It turns out I live in one of the most backward communities in North America when it comes to recycling. I have mentioned it before that one of the things I like about living in the Keys is the way people like to live and let live. On the other hand a little community education would be no bad thing. Mainland Floridians recycle about 30 percent of the waste stream according to the paper. We recycle around seven and a half percent up from six percent a while ago. I'm doing my bit and so are many of my neighbors:
There was a front page article in Monday's Citizen about recycling in "Frisco," which is the commonly accepted abbreviation for the city of San Francisco (commonly accepted by everyone except residents of The City who hate the overly intimate abbreviation). It seems San Francisco recycles fully 70 percent of their waste and the mayor wants to increase it to 75 percent. However that doesn't seem possible to Mayor Gavin Newsom unless he requires all residents to compost. Which seems draconian even to them by their own eco standards. Change is in the air, even in the Keys. A recycle bin appeared in the police communications center a few weeks ago, for non sensitive papers (perforce we shred a lot of our paperwork) and the Citizen reported one bar bought a $5,000 bottle crusher to try to reduce their part of the mountain of empty bottles that accumulate around this thirsty town. Apparently its not cost effective to recycle bottles as bottles, but crushed glass takes up less space and can be used in other ways, I'm guessing possibly as construction material and the like. I recycle without thinking about it at home, trash on the right, recycling on the left:
And I know there are naysayers who argue that recycling is not particularly useful in the grand scheme of things. To some extent I agree, so I try to follow the rule of R's- reduce, reuse recycle and in the end the bromide is that something is better than nothing. I reuse the moisture from the air conditioner by pouring it into my rainwater collection system:
When full it amounts to just over three gallons of purified moisture (the stick is a ramp for geckos that have fallen in). I put the water into the black collection tanks under the house. When its hot and humid I can get three gallons every time I leave the house, it seems like:
The black tanks behind the Bonneville settle the rain water I pump out of the 12,000 gallon collection cistern that collects rainwater off the roof. There is a series of pumps that moves the water around:
And a series of filters on the wall of the cistern, which purify the rainwater that gets pumped into the house in lieu of aqueduct water:
Year round we use very little aqueduct water which is supposed to be a good eco thing, helping preserve the South Florida aquifer. We hang our laundry out to dry which is pretty effective in this climate especially when there is as is frequently the case, a breeze:
If all these small steps aren't saving the planet they do no harm, actually save me some money and use very little extra time. I'm pretty slack on the composting front and we are getting psyched to move into creating a small composting area outside. I'm reluctant to compost because our waster stream is already pretty tiny- we get two pick ups each week and I'm pressed to put out garbage of any kind on two out of three visits by The Man:
The composting thing fills me with anxiety because when we eventually develop a supply of fertile soil we will then have to find a way to use it and that means building a bed for planting. Which means gardening and that my friends is a pain. It always was and always will be. So I need an attitude adjustment. Gardening in my middle age will not become the chore it was in my youth and we will enjoy home grown flowers and vegetables. In the Keys no less. So composting is on my to-do list. 
In my defense I do keep the trees around the house trimmed but palm fronds are fibrous and abundant and they would take three lifetimes to compost down to soil so I put them into garbage cans for yard waste pick up on Fridays. My wife has noted I seem to enjoy the tree trimming routine and I guess it is true, being outside in the heat is much less of a chore for me than struggling with lawn mowers and out of control growth and cold wet dirt. There is hope for me yet.
And I know there are naysayers who argue that recycling is not particularly useful in the grand scheme of things. To some extent I agree, so I try to follow the rule of R's- reduce, reuse recycle and in the end the bromide is that something is better than nothing. I reuse the moisture from the air conditioner by pouring it into my rainwater collection system:When full it amounts to just over three gallons of purified moisture (the stick is a ramp for geckos that have fallen in). I put the water into the black collection tanks under the house. When its hot and humid I can get three gallons every time I leave the house, it seems like:The black tanks behind the Bonneville settle the rain water I pump out of the 12,000 gallon collection cistern that collects rainwater off the roof. There is a series of pumps that moves the water around:And a series of filters on the wall of the cistern, which purify the rainwater that gets pumped into the house in lieu of aqueduct water:Year round we use very little aqueduct water which is supposed to be a good eco thing, helping preserve the South Florida aquifer. We hang our laundry out to dry which is pretty effective in this climate especially when there is as is frequently the case, a breeze:If all these small steps aren't saving the planet they do no harm, actually save me some money and use very little extra time. I'm pretty slack on the composting front and we are getting psyched to move into creating a small composting area outside. I'm reluctant to compost because our waster stream is already pretty tiny- we get two pick ups each week and I'm pressed to put out garbage of any kind on two out of three visits by The Man:The composting thing fills me with anxiety because when we eventually develop a supply of fertile soil we will then have to find a way to use it and that means building a bed for planting. Which means gardening and that my friends is a pain. It always was and always will be. So I need an attitude adjustment. Gardening in my middle age will not become the chore it was in my youth and we will enjoy home grown flowers and vegetables. In the Keys no less. So composting is on my to-do list. In my defense I do keep the trees around the house trimmed but palm fronds are fibrous and abundant and they would take three lifetimes to compost down to soil so I put them into garbage cans for yard waste pick up on Fridays. My wife has noted I seem to enjoy the tree trimming routine and I guess it is true, being outside in the heat is much less of a chore for me than struggling with lawn mowers and out of control growth and cold wet dirt. There is hope for me yet.We have an active and comprehensive hazardous waste program at the dump (transfer station really because they collect the waste and truck it to the mainland for disposal in the ground...at vast expense) on Cudjoe Key including household hazards and used engine oil.
The City of Key West reports a modest savings of $30,000 in the trash bill annually thanks to a modest increase in the amount of stuff recycled. If nothing else one would think taxpayers would recycle to save the community some tax dollars but I have my doubts about the willingness of the stubborn down here to be led in that direction. One does what one can- to avoid the trash can!
The island's first American name, for a secretary of the Navy didn't stick, but Simonton sold quarters of his strategic possession to John Whitehead, and two others who sold their quarter to Pardon Greene. The fourth quarter went to an Englishman settled in Mobile Alabama next door to Simonton's business interests. He was called John Fleeming, whose name in the passage of time was reduced to Fleming. Anyone with any knowledge of Key West knows that those four names represent major streets in Old Town. Yesterday I cruised Fleming Street with my camera.Fleming Street begins behind the county courthouse at Thomas Street, which is currently under construction as the county is building itself a new center next to the long standing buildings.
The old courthouse and administrative buildings are in brick, in the Southern style, and the new ones we hope will not jar our sensibilities. So far so good. The old building from the front still manages to look dignified:
And if you chose to work your way past the courthouse security those arches up high offer an private and unparalleled view across old town, with tables for a secluded picnic.
This next photograph shows Fleming Street heading northeast towards Duval from Whitehead, with on the left the bulk of La Concha Hotel looming over Duval Street. 
La Concha close up spreads out on the 400 block of Duval with shops, a bar, a Starbucks (one of two in the Keys, the other is at Mile Marker 99.5 in the Upper Keys). Fleming Street is one way out of town and is thus a useful street to escape Duval direct to White Street:
Across from La Concha lies the redoubtable Kress building long since given over to Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville Cafe and Tony Falcone's store:
Tony Falcone, one of the founders of Fantasy Fest (an antidote to the low season blues he says), owns Fast Buck Freddies, an eclectic department store.
I worked there a few months years ago in the shipping and receiving office as if to prove my lack of suitability for the world of retail. Fast Bucks deserves an essay of its own.
Call me an arriviste but I patronize Voltaire Books a few blocks away on Simonton Street, newer, friendlier and less cramped. Fleming Street is just packed with notable local businesses including the delightful Fausto's Food Palace, and the current owner is the founder's son in law. Jimmy Weekly served as mayor for years and was always to be found, like today, working in the store, wearing an apron and frequently wielding a knife in the deli.
My wife loves Fausto's deli where she loads up with picnic items with a decidedly non traditional flair- dolmas, seaweed and octopus ceviche to name but a few. Faustos is also advertised as a crossroads for one and all in town:
But as we know Key West is home to all types of people, shirtless, in uniform or all buttoned up... I don't know which is tougher, hauling letters in the heat of summer...
... wearing a suit on a blazing street corner...
...or dragging your offspring behind you on your bicycle (actually these last two looked pretty cheerful)...
Tourists cruise Fleming Street in the gruesomely slow Conch Train:
Or the slightly more sprightly Old Town Trolley, which is also owned by Historic Tours of America:
I have to say the tours (around $22, I think, for 90 minutes) are quite worth while though the identically repeated narratives drive home owners quite mad, and the 5mph speed of these contraptions make drivers crazy. Ride the train and pretend to ignore the scowling locals (me included I'm sorry to say). 
This family name spells mad development with a capital D, though rumor has it Beachside isn't doing so well and the proposed massive Convention Center at the entrance to town across from Beachside has hit a few snags in the current uncertain financial climate.Which spells tough times for construction workers as well of course. No issue seems clear cut when one reaches the wisdom of middle age. Hate that development, love them jobs!
The Spottswoods have a death grip on the tourist economy and they take their bows in the simpering Conch Color magazine every now and again- noblesse oblige. They own this building too and keep offices in it to promote their various multi million dollar enterprises, employing God knows how many locals:
I know I was never born to be a businessman because I don't really understand the drive to build. Entropy seems so all encompassing to me, the idea that a new building will make a better city seems a little off kilter. I prefer making the old new, maintaining the look or the feel of the past with the modern conveniences of the new (Think Triumph Bonneville year 2007 model!). The tear it all down approach leaves me cold. I wonder when they will have enough of moulding Key West to their rather sterile vision though I doubt I shall be alive to see them say stop, enough. So one turns away and keeps looking northeast on Fleming to find examples of old preserved:
Old refurbished to look new. And all those wires; its amazing power flows as reliably as it does in this windy city. Conch houses of course abound, with all their Conch details, like this breezy figurehead:
And these lovely old/new homes, just two on a street filled with such examples:
And then there is the public library, Florida's oldest at Elizabeth and Fleming, with of course a passed out residentially challenged citizen sprawled uncomfortably on the planter:
And in the shade a young person sucking up knowledge:
The Library comes with a delightful garden alongside, a place I used frequently to escape Fast Bucks on my downtown lunch breaks (the other favorite was the cemetery, though some considered me eccentric for preferring to share my midday meals with the dead):
And this being Key West, there is a convenience store before you journey too far, and one should note the dog friendly white water bowl outside the doorway: 
Then we find Bubba's an outdoor restaurant that replaced an eclectic Asian place known as Monsoon Cafe, which was a place where I liked to buy curries and sit out watching the stars. Bubbas I don't yet know (that dog had been refreshing itself at the previous dog bowl a few minutes earlier, so even though it looks stressed it is just a maldajusted moment captured by the camera):
Then there is the Eden House a hotel that took a starring role in a movie shot there, Criss Cross, from 1990. Nowadays Eden House, named for its owner Mike Eden, not the mythical garden, slumbers in the summer heat with its guest bicycles clogging the bike stand in a way that is spectacular to my mind, even by Key West urban cycling standards:
There is also the Island House for Men in this area, and if you're gay you already know about it and if you're not you need know no more. I used to work with a colleague who enjoyed his lunch breaks there, though I draw a veil over what he said he ate for lunch on those occasions. He moved Up North, though I cannot imagine his life in Central Florida is nearly as stimulating. 
A metaphor for life perhaps? No, that's way too heavy a burden for this delightful urban artery.
Open and airy, yet filled with knick knacks all reeking of the past which is the only era Denise relates to, her home is a shrine to the way Florida used to be, and perhaps should become again. She was born up the coast and has a passionate attachment to old Florida, a place of quiet and modest respectability, not the loud and brash and sprawling Florida as represented by the modern mauls and multi-lane highways we call streets. Tongue and groove ceilings and terrazzo floors inside, palms and lignumvitae trees outside, with the ocean nearby. Denise could be a counter culture figure from a Carl Hiassen novel:
Across the street from her long sought after beach house, is another remnant of a bygone era, a remnant that Denise, an inveterate flea market browser, could not actually buy, though someone else did put a bid in recently:
As seen from Denise's porch, behind my wife's convertible, are the neat rows of white boxes that make up the city of Briny Breezes. A developer put a $510 million offer on the entire 43-acre community. The idea was to pay all the occupants of the nearly 500 trailers in the city for their shares and then build luxury condos and hotels in their place. Most of the residents went for the deal after a lot of vocal opposition (led by Denise), but the bursting real estate bubble killed the whole project dead. 
The current bust in the real estate market has kept this strip of undeveloped land open and green for the time being:
It's a block of land in the county, across the street from Briny Breezes, that is slated to see a few 35 foot high condos rear up to overlook the ocean which will give Denise some adjustments to get used to, but for now...things stay as they are, a pause for breath in South Florida's eternal need to rebuild itself.
But Briny Breezes isn't normal. It has a Community Center because it is a community: 
And Denise is just tickled pink by the fact that her home town has the BBC. "But," I protested,"every cable company offers the BBC." Not Briny Breezes Cable Channel 8, she chortled.
And they have a convenience store the like of which I haven't seen anyplace else. It sits on A1A, the coastal highway and looks like any dive selling overpriced milk and beer, but inside I found a haven of yuppie foods, a mixture of traditional jazz and show tunes to shop by and locally produced instant meals, hand crafted soups, Swedish meatball lunches and pasta dishes made just up the street and for sale in a store that defied convention. It looked normal enough, but this was a small store that followed it's own path:
It's not Key West, but Briny Breezes sure is a community in the real sense of the word, a small town for ordinary folk wedged between the manicured mansions and condos of the wealthy snowbirds to the north and the south of its own slice of slightly scruffy beachfront. My visit to Denise's corner of Americana made even me nostalgic for something I never knew, beach town Florida, circa 1950. Those trailers peeking out on A1A:
The developer is threatening to return to Briny Breezes to have another go at buying the entire town, but that doesn't seem likely at this point. For me, it was time to convert the convertible ad get back to the Keys before I start pining for my own home alongside the mouse that roared, on Florida's Atlantic shore. 