My wife's cousin Kirk came to visit from Seattle.
We took them walking round Key West as one does and they were suitably entranced by the architecture of a town they had never previously seen. Cheyenne, who has seen a great deal of Key West in the 14 months we have been together remains entranced by the sights and smells of the city. She is seen here viewing Jimmy Buffett's recording studio. 
We were not alone pausing at the monument at Greene and Elizabeth Streets. These urchins seemed very taken by their souvenirs.
In the fullness of time Kirk's long time buddy Jay showed up after trolling around the waterfront.
We walked and talked with the two Seattle attorneys as we made our way across town to the ice cream store on Upper Duval. Our guests were not alone in finding much to admire in the Southernmost City.
I always feel a certain obligation to photograph the damned chickens because people do find them fascinating. I am less entranced by them.
I have to confess I have no desire to dress up like this clown either. He was offering himself to passers by with cameras as though this odd get up were something of merit. Perhaps it is, a sign of his balls where I have none, when it comes to giving up my dignity.
Snowbird season is upon us and it's in full swing recession or not. One sign of snowbird season is the sudden proliferation of helmets. You can't swing a cat in Key West these days without knocking over a cyclist who is wearing bicycle appropriate clothing.
Sitting out in front of the ice cream parlor we saw dozens of helmeted (moto-) cyclists, some wearing spandex cycling shorts and bicycle gloves- the ones with the finger tips cut off. Local insouciance was also on display.
I ordered a small Key Lime sorbet from Flamingo Crossing. Sorbets are water based and are thus not sold in cones. A dish of sorbet is as much as I can eat even in the small size.
I think Flamingo Crossing on Duval at Virginia has the best ice cream anywhere in Florida- a broad claim I know but there we are. When I want high calorie ice cream I like their tropical fruits, soursop most particularly. Kirk was on a more conventional chocolate based jag.
When we lived in Santa Cruz, California, it was a matter of fifteen hours by car up Interstate Five, or a couple of hours by plane to visit Kirk and his family. Kirk used to be a big shot lawyer in Seattle managing a law firm that included the mythical Bill Gates' Dad, a name that tends to attract attention much to my amusement as Kirk is as indifferent to fame as he is to protocol. Since he retired Kirk looks to my eye to be much more relaxed of course but his sense of humor remains his stock in trade.
This I would be willing to bet is not a snowbird on a bicycle.
Tourists taking their beers for a walk. I have no idea if it is legal or not, but I am one of those fuddy duddies who likes to sit down while drinking. 
Helmetless rental bicycles, thus blowing apart all generalizations.
Jay posed for me momentarily which was very kind of him. The idea is for the lawyers to bring their families to Key West in late April to enjoy warmer weather and sunshine with children and wives and the whole nine yards. Jay is so laid back he was embarrassed that his phone kept ringing and he had to huddle by himself on the sidewalk negotiating some improbable deal underway in the snowy wastes of Washington State.
Kirk was always the patriarch of the "younger" generation and his home above a lake in Seattle was the gathering place for the clan. Layne and I showed up with our dogs and he greeted them with the same welcome as he did for the children of more conventional families.
In a moment of light headedness my wife told Kirk about Guayaberas, the classic Cuban shirt. Which was how we came to find ourselves at Beall's outlet on the Boulevard as the two men of law were preparing to leave town. Kirk had got into the key West thing, "I could see myself living here," he muttered speculatively as he sat in the shade enjoying the winter warmth. "Of course there isn't a hope in Hell," he added vehemently, "unless the grand kids uproot themselves from the Bay Area." When Kirk's wife retires from a career of teaching in Seattle they will be moving to the San Francisco Bay Area for that very reason. Rather them than me. I suggested to Kirk that these shorts, on the Sale rack at Bealls (pronounced "Bells" for no known reason) would set him up for a role in a remake of the movie Cocoon. He liked the idea. "There is a golf course around here?" he asked hopefully. Cheap too, I said, repeating what my friends have told me.
But it was the shirt rack we had come to ravage.
Jay was more modest in his sartorial aspirations.
The heavy lifting was going on in this corner.
"55 percent linen" Kirk crowed as he admired the embroidery and the pockets.
"You don't need any more shirts," my wife hissed at me. "Besides you're so hairy you'd need an undershirt to wear something like that," she added giving the coup de grace to my modest attempt at rebellion. I gave up under shirts and ties as a bad job after I left boarding school.
It was, all in all a very successful visit.
We took them walking round Key West as one does and they were suitably entranced by the architecture of a town they had never previously seen. Cheyenne, who has seen a great deal of Key West in the 14 months we have been together remains entranced by the sights and smells of the city. She is seen here viewing Jimmy Buffett's recording studio. We were not alone pausing at the monument at Greene and Elizabeth Streets. These urchins seemed very taken by their souvenirs.In the fullness of time Kirk's long time buddy Jay showed up after trolling around the waterfront.We walked and talked with the two Seattle attorneys as we made our way across town to the ice cream store on Upper Duval. Our guests were not alone in finding much to admire in the Southernmost City.I always feel a certain obligation to photograph the damned chickens because people do find them fascinating. I am less entranced by them.
I have to confess I have no desire to dress up like this clown either. He was offering himself to passers by with cameras as though this odd get up were something of merit. Perhaps it is, a sign of his balls where I have none, when it comes to giving up my dignity.
Snowbird season is upon us and it's in full swing recession or not. One sign of snowbird season is the sudden proliferation of helmets. You can't swing a cat in Key West these days without knocking over a cyclist who is wearing bicycle appropriate clothing.Sitting out in front of the ice cream parlor we saw dozens of helmeted (moto-) cyclists, some wearing spandex cycling shorts and bicycle gloves- the ones with the finger tips cut off. Local insouciance was also on display.I ordered a small Key Lime sorbet from Flamingo Crossing. Sorbets are water based and are thus not sold in cones. A dish of sorbet is as much as I can eat even in the small size.I think Flamingo Crossing on Duval at Virginia has the best ice cream anywhere in Florida- a broad claim I know but there we are. When I want high calorie ice cream I like their tropical fruits, soursop most particularly. Kirk was on a more conventional chocolate based jag.
When we lived in Santa Cruz, California, it was a matter of fifteen hours by car up Interstate Five, or a couple of hours by plane to visit Kirk and his family. Kirk used to be a big shot lawyer in Seattle managing a law firm that included the mythical Bill Gates' Dad, a name that tends to attract attention much to my amusement as Kirk is as indifferent to fame as he is to protocol. Since he retired Kirk looks to my eye to be much more relaxed of course but his sense of humor remains his stock in trade.This I would be willing to bet is not a snowbird on a bicycle.
Tourists taking their beers for a walk. I have no idea if it is legal or not, but I am one of those fuddy duddies who likes to sit down while drinking. 
Helmetless rental bicycles, thus blowing apart all generalizations.
Jay posed for me momentarily which was very kind of him. The idea is for the lawyers to bring their families to Key West in late April to enjoy warmer weather and sunshine with children and wives and the whole nine yards. Jay is so laid back he was embarrassed that his phone kept ringing and he had to huddle by himself on the sidewalk negotiating some improbable deal underway in the snowy wastes of Washington State.
Kirk was always the patriarch of the "younger" generation and his home above a lake in Seattle was the gathering place for the clan. Layne and I showed up with our dogs and he greeted them with the same welcome as he did for the children of more conventional families.
In a moment of light headedness my wife told Kirk about Guayaberas, the classic Cuban shirt. Which was how we came to find ourselves at Beall's outlet on the Boulevard as the two men of law were preparing to leave town. Kirk had got into the key West thing, "I could see myself living here," he muttered speculatively as he sat in the shade enjoying the winter warmth. "Of course there isn't a hope in Hell," he added vehemently, "unless the grand kids uproot themselves from the Bay Area." When Kirk's wife retires from a career of teaching in Seattle they will be moving to the San Francisco Bay Area for that very reason. Rather them than me. I suggested to Kirk that these shorts, on the Sale rack at Bealls (pronounced "Bells" for no known reason) would set him up for a role in a remake of the movie Cocoon. He liked the idea. "There is a golf course around here?" he asked hopefully. Cheap too, I said, repeating what my friends have told me.But it was the shirt rack we had come to ravage.Jay was more modest in his sartorial aspirations.
The heavy lifting was going on in this corner."55 percent linen" Kirk crowed as he admired the embroidery and the pockets.
"You don't need any more shirts," my wife hissed at me. "Besides you're so hairy you'd need an undershirt to wear something like that," she added giving the coup de grace to my modest attempt at rebellion. I gave up under shirts and ties as a bad job after I left boarding school. It was, all in all a very successful visit.
Brick has been a secondary construction material in Key West's history I suspect owing to expense. Bricks are heavy and made good ballast in sailing ships but must have been costly cargo. Most homes are made of timber, and we are told much of that came from wrecks. Below we see China Garden West, one of three restaurants in the chain (one at Sears and one in Big Pine), also a landmark here:
The fourth corner is the Cafe Marquesa, classic wood construction and pretty enough but on this occasion I wanted to walk north on Simonton and see what has changed. This strange overhang inspires me to take a picture every time I pass.
Cheyenne is fond of poking her nose in as we stroll past businesses. her reception here was chilly- we pressed on. 
Parts of Simonton near Eaton Street are covered by huge trees that cast dark shadows across the street. It's almost like a forest in there.
John Simonton bought Key West from Juan Salas who got the rocky little lump from the Spanish crown. Simonton took his $2000 investment and in 1819 divided the island up into four parts, one for himself, one for John Fleeming (later called Fleming), one for John Whitehead and one final portion for Pardon Greene. There was another claimant to the land one John Geddes of Charleston who bought the island a second time from Salas, but that claim was denied by the US Admiralty and so the fifth man by the name of John involved in this saga of purchase and re-purchase of this small chunk of rock exited the scene.
Walking these streets one has to wonder what it was really like living in Key West back in the 1830's. My guess is it was probably a lot less unusual than it is today. Back then everyone lived a life of not much travel, they stayed close to home much more than we do, and the constraints of island living probably were not as restrictive as they sometimes appear today.
The climate has always been mild and the heat of summer must have slowed the pace of life down not a little. On the other hand Key West was a major stopping point on the sea lanes between the Gulf Coast (Appalachicola, New Orleans, Mobile and Galveston in particular) and necessities and luxuries flowed through the town for those that could buy them. This street-side trash can filled with garden "waste" is a reminder of how fecund Key West is.
They say Key West has more churches per capita than any other town in North America and who I am to argue with that. Catholicism has been a loud voice in the island affairs over the centuries, naturally, considering the Spanish influence. Key West also boasts Florida's oldest Jewish congregation which brings my wife some pride. However if she were observant she would not be allowed to attend as she married me, a man who looks like a Jew (and wishes he were a Jew) but is in point of fact-not. There's always a catch. The Judaism my wife has taught me has some quite entrancing aspects especially compared to the dour tenets of my youthful Catholicism, but I am too indolent and unmotivated to convert. So I limit myself to enjoying the architecture of these great buildings. The interior of this Methodist Church is equally lovely. Unfortunately the last time I was inside it was for a funeral.
The art deco pink and white building houses the Scottish Rite of the Freemasons, and as I am about as enthusiastic about hopping around on one foot while wearing an apron, as I am about getting on my knees in church, I couldn't possibly say what goes on in there. The good news is that this is also home to Voltaire Books a delightful, clean well lighted place for books. If you can stand to be treated cheerfully by intelligent employees you will do a lot better here than the gruesome dour troglodyte who operates Island Books, the other independent book store. .
I have no children and thus am frequently baffled by the demands of child rearing. I actually didn't notice the little tyke on the bike until after I had photographed the eclectic assemblage. However one has to wonder why a helmet is good for the kid and superfluous for it's bread winner. 
We passed Eaton Street and kept stumping along. The artist that operated this place, The Sign Of Sandford died a while back. I was surprised it appeared to be in full operation. 
Private property tows are the subject of some debate at the moment in the city. For instance if you park in somebody's privately owned lot, be it a business or something like an apartment complex parking lot you are subject to being towed for illegal parking. The tow companies hold these contracts and patrol them all night long. When they find a violator they call the police, we check the vehicle to make sure it's not stolen and off it goes. The fees for the tow vary and are immensely costly, usually I think between one and two hundred dollars though I have nothing to do with that end of the operation.
The city commission is thinking about changing some of the rules and requiring someone from the business to call the tows in, rather than having the trucks just float by and pick off the parked cars. The fees have come under scrutiny not least because they vary widely and no one seems to know exactly what they are. There are all sorts of storage charges and added fees it is all terribly confusing.
This is the rear of Casa Antigua, the pile opposite the Federal Building on Simonton. It's claim to fame is that Ernest Hemingway lived here for a while before he got his own home in town. I rather like the self contained nature of the house and interior garden. Rather like one of those Islamic gardens of Granda of yore.
One thing that strikes anyone who travels around the Keys a little bit is how often vehicles cross paths in the course of a day. The "coincidence" of seeing the same vehicle coming from and later going to the city is too frequent to mention. However when I passed this Honda CB350, a motorcycle almost as old as I am, it had been on the shoulder of Highway One in the Saddlebunch Keys with two people on board.
Pretty as a picture but apparently no longer able to keep up highway speeds. The race does not always go to the swift (though usually in my experience it tends to). This guy looked caged but actually he was meditating outside the dog run.
