Saturday, October 4, 2014

Thunderstorms In Blue

Sometimes my phone camera surprises me. An exposure setting left from a previous expedition produces unexpected results. I was at the Ramrod Pool with the hound early one morning, but not too early as darkness persists to beyond 6:30 these days... I love daylight savings time!... and instead I got this surreal shade of blue over everything. What the hell...thunderstorms in blue, so be it.

"Blues With a Feelin'"
(Little Walter, Paul Butterfield)

Blues with a feelin',
that's what I have today
Blues with a feelin',
that's what I have today
I'm gonna find my baby,
if it takes all night and day

What a lonesome feelin',
when your by yourself
What a lonesome feelin',
when your by yourself
When the one that you're lovin',
have gone away livin'

Courtesy of GarytheTourist.
 

Lo! What light through yonder window breaks..? Just another thunderhead ready to swallow my car.

 

Friday, October 3, 2014

Not Qualified For Keys Living

It occurs to me I have been living a vampire life lately, a great deal of work, huge paychecks, lots of commuting by motorcycle (yay!) with my few precious daylight hours consumed by  chores of varying degrees of drearyness. That's why I have these night time pictures of Truman Avenue taken on a recent lunch break.
I met an unusual person recently while out walking my dog, unusual because she doesn't yet live here and seems entirely unsuited to be contemplating the idea. . I should have thought I was well protected by a dog that brooks no company and a motorcycle magazine held close to my face but the woman broke down my defenses. I felt obliged to be sociable as she was entirely pleasant and her dogs were cheerful souls, peeing on each other at random which neither Cheyenne nor I approved of exactly, but we are old foges. We rarely pee on each other, unless in a moment of absentmindedness as you do.
 San Diego she said, is not her cup of tea, which was a surprising statement as many people consider it to be some sort of not-too-cold nirvana, decent light air sailing, mountains deserts and culture nearby, jobs in a mild climate if you can stand cold wet winters and the pleasures of laid back Baja California at your doorstep as it were. Instead this odd traveler is trying to break a tie between Northern California, land of endless damp fog and gray skies and cool summers or Key West.
I hate mosquitoes she said, they give me welts. I don't like the heat much either she said. I stared at her, and I hope I wasn't too rude. Umm I said, trying to figure my phrasing  ahead of opening my mouth in public. We haven't seen temperatures below sixty degrees for three years I said. It'll cool off soon won't it. she said as this surreal conversation went on under the shade of a poinciana tree. Umm I said again, probably not much before November, we need at least two cold fronts to end summer.
It turns out she has a mobile job and her sister has a house in the Keys, neither of which is much of a qualification to move here but clearly she needs to look much more closely at Humboldt County or Mendocino and a lot less at the Lower Florida Keys. Her dogs would probably like it better as well. She spent much of our fifteen minute conversation pouring tepid water on her panting hounds. Cheyenne watched in disbelief. 
I think I am supposed to be the noise of encouragement to people contemplating living here. The way I see it no one takes advice anyway and if you really want to live here you will. But I won't be complicit in making up how great you will find it because you may very well not. I asked a friend why she moved to the Keys, not once but twice, the second time determined never to leave. She lives in expensive sub standard housing with weirdly painted walls, unreliable appliances,  air conditioning so feeble she, who is cold blooded, finds it insupportably inefficient. Yet she loves living in Old Town. Why? She doesn't have to drive, she likes being on the water and people are genuinely pleasant she said.  It;s different and I've never been happier among my friends.   
Actually I feel the same way on my good days.  I cherish being left alone when I need to have alone time. I like the idea that I can still against the odds, do my own thing and I enjoy living among people who don't give a fig for fashion or customary mores. It can get tedious of course because not all social mores are undesirable but you have to take the good with the bad and the good is better than the bad is bad. Drinking is a common pastime which is tedious after a while, every social function lubricated by alcohol. Bad, sometimes. But there again the drinking is generally in my experience good natured, so that's good. The problem is that for people not used to these skewed perspectives Key West can often seem insane and this is a town that refuses to re-order priorities to conform with outsiders' expectations. So on this front door of this rooming house you will find the contradictory notions that simply by entering you become a suspicious vermin subject to search and seizure on a whim of management who also cheerfully posts the "One Human Family" slogan underneath the draconian restrictions on personal liberty... Its why I love Key West, the contradictions make me smile. Other people find them crazy making.
Key West is a town that rarely rewards ambition. You need to know your place and accept that the people who run the place have no interest in you, your skills, your experience  or your enthusiasm. Much better not to need a job. However a job gives you a place in the pecking order, an entry to the nether regions of life in this small fishbowl. 
I sometimes forget how unusual is the architecture of this town in a country devoted to plasterboard malls and manufactured homes. The historic  brick structures you see Up North might be useful down here were the bricks not so expensive to import. so they used ship's timbers to build these homes. 
That  huge question about life in Key West...where do the locals eat? How about Dennys? Not romantic enough? Perhaps but there is a peculiar lust after chain restaurants in Key West, mostly because there aren't that many of them and most people hate to drive. Plus local wages don't allow for tourist type meals out too often. 
Sometimes the lack of taste can get frustrating. Beautiful bas relief wood panels in the door are offset by a  two dollar plastic sign. Even if the house is unoccupied and dusty, surely unauthorized entry is obvious even without the ugly sign? 
Affordable housing has been on the city's agenda as long as anyone has been alive but the conundrum of how to house the worker bees that keep the city running is yet to be solved. The affordable housing stock is getting elderly.
In the bad old days some company housing was pretty decent. The lighthouse keeper's home on Whitehead Street:
 They moved the lighthouse inland as it was too vulnerable near the water and the keeper of the flame got a rather decent residence to enjoy in the middle of town. The best perk of all in this town: somewhere affordable to live.

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Ocean Moods

A commercial fisherman, identified by large registration numbers on his boat and the weird driving position at the front (the helm at the bow, landlubbers), cutting across Kemp Channel toward Summerland Key.
From left to right, the new, 1982, bridge with the white water pipe  bringing water from Homestead to Key West, then the 1912 Flagler Bridge with the tide rushing south under it.
My bicycle parked at the end of the separate bike trail on Cudjoe Key. I wish they would connect the old Flagler bridges but that would cost money. Instead they cut them in half  and close the stumps. 
Further east I took Cheyenne to the "beach" on West Summerland Key, near Bahia Honda State Park for an afternoon airing. I am not fond of gray skies and pewter seas. I like sunshine and bright colors but either way this is a good place to cloud watch or wave watch or to read while your dog sleeps. Whatever dolt with a sense of humor put this sign here in the undergrowth on a  45 degree slope deserves recognition for a fine sense of the absurd. The only reason an enterprising RVer would consider parking in this unlikely spot would be to defy the absurd sign.
Did I say beach? The proper beach with imported sand and some dead seaweed is across the channel at the State Park, famous on Bahia Honda ("deep bay."). Here on an undeveloped parking area the beach at low tide resembles an excavated quarry.
Not what tourists expect if they haven't done their homework. The Keys are built on limestone rock, once underwater, now exposed to the air corals grew in pre-history then died leaving these islands above the sea level. Mainland Florida is the sandpit. To visit the Keys for the beaches only leads to disappointment. 

 Cheyenne enjoys sitting in the grass made abundant by Biblically heavy rains this summer.
I enjoy seeing her happy on an overcast dull afternoon. Exciting lives we live in the Lower Florida Keys.

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Lost In The Woods

Cheyenne for  reasons known only to her took off one morning and abandoned paved roads, neighborhoods and garbage cans.  
It was lovely in its own damp way, a walk we haven't done in a  while which was maybe why my opinionated dog figured it was time to revisit the puddles and marshes of the pine forests that give Big Pine key it's name. That and the fact that Big Pine is the second largest Key, behind Key Largo.
 So I played with my camera settings and let herself do whatever it was she wanted to do in the bushes. Labrador fun.



 Oh and then there is the vegetation.


 Poisonwood with the black splotches will get you a nice rash if you let the sap rub your skin.
 30 miles from Duval and lost in the woods. A whole other world.

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Storms And Spanish Limes

We have been watching California shrivel up in an apparently endless drought that would have me concerned if I lived there. I did in fact live through what was then an historic seven year drought and enjoyed ever minute of every endlessly sunny day, but this effort seems ominous and overpowering, with reservoirs empty and rivers shriveling up as fast as the aquifers dry and hollow out the very substance of the Golden State.
No such luck here in the Sunshine State where summer has been an endless parade of clouds and rain and thunderstorms and sudden winds and all the drama I love as long as temperatures in the worst of it stay well above 70 degrees. Cheyenne likes it well below seventy degrees but she has a couple of months to wait.
Spanish Lime season is upon us and  without warning you will find yourself rolling on these small green marbles littering the sidewalks under the trees. Why they are left to fall to the ground and rot I couldn't say, perhaps as a statement of abundance and surplus in our town, but Spanish Limes are delicious. Shown here from Wikipedia in all their lush glory, you break open the leathery skin with your teeth and pull out the little lychee ball inside, and suck the sweet-tart flesh off the over sized pit inside. The joy and irritation of Spanish Limes, aside from slipping on those abandoned on the sidewalks, is the taste of the flesh and the tiny quantity of it found on each fruit. Eating Spanish Limes can become obsessive.
These reflections were prompted by several trees shedding their loads somewhere around Caroline and Whitehead which encouraged me to turn on my phone/flashlight and grovel around imitating my dog at a trash can. I salvaged quite a few intact fruit, knocked down perhaps by the recent summer thunderstorm winds, and we marched on, me dripping lime juice. I felt quite the philistine eating found fruit and remembering I have yet to visit the Audubon House. I will, soon, if not in October then in November.
Audubon didn't spend long in Key West, a few months, long enough to slaughter a bunch of birds he'd never seen and reduce the flesh and feathers to Art. That Victorian propensity for killing that which you admire seems so alien these days as we number the species set for extinction, the reduction of habitat and the abundance of cement and plastic in our lives. "Here's a pretty bird! Let's kill it for posterity! Good show!" Odd people. Then I saw a couple of pigeons sheltering under a colonnade. I wondered if they thanked their lucky stars they were born common as dirt and thus of no value to Art.
I first met Spanish Limes in St George's Grenada  a few decades ago. My wife and I had chartered a sailboat  for a two week cruise through the southern Caribbean and one of these summer thunderstorms of the kind that also sweeps Key West, kept us huddled below decks after we dropped anchor in the capital city harbor of Grenada. It was a miserable night, our first on our cruise, hot and sticky, the cabin cushions were made of some synthetic material that vaguely resembled the corpse of a particularly wiry sheep which made sleeping on them feel like a peculiar act of bestiality. We sweated copiously struggling to find a comfortable position in the greenhouse-like cabin, wrapped in damp sheets, stretched out on the floor (the sole landlubbers) as endless rained pittered and pattered on the cabin roof. 
Morning brought steaming relief, and the sight of sunshine and a circular hilly harbor, the slopes rising straight up from the deep blue water, hillsides covered in greenery and rusty tin roofs. The Carenage they call the harbor, seen in the Wikipedia picture below, pretty much as I remember St Georges twenty years ago. We went ashore to look for coffee, the cabin being still too hot to contemplate breakfast among the disorganized herd of cushions piled in a damp heap. We also found the market, the sort of place you might imagine finding in a  small Caribbean country, piles of this and that, food, household items, clothes shoes and small mechanical parts, each table presided over by eagle eyed somnolent salespeople. My wife lives for this kind of shopping when we travel and we ended up spending some time moving from shady spot to shady spot checking stuff out. I discovered custard apples, large dark colored pine cones filled with yellow vanilla custard produced as God intended and easy to suck out without making too much of a mess. The best breakfast ever I figured. 

We made our way back to the dinghy ready to blow the metropolis and explore the Grenadines, classic tropical island dots of palms and sand in a cerulean sea which we had read about in the gloomy California summer back home. But before we left for desert island living we loaded up with food. Serious sailors call grocery shopping "provisioning" as though they are equipping a 19th century man o' war for a distant expedition; my wife and I go shopping like the bourgeois middle class sailors we are. As we got back to the dinghy dock some kids came out with bunches of large green grapes offering us "christophenes" which we tasted and liked and bought bunches to decorate our cabin and our taste buds. I have never heard them called that since that trip to Grenada, but for me, Spanish Limes will always be christophenes and I will remember that start of a cruise that turned out to be a wild and most enjoyable adventure, so much so my wife was hooked on travel by sail from there on. And I am glad to remember the crazy anti gluten fad was not even on the horizon.
Key Limes and Spanish Limes should not be confused. Key Limes taste like you'd imagine but more concentrated, Spanish Limes are delicious in a very different way.
Rain on Duval Street and rain across Mallory Square. And below we see an MG Midget by a new trainee in dispatch. I wondered if it would start after the rainstorm and she looked at me as though I were an idiot. Her husband has restored it top to bottom it seems and the roof doesn't leak she said, reminding me I was riding home on my roofless Bonneville. 
Actually it did fire right up, not drowned by the soaking wet night and she left the parking lot while I was still standing around, shrugging and dancing my way into my Frogg Toggs in an effort to go home mostly dry. Rain, not as much a pain in the Keys as you would think.