From The Archives: January 2010, A Reminder Of Winter

Summer Returns

My wife sent me this picture from her iPhone when she went to visit family in Rock Island Illinois. She wasn't happy to hear me tell of a sunny and warm weekend in Key West while she was gone.It's that time of year, when people from Up North abandon their factories and farms (...farms?) and come south to spend their retirement monies in sunny Key West.This is what they come to see and do, wear summer dresses in January and ride motor scooters in America's quaintest town.They get serenaded by more or less competent buskers on Duval Street:Or they buy palm frond art from Michael, busy at his spot in front of La Concha Hotel:People needing to apply some color to their knees can check out the menus in front of the restaurants:I have no idea what this lot were up to but they looked...uh...picturesque?Some people bring the whole family to do some light shopping on Duval:

Some people come to restore their faith in the value of romance:

And most people like to put their toes at risk in sandals. At least these two weren't riding along dragging their feet.

I was slightly surprised to notice this man wearing substantial footwear on Duval. Then I realized he was riding that overpowered cruiser known as the Yamaha V-Max and probably needs all the help he can get to keep that beast under control:Self control is a lost art in 21st century America, and while I agree 84 degrees (29C) is on the warm side I am firmly of the belief you should come as you are as the Tourism Development Council pens the slogan for the Keys, but have the good sense to cover up on main street USA.Or cool off rather than flaunt your gut. I prefer the locally produced Flamingo Crossing Ice Cream, if anyone cares.Here's a new one, new to me at least:A flash of thigh for those in the Northern Hemisphere snowed in for months to come:I had no idea you could buy knives like these on Duval Street.

Drinkers at Mangoes were so overheated they needed a fan to stay cool in the outdoor bar. Chicago this ain't, not in January at any rate:Friday afternoon on Duval Street was like an informal contest to see who could show the most summer skin:

These two on bicycles were a study in confusion. They had helmets, like good little snowbirds, but perhaps they had been in town too long because they wore cloth headgear and stored the safety helmets on their bicycles. No, I don't know why they were taking their helmets for a tour.A glance down a side street towards Bahama Village showed a bright summer afternoon street scene:This sidewalk artist, with suitable northern pallor was comfortable in the shade and intent on his work:I think this place used to be a coffee shop, but it is now called, whatever it was before, Cork and Stogiewhich cuts through all the crap, I guess. These patrons don't look like they miss tea and coffee.I found this chair going begging, sitting in the middle of the street somewhere off Duval:

This dude was looking extremely cool on a hot afternoon in front of Johnson's Grocery Store:

A summer afternoon in January at Fort Zachary Taylor State Park:

See, walking around half naked at the beach seems reasonable enough to me. I'd like to think they were all dressed when they were shopping at Fast Buck Freddie's, whose shopping bags they carried.

I liked this picture of a walk in a meadow of an August afternoon.Actually they were two visitors to Fort Zachary in January. Ah, Key West.

Ramrod Pool

I haven't posted much from here recently. We come by once a week or so, Cheyenne and I and she gets to pick up some stray smells as it's a popular place to walk a dog or go for a swim. Not at dawn though, that's when we tend to stop by after a night at work. I remember when I moved from Ramrod to Cudjoe one message I hit was that there would be new places to explore. Not so much it turns out, we tend to go back to the same places, which are the places we've always gone because I'm jot sure there are any new places for us. So we seek the same places in different moods. Life among small spaces.

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Bill Butler Park Refreshed

The city has been spending some money on one of my favorite pocket parks in Old Town. The new sign...

...replacing the old sign:

Junkanoo is  a Christmas/New Year's celebration in the Bahamas, a street fair similar to Carnival or the original spirit of Goombay on Petronia Street before Fantasy Fest. Bill Butler was a  musical legend in key West who held jamborees he called Junkanoos and he was also well known for his New Orleans style funeral jazz performances. He died of an aneurysm in 1984 and the park was dedicated to him.

His family felt the park named for him was starting to slip into disrepair and they petitioned the city commission to get it up to scratch again which has been happening this summer, though the work is not quite complete. Before:

After (above). Before (below):

After:

We passed a man sitting out enjoying the morning with his coffee which seems an eminently suitable way to enjoy Bill Butler park if you aren't encumbered with a dog:

There are more and better childrens' playground facilities now and larger more descriptive rule books posted all round the park:

Which have always been there:

There is a small parking lot in the park but don't count on finding a space there, better to use a scooter or a bicycle or to come on foot.

Besides not everyone is quite used to driving these narrow lanes to get into Bill Butler Park:

For such a small place this  park has quite a bit of history. They say it was originally home to the Monroe County Colored Folks Home (sic!) which provided shelter to indigent seniors in the days of racial segregation. The connection to Bill Butler came from his habit of starting his New Year's  Junkanoo parades from this park. 

Perhaps those were the good old days. No such thing exists today.

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White Street Pier

August and September are the hottest months in the Keys, though daytime temperatures rarely rise above 90 degrees the air is thick and close, especially in the city but even on the canal where I live outside town. I don't mind these two hardcore hot months as much as some people do, but I am a fan of air conditioning. The a/c at work failed last week which caused the entire building to smell dank and warm like a locker room after a lot of showers, and it was frankly horrible. Dispatch however got two window units to carry us (and our radio equipment which has to be kept cool, thank heavens) through the crisis. It's hard to imagine that by mid November some people will be feverishly pulling winter clothes out of storage, long pants, socks and heavy shirts mostly. Right now our canal where we swim most afternoons is as hot as bathwater.

Taking a lunch break at three in the morning is s hock to the system as night time temperatures don't generally drop much below 85 degrees and stepping out of the building one finds oneself sweating pretty fast. Getting on the Vespa doesn't do much good as it feels like you're riding into a hot hair dryer. For most people in temperate climes winter is the time to stop riding but around here some people hang  up their riding gear in summer and take to their air conditioned  cars. Not me, I rode to the White Street Pier for some fresh sea air and peace and quiet.

The pier sticks out in an ell shape straight south from the end of White Street and makes a 90 degree right turn at the end about a quarter mile out. Basically its a fishing pier and the waves tend to pass underneath except when they are big when they break over the pier in spectacular fashion. To walk on the pier is like walking on a well paved runway with street lights and benches.

Some people like to come here at dawn and gather to talk, drink coffee and bore their dogs while waiting to see if the sun plans on coming up. Its not a bad place to do just that as you get an uninterrupted view up the south shore of the island. So far the sun has come up each day as far  as I can tell.

The pier is being renovated as part of this frenzy of island wide construction. Roads, sewers, street surfaces and now the pier are  all being repaired all at once it seems like. Happily the pier is frequently open in the middle of the work as they are closing off only the bots that are actually getting work done so much of the pier is available for silent contemplation, fish killing and in some cases sleeping, until at least they get caught.

The Pier is sometimes used as the butt of a joke at the expense of the gullible when they are told that it is the rump of the former bridge to Havana, now closed down by the endlessly stupid Embargo against Cuba.

Its a good place to walk to dissipate  some of the tension that builds up from answering 911 calls all night. The breeze is at its strongest and the walk out and back is easy. I was standing around at the end of the pier minding my own business enjoying the inky darkness of the ocean when I was startled out of my reverie by a voice asking me some damned fool question, like how was I doing or something. Apparently a man and a woman had decided to do some star gazing on the pier, or at least that was what they called it and they were lying in the shadowy darkness behind a ramp between segments of the pier. Its difficult to find a spot to be absolutely alone in Key West. I tried to be polite but I think I failed, stumping off wondering why people can't leave you alone.

Then, if you want to be alone too much, there is the AIDS memorial at the inland end of the pier. It should be a healthy reminder that for quite a few people life got cut short a bit too early. I daresay these folks wouldn't mind getting their time back and to spend some of it engaged in fruitless small talk with strangers. Had I had the time I felt inclined to stroll back out and try to engage with the star gazers. 

I have to say it is a bit startling to see a name here you recognize as a formerly fully functional human, but even more startling is it to realize that there are endless rows of names that mean nothing more to you than the names listed in a phone book.

In the midst of life, as the Good Book says, we are in death, though happily not every 911 call has a tragic outcome. 

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