Here's Johnny...

Happy Mother's Day!

Norway Spruce for Mom!!

July14, 1937 - April 29, 2006

Emotional stir - part 4

We push late into the night; zip though Chattanooga and end up just south of Nashville. Persuaded by over cautious truckers and a steady rain , the pack of vehicles in which I was running, pull into a rest area. We are road warriors we are bathroom seekers, we are done for the night.

Marissa has been asleep for hours, the motion of our travel soothes. The rain on the windshield amplifies; car camping pillow and blankie at the ready ~ out cold like a clubbed seal.

We wake to a great day, clearing skies and warm temps follow.  We push deep into Chicago-land, get turned around with road construction; pay a college tuition in tolls to get the **** out of there, turning north for Wisconsin.

We are home, mindset intact, we are still in vacation mode; It takes me a week to fully clear out all the gear; somehow keeping it in the jeep made the adventure linger a little bit longer.  Just in time too, as the Ipod player takes a dump and we lose tunes.

In a finite world, what comes around, goes around; so we're right back where we started... or are we?


The End

Emotional stir - part 4

We give nod to Historic 8th Avenue; pirate lore, rum running; we pay homage to the wood and ice trade of Shell Key; bye bye Pass a Grille, home of the world's greatest grouper sandwich.

The hoopty jeep called back into service; Marissa sits silently as we make our way through the labyrinth of causeways. Men working and road construction signs appear and disappear nothing appears to be holding us back, this is it, we are truly going home.

Marissa breaks out the Ipod player, gives a glance "Marley or the "Dead?" ~ "The Dead", I hesitate, not. Music drowns out the whistle of a poorly fitting driver's door; cracks in the windshield refract light making rainbows across the dash.

Truckin' by the Dead offers lyric interpretation, we crest a hill and see the last of the gulf; we "sing-sing" our way to Georgia.


Nothing good happens to teenage girls after 1230am thinking to myself; nothing good happens to me in Georgia. My thoughts go to the speed traps of the 60's and Macon County, traffic jams of Atlanta; I have an uneasy feeling. Thoughts race to the 262,000+ miles on the hoopty jeep. Keep on Truckin' as the song is looped several times to test my resolve.


We are unscathed by Georgia, in fact it was wonderful, Atlanta a peach. I still thought I heard banjo music in Macon County though. 


to be continued...

Emotional stir - part 4

There is something magical about roof tops; like cresting a hill and seeing the valley below, roof tops give you a unique advantage point. ~ a sense of accomplishment. Marissa and I find ourselves on-top of the Hurricane Restaurant quite often during our visits.

To the west the sea - to the east the ICW and beautiful homes; I wonder who lives there; I wonder what types of lives they lead; I wonder who invented the zipper and was the button guy abase? I shake off my disconnect and rejoin the masses.

Late afternoon arrivals, Grandpa Jesse and Charlotte have made the arduous journey up from Naples; the mean streets of Tampa - advantage 1, Grandpa 0 as they got turned around and got lost. Hugs and kisses ensue, good food and great conversation, they decide to stay the night as an opportunity to see us off tomorrow.

A long walk after dinner down to islands end makes for perfect closure to the day; we sit, we chat, we go big, we order ice-cream.  It's a late night we almost make 9:30pm before turning in.

to be continued...

Emotional stir - part 4

Big Medicine.

It takes us minutes to pack up; weather perfect early am; no dew, tents and gear dry as your grand daddy's skull.  Packing heavy we needed to tie in gear, but with  water like milk glass, no need to take the time stowing gear.

We take pause, our last look at the island.  In an adventure challenge you probably wouldn't look twice as you paddled through, but this is not a challenge, this is "big medicine"  We take away fond memories and an extremely nice collection of shells; "Be careful of the shells" ~ "yes dear"

*  I'd send you to the Urban dictionary for "their" definition of Big Medicine, but there is none; being nomadic, on the water with your daughter, with close ties to nature, is big medicine. It is un-describable to most and it appears the youthful masses have yet to experience it, let alone define it; don't even get me started on nature deficit disorder.

**  I get distracted and put in my name "Brian" ; I start putting in other names, like our encounter with "naked man" it's hard to look away. ~ I'm just saying...

We paddle out into what looks like fog, but soon realize there must be a fire some where as the smoke hangs heavy on the water. Our pace slow but steady, ghosting through the dense smoke, a schooner anchored looks to be docile, yet still a mystery; could easily be a haven for degenerates and contraband.  I am a story teller and I become entranced in my thoughts; A vivid imagination is a wonderful thing; I come up with all sorts of schemes and adventure.  Hmm I have a pirate daughter.

to be continued...

Emotional stir - part 3

This is our last full day on Shell Key, we are heading back to Pass a Grille to meet up with family tomorrow.

Marissa returns from her walk with only the best of shells; she has scored some perfect sand dollars as well; she is pleased for the sea has provided exceeding her expectations.

I welcome Marissa back to camp with trite gestures; ( the fist bump, high five, give me some skin etc etc) but she's not buying it; she knows it is the last day; so I resort to my "what up butter cup?" expression, met with the enthusiasm of a dentist's chair.

But this is a great day; we have a blast, we play the day away, boogie boards hacky-sac and paddling, the trifecta of yummy goodness.

Night falls, we make our move to the far end of the beach to watch the sunset; Marissa playing with the settings on the camera a tutorial for dad as she works the touch screen like a pianist works a grand piano.

We stroll back, make dinner and enjoy our last campfire; we sit for quite awhile silent; Marissa breaks the silence and offers appreciation for the opportunity to spend spring break out here; I listen while in the afterglow of contentment.

Now being the last night, I wait ever so quietly for Marissa to zip up into her tent; Now I do the same but I am not in my tent; I waiting for her to settle... I sneak up to the side of her tent and start scratching the side.  Marissa freaks, screeches  like a gull missing the last bit of bait!  I can't hold back the laughter, Marissa gives me a verbal how bout what for and sends me packing.  Ah, it's the little things I think to myself.

to be continued...