Check-in

Currently, we are wildly busy trailing after our five year-old granddaughter, Thea. She and my daughter Kristiana are staying with us here on Alligator Creek for the five weeks. It's wonderful. We spend a lot of time at the beach. We all love it and it's the best place to get the wiggles out. Thea adores the water, won't even come out long enough to eat her sandwich at lunchtime. She and Grandpa eat standing in the waves. I swear she's half fish and he's 3/4s kid. Ok. Gotta go.

Evening Gulf report

They are gone. At the moment they are somewhere in the air returning to Oregon and the very lonely rest of them... sister, Dad, brother, the dingbat dogs, aunts, uncles, cousins, Ms. Willy Nelson the capital "c" Cat, the good grandma and grandpa, friends and a world that needs them and has missed them the five weeks they were here with us on Alligator Creek. The house feels empty, the Gulf feels empty but there is a good breeze here on the screen porch, enough to set wind chimes rustling and Frida's pineapple palm tree whispering. On Thursday we will begin our trans-America trek back to Oregon to await, with everyone else, the arrival of Leo and Frank's new brother or sister but not tonight.

Twilight on Alligator Creek

Moments

Beautiful sunset tonight. The cicada are singing. August is their time. A frog joins them; another welcome voice as summer draws to a close.

At the moment, I'm resisting photographing the clouds. I've been photographing everything around me for so long . . . colorful scenes, unusual moments, perspectives, common wonders . . . whatever catches my eye. I need to sit this one out just to prove to myself I can.

The cloud colors run from grays, light pinks and lavenders to shades of purple the color of new bruises.

Now the glow has faded. The pinks and lavenders are gone but the cicada sing on under the darkish clouds, mixing their voices with low rumbling thunder from somewhere beyond Alligator Creek.

And now it's night. The cicada are silent again. So is the frog. Lightning from a far distant storm occasionally flashes the dark.

Supermoon (and Pluto) report

Last night when I saw photos of the supermoon people in London were already posting it was just too much. Clouds be damned! I grabbed my camera and we took off for the jetty. We got there about a half hour before sunset.

Fisherman on the jetty

The minus tide and soon-to-rise full and super moon made fishing good for everyone but the fish. Pelicans, egrets, dolphins and humans were all working one angle or another with a fair amount of success.


I positioned myself at a prime location on the rocks but out on the jetty there's an unspoken agreement that fisherman outrank photographers so, when a mouthy Jersey guy grandpa (that's him on the left in next photo) started maneuvering his flock toward where I obviously was waiting for the moon, I had to move.

Supermoon conjunct Pluto rising.
There are astrological implications.

Lucky for me. Checking my trusty Google Sky Map app, I saw that the moon (surprise surprise) conjunct Pluto was already above the horizon which meant that, clouds or not, the moon was behind those trees to the far right. Damn! While I stand photographing my phone.

YIKES!

We scrambled eastward. Of course the supermoon was mostly hidden by the clouds but we got a good bench with a view and sat. It was a beautiful night, though a bit on the chilly side, 90 degrees, but it felt like 80. I guess we've adapted. Anyway, we sat on the bench and took in the evening and what there was of the moon as people on the next bench over chatted away....


...while a group of people across the channel sang their moonstruck hearts out in the dark.

Full supermoon on Alligator Creek

OK. That's it. I'm sitting on the screen porch. It's midnight. There's a huge thunder storm going on. Rain is pummeling the tin roof. Thunder is shaking the floor and making the wall tremble. It's like bombs going off. Giant lightning bolts are touching down all around cracking like horrible whips. I shudder and cringe like a poor dog. In case this is the last thing I ever do I better post this now.

Beach walk

Gulf sunset

There's a ray of light when the setting sun hits a certain declination on the horizon. It only lasts a moment. Some say there's a green flash. I've never seen it. But just now, light from the sun setting out over the Gulf suddenly, for a moment, flared orange through the tops of the trees along Alligator Creek casting the world and the screen porch under its spell.

We took the South Venice ferry to Manasota Key this afternoon. It's a short ride across the Intracoastal Waterway but the only direct access to Sunset beach. Otherwise, its a long walk on the shore to get there so it's a pretty quiet spot. The ferry pass comes with the house we're renting. It's a cool little boat. We took it a lot when we were here a couple of summers ago but today was only our second trip this time, even though we've already been here a month. It has been unseasonably rainy, torrential and unpredictable, so we've been driving to other beaches. However, today we thought we could beat the rain. We figured wrong.

Sea turtle nests and blooming century plants

From the ferry landing, a wooden walkway goes through the mangrove and palm forest to the Gulf side of the Key, From there we walked north and were so engrossed looking for shark's teeth (both of us) and heart rocks (me), being amazed at all the sea turtle nests staked and marked by the Turtle Patrol, what storm surges have done to the shore, commenting on birds, admiring the giant pelican drying her wings in the wind in the top of a tree, admiring the jungle of native foliage and trying to not stare at the gay men in teeny thongs who make this otherwise deserted stretch their rendezvous that we failed to notice the giant, black storm clouds gathering behind us. When we did, we were a couple of miles away from the ferry.

We started back and the wind came up, and with it stinging sand, so we bent our heads down and pushed into it, pulling our hats further and then further over our eyes. Next came the rain, in tropical torrents. By the time we got back to Sunset beach it was deserted. We made for the walkway and hurried across the Key back to the ferry landing. No boat, no phone, nowhere to go, so we sat on the walkway in the rain.

This may all sound very bad but actually it wasn't. I went back to the Gulf to see once more the beach shrouded by the squall. For this moment, this storm, there was nothing and no one (well, except me) in the gray and rain marring the solitude. Empty. And baby turtles gestating in their eggs deep within the sand by the sea. The way it always was. The beach and I were wild again. I stood watching sheets of rain whipping westward over the Gulf, blown by offshore winds, then I went back up the stairs and across the Key to the east, to wait with M. Lee for the ferry, which did come back for us after all.

Koh Kood, hello and good-bye

Breakfast with Swami,
Mangrove Bungalow

I'm sitting at a table in the open air restaurant at Mangrove Bungalow. It's got a lovely deck which extends out over the mangrove lined Klong Chao and is a great place to start the day. The river is high this morning but that varies with the tides. It's basically the Alligator Creek of Thailand only, instead of flowing into the Gulf of Mexico, the Chao moves through the mangroves and palm trees on its way to the Gulf of Thailand.

Coconut boat - Koh Kood Thailand

The last 10 days we've been staying at a family run place on Koh Kood called Mangrove Bungalow. We're paying $30 (US) a night, breakfast included, which makes it all possible. There's one resort on the island where accommodations  go for as much as $17,0000 (US) a night but I wouldn't even want to stay in a bubble like that. Our cabin is 10 feet from the river. And it's a nice place. So what if nobody speaks much English? It gets awkward at times, but everybody is low key and we’re about a quarter mile from the beach so really. What’s to complain about? We point and smile and otherwise they ignore us. Here, in the land of smiles, a smile goes a long way, even when they're fake.

View from the cabin,
Mangrove Bungalow

Thailand has a lot to recommend it. The people are nice and the country itself is warm, colorful, exotic, beautiful and as lively or quiet as you want it to be. We prefer quiet and, other than the ringing of the cicada, (which I love) Koh Kood is not one of the party islands. It's quiet here. It's the kind of place people come to relax. It's a family destination. Beyond that, the tourists seem to be mostly Russian or Scandinavian. We haven't seen any other Americans. My theory is that, other than tours, most Americans are convinced the world is far too dangerous to explore.

Swami and Buddha on Koh Kood

The hard part for me is the food. There really is a food barrier and here in Koh Kood I hit it hard. It's like people have never even heard of anyone being a vegetarian. Forget about finding tofu. We haven't even been able to get beans. The other day we ordered kale at at restaurant and it came with huge chunks of pork. But we spend a good part of every day exploring the island and its beaches on a motorbike which, for me is kind of scary, but also a helluva lot of fun. The island doesn't have any wilderness but it's not overdeveloped ... yet.

Buddha looking over bay

Nothing I say today, no photos I may post, guarantee Koh Kood will be the same even a year from now. Progress. Sometimes it sucks. But, for today, Koh Kood it still kind of sleepy and rural and clean. If this were Mexico, the rivers would be choked with plastic bottles and bags and foamy with soap and sewage. Not so here. They are all remarkably clean. And we’ve biked just about every road on the island and hiked a bit and there is no litter along the side of any road or in the forest. Some homes have litter around them but it's contained. Wake up, Mexico and Central America.

Swami and Buddha on Koh Kood

In the morning we return to Bangkok for three days then we're going to Cambodia to visit the World Heritage Site, Angkor Wat. I have to clear some hard drive space before then. I'm nearly out of storage.

Sunday bull session

Billy the Kid
via wikipedia

It's a lovely day here on Alligator Creek, breezy and hot, about 90° on the screen porch. I have the fan on. I'm drenched but I don't care. I guess I'm acclimated. Across the street, Sonny Boy is holding forth on his screen porch in that booming, gravely voice of his. I catch snippets.

"You gotta have heart. That's what I put on the internet too. You gotta have heart."

"......my daughter, her own cousin says, what a beautiful Italian woman."

He's talking to his dad, who occasionally injects a nearly inaudible but definitely gravely grunt or comment of his own. I can't see them. Palm fronds block the view, as does their screen and the perpetual shadow, as their porch faces north. But I can hear bits of what he's saying over the whir of my fan, the wind in the palms, little seaplanes buzzing up and down the coast, cars whooshing on the nearby road that skirts the ICW... bits and pieces....

"I read the whole biography of Billy the Kid the other day... Died on July 14th, 1881. 21 years-old. Blue-eyed. Weighed 120 lbs... The first time he went to jail he escaped... Went to Arizona on a horse, alone.... Went to New York on a horse, alone.... Mexico, on a horse.... alone.... before he was 21.... He was in the desert by himself.... He had to go to to the Indians.

He has (Yes. He said "has") some brains.... Five hundred miles of desert.... You know his mother was an immigrant... Came over on a boat from Ireland... His mother died when he was 15.... 15... so he started runnin around... got in trouble, whatever... his step-father didn't want nothin to do with him so he went out west... He looked at Florida and said "what the hell?"

Later he switched to personal reflections.

Kewpie doll
via wikipedia

"They had a kwepie doll, know what I mean?... I lost everything I had....bowls, furniture, my gun, everything.... Left me in a little bit of shit.... But anyways, I was packing up to leave, the house was full of crabs and fleas. I had no vehicle, no money, my social security check was cut off..."

Then Mom returned from the ravioli run.

"What the hell is this? Who wrecked this chair? What the hell happened here?"

 Sonny Boy,

 "I put tape over it."

 And thus ended the Sunday bull session.

--------------------------------------------------------

And, besides doing this post and going to the beach for while today, I redesigned my poetry site, annasadhorse, and added a new piece titled Music Theory.

Notes from the porch

Life here along Alligator Creek can be deceptively simple. Days have a rhythm unlike other places we stay. It's an end of the road thing, days marked by sunrise and sunset, rather than the human impositions that generally mark time. And so, a week plus in, and I have hardly done a thing. Again, I am sitting in the screen porch, birds are chirping, Swami and Minerva are here also enjoying the light as it works its daily way through the fronds of Frida Kahlo pineapple palm. And, new to the troop, Molly McGee is also here enjoying the morning.

I haven't talked about Molly before although she appears in a couple of the photos I posted of our cross-country drive, not here but on instagram. But more about her later. I'm still sorting that one out myself. So. The day is far too begun. M. Lee is on a bike ride and I need to get out of here before he gets back. Otherwise, I will really feel like a slob.

Evening

Reflections on Alligator Creek

Time lapse with Swami

Swami, how I love ya, how I love ya, my dear ol' Swami...

As I mentioned the other day, we are still settling in but on Saturday M. Lee had to make an emergency trip to Oregon. His dad is in the hospital. (He's getting better.) Swami and I stayed here to hold down the tent. We're doing okay but it's weird being in Florida, especially at a time like this, so far from family and friends, familiar places. Alone. Well, the two of us but even Swami thinks so and he's generally up for anything. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. I'm grateful to be anywhere. In the morning we sit on the deck, Swami and I. I have coffee and my laptop and he enjoys the trees, squirrels and birds. When it starts heating up, we close the windows and doors and put on the air. It's nice.

This afternoon I went to the beach. South Venice has community access to the gulf and a private ferry to shuttle people across the ICW so today I checked it out. While sitting in the sand looking out at the sea, a guy stopped and pointed out the turtle tracks leading from the water to the tree line. I hadn't really noticed them. Unfortunately, it's not emphasized here but this area is critical nesting habitat for sea turtles, especially the loggerheads. He claimed to have seen one that was about four or five feet long earlier today. I only hope to be so lucky.

Ibis lunching in the surf

They come at night and dig their nests deep into the dunes just above the high water mark. They've been doing it every spring for a million years and now they're are endangered. We are idiots! We're wrecking it for everyone, including ourselves. I hope the turtles have a good year. Very few hatchings make it even in the best of times.

It's twilight now, voices drifting in the window from across Alligator creek. Swami and I are tucked in, he in his little boat, me with my laptop, sketchbook and ebook. I'm reading Bangkok Tattoo, book two of a trilogy by John Burdett. It's written from the perspective of a Buddhist police detective son of a whore and set in Bangkok's red light district..

Later. It's past midnight. Swami is long asleep. I am tired. I woke up at 4 am. Morning seems like a year ago.

Trip notes

We're in Kingman Arizona for the night. One more day and we'll be home but I'm really missing Florida. I miss Alligator Creek, the little house and the pineapple palms and I miss Frida Kahlo the squirrel and her friends. I miss all the critters who sing in the night. I miss the egrets and ibises. I miss the congregations of little plovers scurrying in and out with the waves. I miss watching the squadrons of venerable pelicans pass overhead, wings outstretched, gliding the thermals like ancient gods. I miss the Great Blue Heron who likes to people watch at the beach. I miss the friends we discovered there. I miss the gulf.

I am reading 'Love in the Time of Cholera' by Gabriel García Márque as we drive across the country.

When we were in Dallas the other day we ate dinner at Kalachandji's, the very excellent vegetarian restaurant at the Hare Krishna temple. I lived at that temple many years ago.

Must sleep now. We have to drive through rush hour in Las Vegas tomorrow morning.

Battle Royale

Frida Kahlo savoring a peanut in her favorite palm tree.

The Great Peanut War of 2011 is currently raging here in our tiny dead end hamlet along Alligator Creek. I suppose it's my fault. After we settled in I started sprinkling peanuts around the base of the pineapple palm for Frida Kahlo and, at first, all was good. She came, ate a few and tucked the rest around the yard for later. Diego Rivera showed up shortly after I started putting out a seed mix designed to attract red-headed birds. No surprise. Squirrels love sunflower seeds. Then, of course, the very passionate Leon Trotsky made his appearance. A couple of days later we worried that he had died in a fall from the porch after a failed assault on a bag of peanuts. I'd foolishly left them by an open (screened) window. Since then we've watch him fall several times more, once after attempting to hurl himself through a screenless (closed) window. Perhaps another assault on my peanut stash, now in the laundry room, but who can know the mind of a squirrel? That time we heard his little claws scratching the glass as he slid down and into the bushes. Another time he miscalculated a leap after a rival and again launched himself into the bushes. He is a tough little dude.

Most recently the notorious clowns Larry, Moe and Curly joined the show. Now all five chase each other up and down the porch screens, drain pipes, over the roof, along electric wires, through the trees and around the yard but Frida Kahlo pays no mind. She comes when there are new peanuts under the pineapple palm, chooses one, licks it all over then scampers off to stash it in its own, unique secret hiding place. I don't know if she remembers where she puts everything but she repeats the ritual until all the peanuts are tucked safely away. As for the jokers? They are too busy fighting to notice.


Diego Rivera, Leon Trotsky, Larry, Moe and Curly at it again.

Morning and all is well along Alligator Creek

I've been doing a lot of obits these last few days so I thought I'd better sweeten it up around here with some happy things. So, this morning Sonny is out in the screen porch running it down to his mom about everything from "bingo to food allowances, calories, getting his own room at a motel, something that's sixteen dollars a day (probably the motel room), roller derbys, how a man can't live like that, taking showers outside from a bucket, carrying water down from the neighbors, what if the pipe breaks?, living in a trailer, how you need water for the toilet, how when you flush it it needs to go out" and on and on.

Sonny's been coming and going a lot lately and I was getting worried that he might have a job or a girlfriend or something like that so today is very comforting that he spent the morning ranting in the screen porch although he did just say something about "going out there" and "work" so let's hope he's not talking about himself. I know. I'm weird but hey. Some things should stay the same, at least for now.

So, we're off to the beach for a walk. M. Lee is currently training to do a solo century, which is a long long long lonely bike ride, maybe eight hours or more in the saddle. I am impressed but it makes my back hurt thinking about it. I did go to the gym yesterday though. Anyway, yesterday he ground out 75 miles so today we are going for a cool down, in 90° heat. In fact, he just came to the sliding glass door of the screen porch and gave me "the look" so gotta go. Pardon me. No time to edit. This is a post n go.

Diorama of a Midsummer's Day

We went to Fort Lauderdale last week to visit M. Lee's cousins and explore the area a bit. His cousins are nice fellows and basically hermits. They live in a big pleasant house in a skeevy part of town with their mother, kids, a sweet, pony-size pit bull who is not neutered and six hens they treat like children who have their own place out back. We saw everybody for dinner both nights and during the first day biked around Ft. Lauderdale and the second decided move on and check out Miami Beach.

It wasn't a particularly pleasant drive. Imagine "dragging yourself shirtless across a desert of blazing hot broken glass, your back full of arrows, predator birds tearing at your flesh". That's how Lee described driving to Miami Beach. 

America is already a tax haven for the world's wealthiest people and Southern Florida is one of their favorite spots. Everyday millionaire retirees roost all over Florida but South Florida is known for it's high-stepping billionaire, and very shady, richer-than-god crowd. Even from the street Miami is a gaudy showcase questionable wealth.

But, for us, there really wasn't any there there, just more urban sameness.

When we finally got to the beach, the world famous Miami Beach, I ran like someone escaping a fire, well, with a few stops along the way.

 

I'm a surrealist and, surprisingly the beach was surreal, so I should have loved it but, instead, I was horrified. I already knew that every inch of ground, mangrove and shoreline in Miami is developed, and has been for a long time so, of course, its "world famous" beach would be no exception but it was so dismal. Whether I looked north or south, it was hotel after hotel after hotel—no trees, no shade, no wildlife—and on the sand— thousands of people laying under umbrellas or standing in the water. I assume for them it was a lovely summer day at the beach.

To me the scene had a musty and unreal quality as though, rather than at the ocean, people were in a diorama built by a Jersey taxidermist and titled Day at the Beach. And mostly it was just sad. We're back along Alligator Creek today. The development here is bad enough but I'm still caught in yesterday's mood but grateful to be back in the small world here on the gulf.

Tropical Storm Bret is passing through the gulf tonight. It was pretty intense for awhile but, at the moment, has settled into a steady, moderate rain, rolling thunder and lightning. Seems we are adapting to the heat and humidity. We turn off the air at night and open up the house. It's hot but, other than a few windless nights, we're sleeping okay. They say that in August things really heat up so that will be the real test.

Full moon on Alligator creek.

But so far, I am really loving being in Florida. It's beautiful here. I am out taking photos all the time. And birds are everywhere so automatically that makes this my kind of place.