My stories are your stories

Jan 19 – Feb 2

Written in New Orleans, edited and posted from Natchez State Park, Mississippi

54 and raining

Goldfish (the cracker), Manatee and Dollar Stores

I grew up with maps. My Dad loved them. One of my youngest brother’s first gifts to my children was the hardcover National Geographic Atlas, a book that always comes out when we are at the family cottage. When I was a kid, Dad tacked a map of the world to the wall behind the kitchen table. While my seat at the table had my back to the world, I studied it when I cleaned up after meals. Never, as a child, did I think I’d see Italy, France, Spain, Turkey, England, Scotland, the Czech Republic, or Malaysia. Now, with my focus on the Southeastern United States, each night or two, I pull out my soft cover National Geographic Road Atlas, Adventure Edition (United States, Canada and Mexico) to plot out my next course and highlight the roads already traveled. So far, I’ve meandered through Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana. After completion of this trip, I’ll have just 13 states, one province and 3 territories left to complete my tour of Canada and the United States. 

When I last posted, I was in Naples, Florida. If you ever visit, take a tour of the oldest house: Palm Cottage, built in 1885 of tabby: a cement that consists of sand and shells (whole and burned to make lime). In the 1880s, a Confederate general and a Louisville newspaper owner had a vision. Build it, name it after a famous city, and they will come. They advertised that the bay surpassed that of Naples, Italy, but failed to warn of the mosquitoes. Growth was hampered by access (no roads or rail)  and limited to 3 months of habitability-January thru March. If Williams and Haldeman could time travel they’d be shocked to see the evolution of their sandy trek of land to the palm treed, canaled and obviously moneyed city that it is today. The Naples pier which allowed access during their time remains, but has not been repaired since its partial destruction by Hurricane Ian in September of 2022. It had been rebuilt in 1910, 1926, 1944 and 1960. Lester and Dellora Norris who funded the last rebuild stipulated that the pier remain free to the public and fisherman. Some locals believe that the stipulation about fishing is the main reason it has not been rebuilt but my research would suggest that the delay may have more to do with design and cost. It does seem a lot of money for taxpayers to bear for something that has outlived its function and that is likely to be destroyed again. 

Also, I’d recommend a visit to the Naples Botanical garden. Things I learned while there: 1) that the Tamiami Trail is not a Seminole name but the Tampa to Miami highway, 2) what Goldfish (the cracker), lipstick and orange cheese have in common: the dye (annatto) from the seeds of the Achiote shrub commonly called the Lipstick Tree, 3) what the product of the Water Chestnut tree isn’t: water chestnuts, the wonderful crunchy rounds that my Dad added to his chop suey, 4) that kapok, a green alternative to down in pillows and mattresses and previously the stuffing of life preservers is a product of the fruit from the Ceiba pertundra tree. The tree trunk and branches look like the spiky green skin of an iguana. In fact, there were two in the tree that I would have never seen unless pointed out to me, 5) that the Victoria water lily can raise its temperature by 10 degrees and when it transitions from female to male it changes color from white to pink. I’ll leave you to read more about this fascinating plant. Fertilization involves the entrapment of a beetle. Finally, 6) that the palm is not a tree: it is grass.

After a restful time in Naples and a lovely visit with my friends Sue and Steve, I hit the road again on the 21st. Having learned my lesson, I booked State Park campsites for this leg of travel. No more commercial RV parks and definitely no more reliance on Harvest Host. 

First, a detour to Boca Grande. Thankfully, no run-ins with Tucker Carlson. Perhaps that was when he was in Calgary liberating Canada. Then on to the Oscar Scherer State Park for the night.  In the morning, Sarasota, spring training camp for the Baltimore Orioles. So glad to learn, just this week, of the recent sale of the team to folks that really care that the team remains the Baltimore Orioles. And, the addition of a new pitcher is good news indeed. Go O’s. After the Naples botanical garden, the Marie Selby in Sarasota was a disappointment, likely due to the fact that the conservatory and the museum were closed. One highlight though: a Moreton Bay Fig with buttress roots that resembled the vessels of a placenta radiating circumferentially from the trunk (the umbilical cord). 

Next Hillsborough State Park near Zephyrhills, followed by Crystal River, a winter destination of the manatee, a warm blooded mammal. When the gulf water gets too cold, they seek refuge in the warm fresh water springs. Videos of manatee should be on the ceiling in dental and gynecology exam rooms as their movements are mesmerizing. Next up, Manatee Springs State Park: a misnomer as there were no manatee in the springs but a nice park none-the-less. Then on to Dr. Julian G. Bruce St George Island State Park located at the tip of a typical sandy barrier island and miles away from any housing thus eliminating any man-made noise (at least during quiet time). The beach is long, pristine, and empty of people. In my opinion, this is the best state park I’ve seen thus far. Edisto comes in second.  If you plan to visit Dr. Julian one day, you’ll need to book months in advance for a stay longer than one night. The best campsite in my opinion is # 28. Saw so many birds and a new one for me: the Pine Warbler. From there, I headed north to Alabama, first the Frank Johnson State Park near Opp, then on to Monroeville, the home of Harper Lee, author of To Kill a Mockingbird which was made even more famous by Gregory Peck as Atticus in the movie of the same name. 

The drive through northern Florida and southern Alabama was a stark contrast to urban Florida.  Here: yards strewn with garbage. Homes, if not of the mobile type, were unpainted or peeling with sagging rooflines to match the mood of the people walking along the roads: tired and dejected with no glimmer of hope in their eyes, if they did look up. When there was a farm that appeared prosperous, it was, more than likely, a sod farm. Seems such a waste of real estate and water to produce grass for rich people who then pay big money to keep it weed free and green and hire landscapers who are often the people they want to exclude from the US.  In these rolling hills, forestry is big business. Slash pine: lumber to support all the construction along the coasts of Florida, both for rebuilding from hurricane damage and for new mega 2nd and 3rd homes for the top 1%. Why would you build on property that is 10 feet or less above sea level? I guess if you don’t believe in global warming and are just interested in “now” and you have oodles of money, then why not. The views are nice. I did find some solace in spotting several mature pecan orchards along the way. These trees, given their size, were probably older than 25 years.

Somewhere near the Florida-Alabama border I passed a low slung building close to the road whose lumber had never been graced with a coat of paint. A sign advertised: Firewood, and beneath that, Men Things. I texted my son later that day and he responded, “What did you buy me?” Had he been with me, I might have stopped to satisfy my curiosity but my radar was pinging like a metal detector that had just come upon a cash of silver bullion. Was the single-senior-woman-traveling-alone fear enhanced by Capote’s In Cold Blood that was infiltrating my brain through the car speakers at the time, or my Uncle Doug’s repetitive admonition in emails or on the phone to “Stay safe” that kept me from stopping. Maybe I missed an amazing collection of antique tools, or maybe….I’ll never know. While there is something to Capote’s line, “As long as you live, there’s always something waiting, and even if it’s bad, and you know it’s bad, what can you do? You can’t stop living.” I’d argue that you’ve got to keep living for the next experience so better safe than sorry. And so, I barricaded my door with the desk during my stay at the Mockingbird Inn as the lock looked like it had been jimmied. I survived the night, while the Ravens did not. 

But back to Harper. Perhaps it was my imagination, but Monroeville seemed to be an especially tolerant small southern town. Obama, when giving Lee the Presidential Medal of Freedom said that she had “changed America for the better.” I didn’t live in the US in the ‘60s or 70s or 80s. There were no Blacks in rural Ontario where I grew up but there was social injustice: discrimination based on sex, religion, and socio-economic status. I grew up female and poor. I knew what it was to be judged. Now, I live in Baltimore where the majority are Black. In my twenty-some years there and especially over the last 8 years, I’ve witnessed an escalation of hate, both at my workplace and on the streets. Of Whites for Blacks and Blacks for Whites. But in Monroeville, while I sat in the coffee shop across from the famous courthouse (an exact replica can be seen in the movie), I witnessed people coming in and going out, Black and White,  some dressed in suits, some in cutoff jeans or fuzzy slippers. The women who worked there, knew everyone, were courteous to everyone, not in a superficial way but  respectful, like equals, like neighbors. Maybe the change that Obama credited Lee with, lives on, in her home at least. 

When I toured the courthouse, I learned that every year the town performs the play To Kill a Mockingbird to sell out crowds. Maybe it is that repetition that is important. Monroevillians get reinfected annually with Scout and Atticus’s morality, courage and wisdom. It becomes a part of their DNA.  I wish that anyone traveling to this town could be a vector and infect the world with Harper’s/MLK’s dream. That we could be “free at last” of social injustice of every kind. Perhaps every child should read and watch To Kill a Mockingbird once a year. That would help, but more is needed because children aren’t the root of the problem. James Balwin wrote, “Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them.” 

Driving through rural America, I’ve been struck by the number of Dollar stores that seem to pop up like bad weeds. In suburban America, I’m dumbfounded by  the “almost overnight” appearance of storage facilities. They remind me of those giant white fungi–puffballs–that pop up on your lawn. American corporations have found new ways to make billions in profits while preying upon the disenfranchised. For the poor and/or those who live remotely, corporate America has introduced the Dollar Store, Dollar Tree, Dollar Market, Dollar General, DG Market, etc: “Crap” merchandise and low paying jobs with unsafe conditions and poor management. For those affected by one or more of the 4 D’s: death, divorce, displacement or disaster, these large companies provide the opportunity for folks to store their belongings for a monthly rental charge while raking in 40% profits. For those Americans who just buy too much stuff and have nowhere to put it, consider giving it away to those less fortunate. You’ll probably eventually throw most of that stuff away or your family will have to deal with it when you die. I’m preaching to myself here, I don’t pay for a storage facility because I have an attic and a basement which I hate to admit need clearing out. Ask me in six months how that is going.

My last campsite was in Big Lagoon State Park near Pensacola. Highlights: wonderful boardwalks, many sightings of Yellow-rumped warblers with their even, soft trill. But the big birds from the nearby airbase made this campsite less desirable. The drive along Highway 90 through parts of Alabama and along the coast of Mississippi took me through many areas still recovering from the last Hurricane but I also passed by stately homes that are likely more than a hundred years old. Unfortunately, because a bridge has been deemed unsafe, you can’t continue on 90 into New Orleans and instead have to take a very busy highway into the city. This was my third visit but first time driving. My son lives in Mid-City, an area undergoing significant redevelopment since Katrina. On my first night, we visited with one of Simon’s childhood friend (and his wife and daughter) in Algiers, another section of the city that wasn’t flooded during Katrina and then celebrated an early birthday dinner downtown at Compere Lapin on the 1st. He’ll be 36 on the 9th. My baby.

I continue to read or listen to books focusing on Southern writers. On this leg: To Kill a Mockingbird, In Cold Blood, Tennessee Williams Memoirs. I’ve sampled The Ponder Heart, The Sound and the Fury, Airships, and The Member of the Wedding. I’ve downloaded Heavy for my next drive. Unrelated to this trip’s theme, I just finished North Woods, a Christmas gift. I can’t say enough good things about it. It is unlike any book I’ve ever read. I kept thinking about a Faulkner quote while reading it, “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” 

Two quick updates:

1. Trump sign count: just 6. Question for you: Am I traveling through areas with such a high proportion of  MAGA supporters that signs are unnecessary or is it just too early in this election cycle? 
2. GM and I are still traveling together but I rely on her less and less. 

P.S.

My daughter, Alison, sent out a challenge. Draw a flower everyday for thirty days. Not sure why I accepted, but we are 15 days in. Hers are wonderful black and white line drawings, mine are crude renditions in color. Check out #30DayBouquet.