Crane Boulevard

A change I thought,  is as good as a rest. Rusty apparently did not agree. 

I drove him out to  Crane  Boulevard for a  quick extra walk on our way from Key West.  The rain had passed, the air was damp but I thought it might make a pleasant stop. a different stop.

I may not have made this point before but my dog is a creature of habit and this walk is not on his circuit.

He walked fifty yards beyond the gate and then turned around and sniffed his way back toward the inhabited part of the road.

I thought oh well, it's his walk, his choice so he gets what he wants. I played with the camera seeking still life. A roadway stripe, the edges made dark by the rain:

A glint in the sun, rendered banal by the telephoto lens. 

We looked at mangroves for a while and resumed our interrupted journey home. 

Pigeons And Masks

More mask signs, this one at the Margaritaville Resort on the docks. I get the feeling masks will one day be something we will not even notice. At the rate we are going it seems like we are never going to be done with the damned things. I wish these notices weren't necessary buit still we struggle on.

I wonder what kind of communications one has to have to be able to live even a portion of your time on a boat that has four domes. I sent this picture to my sailing friend Webb who ventures off shore with no means to communicate other than through a  modest locator device and he noticed the forest of satellite telephony antennas as well.

But some poor soul needs to spend time polishing the thing because god forbid it should be speckled. 

The elements were working against the industrious use of the chamois leather, rain seems to be a given on  any day I have off:

But for pigeons rainwater is just an excuse to have a bath. They didn't seem best pleased by my interest in their al fresco ablutions:

Gratuitous Rusty picture in front of the Mel Fisher museum:

 

Mangroves

A few pictures that tickled my fancy from a walk with Rusty a few days ago. A little serenity in a busy world.

Happily I managed to find a couple of pigeons for today's essay. These two look like they may be recovering from a marital spat. Perhaps that might be the case were they human. Probably they were just hanging out together.

These water pictures I made using the reflected light of a mostly overcast evening. In the lower picture the old gambusia trench is much more clearly visible. They were hoping to develop these areas so they dug trenches to hold gambusia fish which live in the mud in the dry season and eat mosquito larvae in the wet season. 

Gratuitous Rusty picture:

Mallory Waterfront

There was a slightly bizarre looking sky standing on Mallory Square and looking southwest toward Sand Key (and ultimately Mexico). The dude sitting on the seawall was in some kind of meditative trance and either he had got bored of the strangely arcing cloud or maybe he hadn't noticed it at all. Rusty gave him a wide berth.

Signs everywhere about masks but this one inspired some wag to spice it up a bit. Nicely done. 

I couldn't keep my eyes off the boiling clouds in the sky as the sun came up and tinged them with the colors of fire.

The brick wall at Meson de Pepe, the Cuban restaurant, positively glowed against the stormy looking sky.

Three seagulls conferring on the railing at the waterfront.

The trickery of long lenses made them look much closer than they actually were. Cruise ships tie up to that cement platform when seagulls aren't in residence.

Looking at this carbuncle at the end of Mallory Square nearest Margaritaville Resort you'd wonder why something wasn't done with it. The restaurant owner offering to turn it into an eatery on Mallory Square has been trying to develop it for fully ten years and can't get the city to agree. The story is long and convoluted but Joe Walsh who owns other restaurants nearby wants to open an eatery and import food from his other restaurants as this place cannot have a kitchen. The city commission has never agreed formally to the plan agreed by the former city manager and some of those elected leaders say the space is zoned for a museum and public space as well as a restaurant. But the lack of a kitchen...and here we have this crumbling wreck in the middle of the tourist zone. 

I keep looking for skylines because Key West has so many varied shapes and angles in the air.  There's another pigeon. It looks like I might get a pigeon and a mask sign in every essay this week. Purely by accident but they seem to predominate at the moment.

 

Not Downtown

There is something about coronavirus that destroys variety in our lives. We are the lucky ones, or perhaps the smart ones on the edge of the infection, the ones who stay away from bars and crowds and beaches and indoor dining and protect our infirmities or old age by being cautious. We;ve been doing it for so long one has to make an effort to remember life before masks and hand sanitizer and locked office doors and socially distanced grocery shopping and deliberately planning how to avoid crossing paths with people and the sense of resentment when noses appear above masks or defiant looks accompany an uncovered face. 

I have to think back to times spent on Duval Street watching the swirl of people, since March 15th a sight pretty much unseen. I cannot complain as my health continues to be good but I do complain in my head, a first world complaint, the lamentation of the entitled and the weary. Being out in nature seemed a privilege, and now it seems a confinement. How messed up is that?

Dying a coronavirus death seems as ghastly as anything and people in under developed countries are dying unattended where hospitals can't cope. I cannot imagine being in an ICU in the first or the third world, a place where family members can't visit, where you live alone in a hospital bed and with a fever; a place where there isn't enough staff to look after you and those there are walking the wards live in exhaustion and fear of infecting themselves or their families.

I force myself to a life of repetition, of sameness, of avoidance, of transparency that leads to boredom. No theater, no restaurants, always ordering food to go when we order at all. Gone is the gym replaced by the fake bonhomie of exercise videos. All at home, which is no longer an inviting place to gather. Socially distanced invitations  now consist of spreading food on our ten foot picnic table and distance eating while talking like lawyers visiting their clients in prison. It is bizarre.

The outdoor spaces remain lovely but I am starting to tire of photographing the same places and though my problems are mild they impinge on my sense of being alive. I am lucky my workplace respects our needs and our health and our safety. I read about the Sheriff in Ocala who has banned face masks in his offices. Banned them. What a choice that would be for me with a  wife with no immune system. My office is cleaned and sanitized daily, doors are closed, masks are worn in the corridors and we all grumble because it is annoying but we aren't stupid like the Sheriff in Ocala. I am lucky where I work.

I feel like I am turning into my dog and that may not be that terribly awful. Rusty loves his routines, the sameness of his walks, the familiar excites him and the compensation for being away is made stronger when he returns to new smells and more of the sameness of before. Now he looks forward to seeing what he missed while on the road and he relaxers  when surrounded by the familiar. I need to learn to imitate his contentment. No, actually I fear learning to be content just like him; I want my human edge to stay sharp.

Rusty at home.

One more mangrove root, one more reflection,

My favorite tree, a survivor, close to under water at high high tides, blown this way and that by storms but still producing green leaves and a little shade at the corner of two trails. Trees are filled with infinite patience. I wonder if they would like to pull up roots and travel like me?

Another glorious morning. More of the same, day after day, till the end of our time.

Tropical Storm Winds

With Tropical Storm Laura passing about 150 miles east of Key West even before clearing Cuba's west end, the wind made itself felt.

Key West has always done well in these situations thanks to the reef, which keeps coastal waters shallow and tries to break up wave action. However it's not a seawall and energy reaches the land one way or another.

There has been a long standing joke in Key West that the White Street Pier is the stump of the bridge to Cuba, closed by sanctions. It's not true of course but it raises the occasional tourist eyebrow and represents  some of what we miss by being cut off from that island. On days like yesterday the sense of isolation was enhanced by the seas boiling.

There is a certain pleasure when the weather is like this, as there is no threat from a direct hit by an actual hurricane with all the drama and chaos that brings, but like this we can be reminded of how we survive violence in nature and eventually overcome. That feels good.

It's vulnerable living close to sea level with a scheduled hurricane season for half of each year. We are coming into the busy month so the fact that Tropical Storm Laura is passing us by en route to dusting the Gulf Coast is nice for now, but there is no guarantee as to the next circle of pain coming across the Atlantic. It could be our turn next and we all know it. Especially now that we hear the hurricane may land in Louisiana and Texas as a Category 4, just like Irma landed here in 2017...

The spray was flying over the seawall such that when I got home Gannet 2 got a hose down. I was extra glad my camper van had that undercoat I had applied in Miami. South Roosevelt Boulevard always gets salt water and sand and chaos when we take a direct hit from a storm. And usually boats duck and run for marinas or mangroves to get some protection. 

Instead the order to evacuate RVs mobile homes and boats has been rescinded by the county and liveaboards can luxuriate in the simple of act of survival.  With the rain blown through for a while, the skies clear and a setting sun to illuminate the scene being alive on a boat, be it ever so humble, can feel pretty damned good.

We had a call this past week for an ambulance for a man suffering downtown on the street. They took him away and later he died not alone but looked after, at least that. His sister called to try to figure out his personal effects from far out of state. I don't think he had much of great value but it was what she had to remember him by, including his much loved bicycle.  His bicycle. I directed her to the proper place to find his property and she left me sitting there wondering about what we leave behind. A bicycle in Key West is a valuable tool, a way to get around even in the face of strong winds and heavy seas. I hope his sister knows her brother depended on his humble bike. I rather suspect she does and somehow she will be reunited with that critical vestige of her late brother's life. I wonder where else in America a cheap beach bike is a valued heirloom. I wish it were true in more places. This guy was pushing hard against Tropical Storm Laura and reminded me of the value of decent bike.

I had to take the van to work as the Fiat after 106,000 miles decided to burst a brake line. I am a quick study with a hand brake so I didn't crash.  I got it to a safe parking spot at work so that later the wrecker could  haul to the shop. Thank you Triple A.

I like driving the van, high up and ponderous and no one cuts this tank off as I bowl down the road towards them.  I will be glad to get the 40 mpg Fiat back, for my commute later this week.

I am ready for the wind to die down, the seas to stay where they belong for now,  and no more storms for the next couple of months. That would be nice. Naturally we wouldn't mind if these two storms spare serious damage to their next targets in Louisiana and Texas.

May we always be so lucky to get a. nice refreshing breeze and some photogenic waves.