When summer rolled around, I hopped on a TWA 747 and made the trip to Florida for the first time in my life. When I got there, and had first set foot in Miami International Airport, the hour was late, so all the shops in the terminal were closed. After checking in with my birth mom on a payphone, I strolled through the empty terminal, surrounded by strangers speaking a foreign language I know now to be Spanish. I had never heard anybody speak Spanish before. It was fascinating, but the darkened businesses offset by the gaudy orange carpeted terminal floor and the absence of hallway lighting was like a scene from Dawn of the Dead, but with Iron Maiden’s Stranger in a Strange Land playing on repeat in my brain.
However, once I reached the terminal’s end, I was reunited with my dad and my step-mom Judy, dad sporting shorts and a flowered t-shirt, his hair and beard a bit longer, and Judy complimenting her soulmate in a flowered dress and birkenstocks, her hair flowing down to her waist (she was growing it longer). As my dad and I faced each other, the iconic scene from the beginning of Blues Brothers popped in my head (She Caught the Katy), and I put my arms around my dad, hugging him. He chuckled, hugged me back, and said “Hey, Blood,” quoting a line from Ice Pirates, another childhood favorite we’ve often bonded over. “Welcome to Florida,” dad said, and we both laughed. Judy hugged and kissed me, the faint smell of cigarettes on her lips, as she said “I’m so glad you could make it, Steve.” So was I. Back then, I was always more comfortable around my dad and stepmother. My biological mom and I were and still are a lot alike, and we clashed often, as I was growing up, but I always had a blast with my pop! Ironically, I currently get along really well with my mom and I clash sometimes with my dad, but I love them both dearly. I loved my step-mom Judy too.
Back in the early ‘90s, Southern Florida was then, in some ways, as it is now. The sights and smells bombarded your senses, the oceans reeked of...algae, (or whatever that wonderful very Florida-esque smell is) and the sultry late-July air on that night was hotter than any summer night that had ever been in my hometown of Florissant Missouri. I had never seen the ocean, though it was like a pot of black ink on this hot, moonless night. The only palm trees I had formerly known of were in television shows like Miami Vice, and movies like Beverly Hills Cop. Leaving the airport, the traffic was horrendous, and my dad was powerless not to fume at maniacal motorists on the turnpike. I don’t even remember where we ate on that night, but I’m sure it was somewhere like Denny’s or IHOP. I don’t even remember what I would have had.
And I have no memory of crossing the overseas highway and entering the keys. I think I had conked out in the backseat of that old sky blue station wagon with the bumper sticker that read TURN IT OVER, and woke up at least reasonably enough to drag my electric blue duffel bag and black backpack into the one-story white and yellow house, before bedding down for the night. Judy’s cats Duffy and Dickens were happy to see me.
Well, Duffy was happy to see me at least, as the portly dairy cow with huge yellow eyes did a funny little dance at my feet, before I turned in for the night. Dickens was significantly more aloof. She had been abused by the child of a housekeeper, years ago, but I always liked petting the Tortoiseshell because her coat was always shiny and ever so soft, and she often tolerated my affections, though not without twitching her tail. “Prince Imhotep does not like to be touched.” To this day, Dickens (who lived up to her name) was also the prettiest tortoiseshell I have ever seen.
I woke up at some random hour, the next morning, and we were off to one of the many local Key Largo eateries, for breakfast. Back then, Key Largo wasn’t much to see, and if you weren’t a water sports fan or a sun worshipper, there wasn’t a whole lot to do. I had had a phobia of drowning from falling head first into my grandparents’ pool as a child, and though my Freshmen year fitness teachers would make me swim, I was never much interested, and kept asking myself “why does my dad live here?” When I later described the Keys to my mom, I kept using the word rustic.
I guess I just didn’t get it, back then. To my 16 year old eyes, the Keys of 1990 was a just a smattering of old, shabby, rundown little businesses, boat dealerships, a few fast food restaurants, a couple of chain stores, lots of local dives and greasy spoons, sun, pebbles, water, reptiles, no-see-ums, people with suntans, vacationers like me, and not much more. Fortunately I changed my mind, over the course of several vacations.
Because the Florida Keys are incredible! It’s an amazing place to visit, and an amazing place to live. I mean, the Keys are this chain of tiny islands linked by a single highway (more or less), flanked by the Atlantic ocean and the Gulf of Mexico, with insanely copious cumulus clouds, an overabundance of sunshine, and more rocks, shells, trees, iguanas, birds, bugs, and quaint little one-of-a-kind local businesses than you sing a Conch shell melody to, and all conveniently located on the same (approximate) 125 mile stretch of pavement! The overall blending of friendly folks, sunshine, cool breezes, great food, and plentiful shopping spots and activity spots is a totally rad experience that I firmly believe everybody needs to have. Period. And if you get the chance to visit, DO IT! There, I said it. You’re welcome.
The problem right now is that the Florida Keys is becoming less and less of a tropical paradise, and gradually more and more of an over-crowded, over exploited, over-priced, over-everything resort. Big land developers have discovered the prime real estate value of the gorgeous, mostly undeveloped tropical landscape and, with dollar signs in their eyes, plan to ‘pave paradise and put up a parking lot.’
Why is that bad, you might ask? Let’s see. You have natural hammocks, indigenous plant and tree life, gorgeous views of the ocean from countless points throughout the region, convenient fishing spots (well they used to be), and many other only in the Florida Keys things, all of which is probably going to go bye bye, and what’s going to replace it might look a lot like the city, when the dust settles. No offense to city dwellers, but the Keys are paradise.
Try to picture a quaint little beach community where everyone knows everyone, they all shop at the same grocery store, use the same marinas, their kids grow up in the same neighborhoods and the same schools, everybody you meet knows what Keys Disease is, or they at least have a good idea, and you and pretty much everybody you know remembers exactly where you were when Hurricane Andrew, Georges, Irma, or whichever came rolling into town, and like the t-shirt reads: ‘Key Largo: A Quaint Little Drinking Village With a Fishing Problem,” it’s always Happy Hour somewhere.
Imagine your teenager getting to meet the Key West Cookie lady, and when they hand her a $5 bill, she recites a funny little limerick as she hands them a ton of sandwich cookies that you and your family leisurely munch on as you stroll down Duvall street, on your way to have lunch at Margaritaville. Imagine a diverse community of individuals who all chime in when Jimmy Buffett or Bob Marley comes on, everybody singing from their heart, and everybody knows every word by heart. Imagine getting pictures of Robert the Doll at the East Martello Museum, but the pictures you took of him didn’t turn out, for some reason. You go to purchase a Robert the Doll plush toy, but someone you’ve never met before strongly cautions you against buying the toy, so you put it back.
Imagine touring Ernest Hemingway's house, and visiting all the 3-toed cats who live there. Imagine attending Hemingway Days, as you walk about the town surrounded by copious Ernestos, imagine touring the CGC Ingham, imagine seeing the Jon Seward replicas of Impressionist paintings, giant sculptures towering over your head, bewildering your imagination. Imagine countless sunsets, dinners at all sorts of restaurants, waitresses and business owners whose faces light up when you walk in the front door, and even though you’ve been away for a long time, it’s like you never left. I’m running out of imagines.
Eating Key lime pie at the Key West Pie Factory, seeing the random roadside Key Deer, as you pass through Big Pine Key, wasting away in Margaritaville, eating at the Wooden Spoon, ordering Conch Chowder, eating Conch fritters, and deciding which business makes the best (my money's on Sharkey's Pub & Galley, in Key Largo), taking the glass-bottom boat tour, visiting mile marker 88, dining at Mangrove Mike's, shopping at World Wide Sportsman, having breakfast at Midway Cafe, hearing the cruise ship's all aboard bell from inside the Key West Art and Historical Society museum, way too many to list, here! Wish I had more items for Islamorada, Big Pine, and Marathon, not to name countless others. Mel Fisher's Museum, need I say more??!?
Why aren’t you packing? Need more convincing? Okay. Here you go:
Eating Key lime pie at the Key West Pie Factory, seeing the random roadside Key Deer, as you pass through Big Pine Key, wasting away in Margaritaville, eating at the Wooden Spoon, ordering Conch Chowder, eating Conch fritters, and deciding which business makes the best (my money's on Sharkey's Pub & Galley, in Key Largo), taking the glass-bottom boat tour, visiting mile marker 88, dining at Mangrove Mike's, shopping at World Wide Sportsman, having breakfast at Midway Cafe, hearing the cruise ship's all aboard bell from inside the Key West Art and Historical Society museum, way too many to list, here! Wish I had more items for Islamorada, Big Pine, and Marathon, not to name countless others. Mel Fisher's Museum, need I say more??!?
Why aren’t you packing? Need more convincing? Okay. Here you go:
SLiM
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