Mallory Square

In 12 hours Mallory Square will be teeming with people there to watch the sun go down.  For me and my dog it's a breezy walk on the waterfront.

The USS Maine memorial is a reminder of a different time and a different world, a small semi-circle as a reminder of the event that shook the world of it's day: the Spanish American War changed the lives of people living under Spanish rule in islands across the globe. And here in Key West's most tourist-driven spot is the best memorial to that strange and still not completely understood incident. Here's the link: USS Maine.

It really is packed with people at night around here and walking in the early hours reminded me that these barricades are for a reason and I haven't got down to Mallory, except to walk my dog, in far too long.

Looking out across Key West harbor:

Following where Cheyenne leads:

Stephen Mallory's claim to fame was as Secretary to the Confederate Navy. 

Born in Trinidad, a British Colony, in 1812, his family came to Key West in 1820 where eventually after getting an education Up North he became a noted attorney in maritime law. He held local offices including Inspector of Customs and fought in one of the Seminole Wars and eventually was elected US Senator in 1850. He served until the Civil War when he switched sides and  thanks to his maritime knowledge he was appointed Secretary of the Navy for the Confederates, also representing Florida as a senior member of the rebel Cabinet.  He was paroled on charges of treason and returned to Florida where he died, still opposing black voting rights, supporting flogging on ships and praying to a Catholic God who apparently supported these high, humane ideals. He is buried in Pensacola yet his name lives on here in this eccentric town where the Federal Secretary of the Navy has been consigned to oblivion. I love Key West's skewed view of just about everything. Perhaps we should bring back public flogging in his square to honor his memory?

And then through the parking lot toward Wall Street through flocks of cackling chickens.

Another fine day brewing on Mallory Square.

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Old Town Encounters

I am trying to recreate Asa Tift's old boat, well that's what they say the gently decomposing wreck  is, which  lies near the entrance to Mallory Square. My plan is to take one picture each time Cheyenne walks by and today's contribution is a fearsome axe lying on the deck. Nailed down of course, but still... one in the eye for modern safety regulations.

Duval at dawn, blessedly empty.

 Almost empty...

This kind lady came by to say hello and of course I made an arse of myself. I did actually remember talking with her previously but these unscripted encounters aren't my social strong point and I forgot to ask her name or her dog's. I did get her picture though. Maybe next time I will get it together. 

The owner of this home enjoying his porch freaked me out when he uttered  a polite good morning. I got the picture but I had to interact with a stranger and congratulate him on his decorations. I got the mumbled snetence out in more or less good order.

 Morning sunrise at the Curry Mansion on Caroline Street.

Another golden glow, not dappled, at Ocean Key Resort at the end of Duval.

I took a picture of the CVS at 12 Duval which will be replaced by the huge new building across the street at 101 Duval. I found it amusing they are hiring, but of course there will be jobs aplenty at the new store too. I need to get more pictures of this place before it vanishes. The interior is a bit odd with strange angles like a flat iron building. 

Cheyenne wrapped up the walk with a breakfast of very dry very hard pizza. She wan't put off. I like that she can't see a poster and imagine the sandwich to be real. She would be impossible to walk if these two dimensional images meant anything to her.

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Shadows And Light

The  blue  skies and white clouds captivate me in the morning. I took these pictures around seven and I watched the sun come up creating silhouettes all round me on Ramrod Key. Cheyenne hadn't walked for a couple of days so she was ready to stump along  pausing only to let me focus the phone.

This cloud CJ on Little Torch called Godzilla on his Facebook page, a fact I noticed only after I posted this picture as well. I noticed the towering thunderhead, a frequent sight on normal wet summers, driving over the Niles Channel Bridge from Summerland Key and by the time I got out of the car it's height was masked by the trees.

I rarely see shapes in clouds, but this one I saw as a ballet dancer doing a passe, one leg crossed and arms akimbo. Minutes later it was gone, blown to eternity, caught by my lense for one brief moment.

Walking down the street behind my sniffing dog and the sky was almost entirely clear of clouds.

The morning was warm, in the low 80s but I wasn't sweating in the low humidity, and the mosquitoes for some reason (Mosquito Control?) were busy elsewhere. It was a good morning to walk.

I know some people like to see yellow leaves and red hillsides and brown forests this time of year but for me the endless summer of tropical green suits me fine.

Five Brothers Two, the Cuban grocery well known on Southard Street in Key West was closed but the inside light was on throwing a golden glow into the parking lot.

The drive home in sunlight  was delightful. This time of year traffic is often surprisingly light and I'm glad of that.

The first snowfall Up North will bring them down. In droves. Oh well.

Yardie Spice, Homestead

My wife and I had a business meeting in Fort Lauderdale and on our way home I suggested we pick up dinner in Homestead. Usually my wife is the social secretary but I am proud to say this was my idea. Actually this was my second visit to pick up food here, the last time on my Vespa ride to the Everglades in the summer. It was, we both agreed, a good idea.

Yardie Spice (LINK) is easy to find if you look for it on the east side of Krome Avenue as you come into Homestead from the south end of town, just south of the busway. Its a classic hole in the wall, unpretentious and offers good value for great Caribbean food. JP and his wife own the place  and with their mixed backgrounds from Haiti and Jamaica they offer food from both distinct cultures. Next time I will order Griot (pro: gree-oh!) which is a dish of fried pork chunks with spices Cubans could only dream of...

We had a Jamaican beef patty to share and took our hefty load back to the car to make several meals over the next couple of days. Caribbean food is based on rice and beans of course, poor people's food, but where Cuban and Puerto Rican food is relatively spice-free Jamaica and Haiti spice their food up. Goats are survivors in  poor economies and their meat is a staple, slightly gamey like lamb but rich in a curry or when jerked (rubbed with Jamaican spices). We had jerked chicken and curried goat dishes, and as always they were delicious.

Cheyenne got a walk in the lovely industrial suburb of Homestead so she was happy before the two hour drive home...

 ...and we got to eat Caribbean food, a rare treat in our home. This stuff reminds me of sailing the British islands of the Caribbean, curried goat in wraps, called roti in Grenada and St Vincent, mofongo a weird crushed plantain mound sold as a side dish in Puerto Rico and wild chicken curries in the British Virgin Islands on sailing vacations. 

But here we were home at last, with cold beer and a warm dog and the pleasure of bringing the outside world in, on our own plates.

Slowing Down With Cheyenne

I miss my long walks with Cheyenne. She is approaching the mid way point between 14 and 15 years of age, a date that is only approximate as I got her from the pound in December 2009, and she no longer walks as she did, even six months ago. These days a substantial 45 minute walk knocks her out for two days and a trip to the mainland in the car leaves her exhausted for just as long. Afternoon walks hold no attraction for her and any offers to leave the house are weighed up carefully by my Labrador but I never contradict her: she knows her own mind. 

It's  ironic that in the past I sued to wear myself out walking for a couple  of hours with my dog every morning after I got home from work. There she's be, impatiently walking back and forth on the deck waiting for the sound of my motorcycle and off we'd go in the car to seek out some new and interesting place to walk. She had a rotation, one island after another each day and on my days off we'd do Key West streets. It was good for her and good for me. Especially when she'd come up to me in the afternoon and stand in my face staring at me asking for an afternoon stroll as well.

Many was the time we would rush out of the house at four and I'd have to be dragging her back to the car, that stubborn dog, so I could get out of the house in time for work.  Nowadays she hardly ever goes for an afternoon or evening walk, and the days when she comes asking I leap up with alacrity as its as much a treat for me as for her. Mostly she sleeps or she lies awake watching me so I give her a hug and scratch her and when she has enough she turns away and ignores me.

I have decided for my own peace of mind that I may have to go for a stroll by myself from time to time, wander the trails we used to walk together and it will feel odd being without her. Perhaps I will roll out my bicycle and perhaps that will feel less odd. I miss being outdoors and I have to steel myself to leave my dog home alone for a while when I could be spending a few more minutes with her. 

Going to work hasn't changed. When I take my shower Cheyenne gets up, with a little difficulty these days owing to the weakening of her hind legs, and when I shower she still takes that as the sign that I will soon be abandoning her. She continues to protest my departure as she did when she was younger and actively wanted to go with me, by retreating to her night bed in the darkened bedroom and pretending to sleep when I come by to say goodbye. I end up thinking about her a lot while I am at work staring out of the window, wondering what it will be like without her one day in the future.

I have heard people say they don't want dogs because they die on you and it's true they do. But I always find making a rescue dog's life worthwhile is worth more than the pain of separation.

Outside the comfort of our air conditioned house life goes on, the sun comes up, the day gets hot and sometimes muggy and I hope cooler weather will give Cheyenne one last burst of energy. But she deserves her sleep if that's what she wants.  She eats like a horse yet doesn't seem to put on weight. not like some elderly Labradors I have seen.

She goes up and down the outside stairs at our stilt home carefully but determined, refusing help from me with a look of injured pride and a side step that makes me want to hug her. She steps carefully through her dog door to enjoy some afternoon sunbathing on the deck, she lies down next to me, a rare event from this independent dog and I put my hand on her and she snores. Sometime she seems to strain a hind leg or the other with a miss step and my wife whips out the muscle relaxers and pops her one or two to get her back on her feet. She is, like any elderly dog (or human) a little slow and a little fragile but still full of life.

Her body is covered in tumors of one sort or another, mostly just ugly, but the vet says we can't risk having them removed as she may die in the operation which would just be cosmetic anyway. So she is a little lumpy, with a testicle growing under her tail, unsightly but not painful, and a scab on her ear that she enjoys having rubbed with leaves from our aloe plant. She eats her glucosamine pills at breakfast and she farts copiously in the car when bored on long trips, her form of silent deadly protest at being ripped from her home and hearth. When I try to entice her downstairs for a walk or to hang with me while I work on my motorcycle she often refuses and lays down, and cannot be persuaded to do what she doesn't want to do.

Like they say, every day is a blessing with an old dog. 

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By Land And Sea

There are days that take my breath away in the Keys, and despite the multitudes of photos on this page, I do not manage to capture all those moments in pixels. Sometimes when I'm riding the highway I am reluctant to stop, turn around, park the cycle and look for the opening through the mangroves to the horizon. So I lose the moment. But with Cheyenne slowing down a bit I get different kind of moments when on foot.

I surprise myself sometimes by finding what I think is picturesque in the mundane. A boat stored in the air on Stock Island is an intriguing shadow, even though it is just one more  machine stored waiting for use. Eventually. My own boat hasn't seen much use this summer, Cudjoe Bay lacks destinations for me, and as far as swimming goes our canal is ideal, mostly free of traffic, deep and easy accessible from the dock behind our house. Then I saw people living in the water:

The dinghy loaded up with people and slowly puttered out of my field of vision, boat dwellers on their way to mundane life ashore, the place where they store boats in the air, not on the water. Some days I miss the apparent simplicity of living aboard, like the other day when a neighbor came to complain about non native vegetation in my (landlord's) yard. On a boat Brazilian Peppers aren't an issue- ever. Other things are though, and I don't want to enumerate them as that would get tedious but believe me, living on a boat at anchor isn't all beer and skittles. But it sure looks pretty:

Good Lord, the Keys are easy... take a garden shed, stick it on a Hobie Cat or nearest equivalent and you have a  home riding the gentle tides. No fog, snow or ice, no monster winds, except occasionally which also blow away houses from time to time. Living aboard here is not the hardest life of all.  Life on land gets pretty messy too. Would you rather live in a flimsy boat on pristine water or in this sort of chaos?

That or this...?

Or this where puddles and abandoned wrecks litter the landscape? There is purity in living on the water.  

Cheyenne very much likes these kinds of places because she never knows what she will find. I like them because they remind me not everywhere is gentrified. Yet.

Chickens, ducks, iguana or cats, Cheyenne is indifferent to them all. She hunts prey that has been killed cleaned and cooked and then discarded and she is surprisingly successful. The Muscovy ducks strutted away with all dignity intact as she zigged and zagged across the street.

I'm trying to remember the last time I was outside Florida, this year has been unsatisfying for the traveler in me. It's not that I don't want to be here, but from time to time I do like to be elsewhere.  I find the idea of not leaving the Lower Keys from one year's end to the next to be grotesque. I think of all the things I miss by being here...not the people as I like the people here more than I do in most other places. There are no true forests in the Keys, no lakes, no hills, no tree covered roads, no winding rolling country lanes. There are mangroves and palms, amazing waters, and a certain amount of visual uniformity that takes getting used to. I change it up a bit by using a camera lense to see things though some people  might find that odd.

If the Lower Keys truly were an island I doubt I could live here. Being able to get on the road and reach California even, without asking or seeking permission or paying for a travel ticket, by sea or air, makes this place properly connected even if remote. I wouldn't mind a hill though, a high spot with a winding road to get to a belvedere at the top, likely selling refreshments in the breeze. Instead we get hump backed bridges. But the Keys are decidedly part of the US, with baseball diamonds school buses, dollar bills and cellphones just like "back home."

In the Keys going to work is the same old chore, perhaps noticeably nicer thanks to a shortage of ice or frost or snow, though some people like that stuff. You bring a lunch box and wait around for your ride to take you to your workplace. Just like they do in Pullman, Pittsburgh or Pensacola. It's true, you might be a bi-lingual fifth generation Conch, but the idea remains the same, work is work. And behind you, unnoticed thanks to your routine, the sun rises on a brilliant sparkling new day illuminating Fall foliage that never yields to seasonal changes of color. 

El Senor Boungy apparently ran out of steam and because I liked the way they finished out his term in matching red paint I went looking for him. This obituary in the Key West Citizen explains all:

Emigdio A. Gil, 69, of Key West, Fla., passed away on Friday, Nov. 15, 2013, at the Hospice Care Center in Brooksville, Fla. He was born on July 27, 1944, in Tampa, Fla., to the late Antonio and Cathy Gil.

Emigdio, also known as Tony or El Senior Boungy, was part owner of Tony's Roofing Company. He was a past president and member of the Jaycees, the American Legion, the Civil Service Board, Contractor's Board, the Elks Club, Moose Lodge and also served as a Mason. He will be missed by all of his friends and family and all the jokes that he used to tell.

Too bad his business had to close.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;