is almost as good as a day afloat in the Great Exumas. Better, if you look at my wheels, under the sun at twenty four degrees North Latitude:
Smathers Beach is a pretty modest strand by Florida standards, but it does okay for the people who turn out to enjoy the sun, the shells, the coconut palms the breezes and the waters:
Taking off sailing would be hard to do when the house is underwater, while my current boat is a fine but modest 14-foot skiff. One needs time and money and both are in short supply, times have changed since the carefree 1990's... Besides which I don't want to give up my job, my commute, my home and all the things that tie me down. I am looking forward to a second growing season in my garden, hopefully more productive as I learn from my mistakes and make some modifications pointed out by my more experienced friends (thanks Celia!). It used to be that I spent my time plotting and planning my escape, nowadays I am domesticated, aground in a world that somehow keeps my interest.
A walk on the beach, a trip out to the swimming hole in the boat and I am always in awe of this place that I call home. I surprise myself by my domesticity after spending most of my life as a nomad. Stationary societies tend to look down on nomads with envy and suspicion all mixed together. A common complaint from Key West residents is of people living in vehicles on city streets, they want them moved along. I, obedient public servant set the wheels in motion,unable to stop myself thinking about all the miles I've covered, hobo-like, motorcycling through towns resistant to the beauty of a life lived "on the road."
The village elders used to remind the youngsters of the fables of Aesop to pass on the collective wisdom, but as my friend William pointed out recently in a moment of insight, the collective wisdom has been supplanted by the electronic message of television and the Internet. Nowadays youngsters travel the electrons, not the highways, and nobody bothers to teach them the widsom of Aesop.
It is their loss if they think the Internet could be as intimate a journey as a real road trip. We live our life in small increments. We work, we play, we move we vacation. Cruise ships come to Key West for a few hours and their residents "do Key West" between lunch and dinner, all they time they are allowed.
I have spent the past two years making almost daily observations on these few islands with no end in sight. So here I am, a member of a fixed community, a reliable pendulum between home and work, and at last I like it.
Horrors! I must be maturing.