We went to Ft. Myers to see the Twins in spring training.
This is the time of year when the winter homes of our various baseball teams stir with activity.
Spring practice fires us up as Hammond Stadium is doing now. Under the Florida sun the eternal hope of another Minnesota season comes to life.
The annual drill for the summer games is part practice, part picnic and part county fair. That's the feeling for me anyway as I watch the players walk onto the field for their daily workouts.
The coaches have an easy manner in the first sessions. There's an art to properly breaking in a new team. The best coaches know how to loosen up the players and get the most out of them and both at the same time.
Ron Gardenhire and Tom Kelly, who preceded Gardy as Minnesota Twins manager, and assists him at spring training, our baseball caps are off to you.
Getting to the practice field early we first find a place in the sun (because the mornings start cool) and then in the shade as it warms.
We study the player roster. Names and uniform numbers are printed on both sides of the sheet. We know some players by sight. For them no identification is needed.
There are new players, called up at the end of last season, and those who are introduced as invitees on the roster sheet. We follow the newbies with interest. We expect to see some standout actions that make one player suddenly the one on whom the buzz centers.
It's exciting to spot great form in a player pitching his stuff to make a case for himself. You see the precision turning, twisting, reaching and bending of the body. You see the effortless range of movement. You admire the strength and the discipline required of them, and demonstrated here under the Florida sun.
There no question. Sports on a professional level demand more than most of us can possibly dish up. We can, in turn, appreciate, support and be part of the team we choose as ours. And what makes it so sportsmanlike is that we can choose any team we want. Just choose a team and cheer as loudly as you can.
At spring training fans line up along the rail for autographs. You immediately recognize the players willing to please those who stand waiting for them to pass by.
The fans - often young but sometimes not - come with bats, baseballs, caps, jerseys and team books for the Twins organization in its entirety to sign.
Invitees get the same attention from those collecting autographs. Their names grow in value as they're picked by teams to play. It's never too soon to secure their name while they have the time to stop for you.
There will be players who jog along blind to the autograph queue. Their focused pace separates them from the avid quest for signatures.
I view this as somewhat a litmus test of personalities. It seems to me those who go right on by may miss something. They might, for instance miss the point that sports have the interaction between performers and their fan base as their underpinnings.
It takes patience, and real kindness I think, for a player to come sweating and spent out of the noonday sun, and honor the many requests for his signature. Each pause to sign his name delays his arrival at hot shower, cool drink or meal that's been the pictured end to his morning.
As much a highlight as seeing the Twins practice is catching sight of our local TV sports announcer on the field. He is taping a report to air for the five or six p.m news.
Mark Rosen - Rosie as he is called affectionately by WCCO colleagues - has covered spring training from Ft. Myers for as long as I recall.
I believe it's correct that he was covering the Twins when they won their first World Series in 1987. This series is the great divide by which many Twins fans count the eras of our team, now a half century old.
In this 25th year since the Twins took the trophy home to Minnesota Rosen's grin and genial TV manner is as engaging as ever. Every March he summarizes for us back home in the Twin Cities the great Florida weather, as well as the opening plays of the new season.
Rosen's reports make us envious of the Florida sunshine. Some years we're digging out of a late winter snowstorm while his tan, caught so excellently on TV, lets us know it's beach and outdoor pool and - oh yes - baseball weather down there in Ft. Myers.
His baseball interviews and on-site reports add to our sense that Ft. Myers is home away from home. Hammond Stadium declares itself Minnesota Twins Territory. Pennants wave. It's the place where North Star State lakes meet the palm trees.
For lots of Minnesotans attendance at spring training is one of the must-things to do. And we book our tickets and fly down or travel by car, gaining layers of spring with each hundred miles covered.
Our place while here for Twins training backed onto a quiet residential Southwest Florida street. Birds perched and sang on the overhead wires.
Their songs grew louder and more elaborate in the time we were here. It appears it might be getting to courting season for some of the species. The chirps, calls and melodies added their lovely sounds as we had the chance to be around.
Nearby, the bells of the Presbyterian church pealed the hour and half hour. We delighted in this sound too. The homely ringing of church bells has many familiar associations.
Being elsewhere invigorates with novelty and contrast. The common small things of the passing hours are in the end more apt to be cherished if not as readily talked about. They're almost private moments as we take them in.
Not commented about because they're ordinary, they are taken dearly and squarely into the heart. They're already a part of us, to be reclaimed once more.
Ro Giencke - February 28, 2012
He sat in his wheelchair facing the sun.
The wheelchair was parked, not in anyone's way, but off to the side where it could be in the sun and he could see the water and waves. I came up from the beach and there he was. Noticed first was this bundled figure in the wheelchair. Then the big slippers, the kind associated with hospital stays or with those whose feet hurt or are inflamed and can't tolerate the whisper of touch upon them.
I looked into his face as I went by, greeting him and hoping he wouldn't see compassion in my look which must have been there. My trust was that he would only take in the friendly hello.
His face, turned to the late afternoon light, was brick-red. The unnatural flush to his roughened skin might have been the warmth of sun on him. As easily it could have been the outward aspect of the illness within. His features were puffy. His eyelids were swollen.
He was not a pretty sight. My heart went to him. There was tenacity in his lines, however, as he gazed with a kind of hunger into the strength of the Florida sun.
Much later, the impression of the man returned to me. I wondered if he asked to be brought here.
Possibly he came wanting to view the water as much as to be in the sun, which you could tell he was drinking up with every fiber of his being. Perhaps the water, equally with the sun, drew him.
It came to me that the setting could be providing him an association with his career. It was keeping fresh his keen relationship with the sea. It held comfort for him.
He could have been a naval man or in some maritime position. Perhaps he was a born fisherman. He was avid for the proximity of the waters that once gave him so much fulfillment or sense of worth or duty.He was there as if all alone but it couldn't possibly be. Someone with kindness had brought him here, to this very place, to sit and be at peace.
His name was Loren. My husband, following after me, heard him addressed by this name. Someone was with him as his escort and help. Likely it was a family member or some friend. They were generously giving Loren this afternoon on the Gulf. Beaches are full of life. Kids rule. They kick up sand as they race to the water's edge. They either yelp in trepidation or fling themselves with joy into the water.
They find shells which they trot over to their parents, dripping water and shaking off sand as they hand them over to bring back more.
They build sand castles and moats around which you must detour as you walk the beach, always careful not to break down a carefully fortified sand wall as you go by.
With their plastic shovels the small ones dig deep holes in the sand. They dig with enthusiasm and determination.
They dig as if intending to reach China on the other side, as we believed might after all be possible when we were at the beach at their age. Loren was at the other end of the spectrum from the young life reveling in their day at the beach. His life had been lived. He had seen the fullness of life.
Wrapped up and puffed up, his presence at the beach told of life's fragility and brevity. It was in great contrast to the bustle on the beach.
His face square to the sun, he lifted a heavy hand to acknowledge my hello. He struck me as a fighter in that gesture. He was hanging on and he was going to enjoy the experience as he could.
Loren took the sun, the water and the waves for his own. There was a great sense of life in the stillness of him. He touched me deeply as he sat facing the sun.Al and I began a little ritual after meeting Loren. It's a tribute to him. It's tacit understanding that one's good moments overlap the good moments of total strangers who can go on to shape you.
"To Loren," we say, clinking our wine glasses. May the good sun continue to shine warm on him.Ro Giencke - February 18, 2012
Places I wanted to circle back to and visit later were spotted early as I wandered the wonderland of big name shops.
Spread out in front of me were the makings of a perfect afternoon.
I could peer into high end stores and look to my heart's content. I could consider what I might be missing by taking my credit card usually no farther than the neighborhood mall.
No serious shopper envy was likely to break out. But then you never know. When the whiff of luxe is in the air instinct takes over.
We were in Naples, Florida, which is a lovely place to be in the winter. The sky was blue. The splash and spurt of fountains were restful background against the bright light. The promenade of shops beckoned.
I fished into my handbag for sunglasses. The gesture felt full of glamor. All that was needed was a Hermes scarf and some gold flashing at the wrist. A few props, called accessories, and I could stalk seamlessly into the well dressed crowd. Be one of them.
But first Starbucks Coffee. I was in the area and wasn't going to hike back later. Better to stop while the coffee shop was in sight.
I checked the outdoor seating. Every table was in use. It's the way it so often is. Hardly anything beats being outside with your coffee and the sunshine, or the shade as you prefer, as you shift your chair into one or the other.
A table emptied as I stood at the door. With a bit of luck the table might be available when I came out. I sped in to place my order.
My face is very good at registering dismay. It doesn't have the look often. When it does it shows the world that here is the most disappointed person you'll likely ever meet.
That's the expression I suspect carried my face as I came out with my coffee. Someone with a laptop computer, and not necessarily with a Starbucks drink beside him, held the table.
A woman with a benign look (the look of someone who has snagged a table) sat nearby. The second chair pulled up to her table was empty. She sat alone. She had a look of repose.
"Would you mind if I join you?" I invited myself to the table. I waved towards the table which otherwise would have been mine.
She was a comfortable looking woman. She was some years older than me as I glanced at her across the table
There was a polite exchange."Oh please do," "Thanks, so nice to sit outside," "For sure, who wants to be in when you can be out." We sipped awhile in companionable silence.
The quiet didn't last long. Perhaps it was the beautiful weather that got mentioned. She was, she told me, nearing the end of a three week stay. She was sad at leaving the good Florida weather.
Her cat was at home in Cincinnati, checked on by a friend while she was away. Because of the cat she was anxious to get back.
"Cincinnati," I commented. "We've visited Cincinnati. We like your city," Thinking to reach her in her own territory I mentioned seeing a Skyline Chili in Naples. It brought a big grin.
"Yes, I think I've seen it too," she said. By this time we were fully introduced, first names exchanged. Skyline Chili is Cincinnati's signature dish. It's spaghetti and chili together. If you're from Cincinnati the restaurant is a cliche for home.
"Naples is getting Graeter's too," She referred to another Cincinnati institution. Graeter's ice cream, a premium brand made in Cincinnati, has been picked up by the Publix grocery chain in Florida.
I've heard about Graeter's, I was glad it was familiar to me. It strengthened our common ground. "It's been made for 142 years," the sixth-generation Cincinnatian informed me.
Cincinnati is gray in the winter she said. She doesn't like the winter gloom. Somehow the conversation had gone back to the weather. Naples does her so much good. She and her husband have been coming for eleven years. It's a couple-hour flight.
They stay at the same hotel every year The place is faultless she said. Same staff year after year.
This year, she was compelled to add, housecleaning wasn't up to its usual standard. Rooms were sometimes not made up by four in the afternoon. It can be hard if you're dressing for dinner or wanting to take a nap she explained.
She said she thought I might be an athlete. Our coffees were well below the midway point by this time We were chatting away like friends.
She was way off in regard to my being an athlete. "I walk," I said, which at least explained the tennis shoes. I was neither elegantly shod nor just off the beach in sandals.
"You look like you might be a gardener," I guessed in return. She had a nice tan, picked up in the Naples sun, and also the crinkles around the eye of someone who spends enjoyed hours outside.
She wore a pleased look. " I love to garden,"she affirmed. "But I don't garden much any more. I had polio when I was young. I got over it and did fine all these years. But I'm starting to have troubles. I lose my balance. I don't dare get down on my hands and knees. If I can't get down to pull weeds I don't call that gardening."
I said it appears to me when we lose something we have to add something to keep things even. If something is taken away then we need to put something new in its place.
She gave that some thought. "I like that," she nodded. "I'm going to tell that to my friend." She went on to tell of her friend. She had plans to visit this friend before going back to Cincinnati.
The friend sounded like someone met over the years of her winter residence in Naples. She didn't specify and I didn't ask. There's a lot we aren't required to know. Not knowing all doesn't hinder grasping the essential story.
"She's always been so cheerful. She's the one brightening everyone else up. She's had her share of problems but she keeps bouncing back. But I don't know now. She's awfully down."
Osteoporosis had so worsened her friend is confined to a wheelchair. She can't get out and she can't get around. It's taken away her fire.
"The last time we talked she told me she can't get her hope back this time. This is it. She doesn't feel she has anything more to live for. I'm shopping for a book for her. Something that might be uplifting. Not a book to read. I don't think she wants that. But something that might give her some hope."
"She used to love to shop," she mused. "She can't even do that. I don't even want to tell her I was here. It might make her miss things all the more."
"I think not," I said. "If shopping has been taken away then give her something else. Tell her what the new colors in the stores are, Tell her what you're seeing, what we're wearing and what we're doing as we come over here to shop."
"That's a good idea,," she said. "I'll have to go back to the stores and really look."She laughed. "That's just what she might like to hear about."
We got up to go off in opposite directions. I was headed for J. Crew. She went off on a search for a book, The hope she wanted to give her friend was in her voice as we said goodbye.
All told, our conversation was not especially long. It was a refreshing break. We came to shop but were fortunate to make time for more. Our visit helped each of us. Additionally, I believe, it went on to give some new assurance to her friend.
Our meeting was one part timing, one part opportunity, one part chosen fellowship. One part was Starbucks and that's a very big part. It's the part that let things begin.
Ro Giencke - February 10, 2012
Wild birds can be aggressive warned the sign advising not to even think of feeding the birds that were thick around us.
We noted the sign as we took our hamburgers, ordered in the shops inside, to eat on the pier. Despite the wind off the bay tearing at us it was good to be in the fresh salt air.
Grackles and crows pressed in at the first appearance of food at our table. They didn't flinch when shooed away. They stood practically atop the paper wrappers cradling the meat on bun and toppings. They were without fear.
Our dismissal gestures served as a challenge. They came closer with each wave of the hand. Al stood up meaning business. This finally got their attention. Briefly. But they weren't going anywhere while something was to be had.
I could see where feeding the birds might count as an act of desperation. You hope to distract them with morsels thrown as far away as possible. You try to beat them at their own game. Your aim is to finish your meal before they come back for more.
You know, however, that doing so encourages the behavior. It isn't something you're going to do. We hunched over as if guarding treasure. We managed to protect our lunches from their encroachment.
We trusted heartburn wouldn't show up this particular day as we ate and retreated in record haste.
The pier we were visiting accommodates shops on the ground level. The topmost story has a restaurant and outdoor viewing platform. The restaurant has several tables with outdoor seating for those who prefer the open view.
Off to the side are the black plastic tubs for bussing the tables. Napkins and other supplies for this outdoor section of seating, such as the plastic containers holding salt and pepper packets, are kept there too. As we stepped back from the viewing platform rail, having admired the city skyline from that landward side, a crow swooped past.
The dark shadow of its wings startled me. Cool as a jewelry thief it headed straight to the condiments container. The crow picked out a packet of sugar. It flew with it to land on the rail near the spot we had stood.
Expertly it poked open the sugar packet.. The beak made short work of the paper container. Only a peck or two was necessary to break through.
Sugar spilled from the packet. Granules of sugar blew in the wind. The crow got its share, enjoying the sweet treat.
The entire operation was so fast and slick we suspect it's been done before. The crow has become accustomed to a sugar high.
The crow seemed quite human caught in its sugar moment. We'll long remember the prowess, and liking for sugar, shown to us by the sugar crow.
Ro Giencke - February 4, 2012
Sea grapes have become, along with coconut palms and the blue curling waters of the Gulf of Mexico, the idealization of Southwest Florida to me.
The pretty sea grape shrubs, which grow wild at the edge of the seashore, are tropical arbors delighting the eye. The distinctive foliage is set off by its light-gray wood.
The color of the slim trunk and branches can vary based on degree of sun and salt exposure. Sea grape branches twist in interesting shapes as if not sure how they should properly grow.
They frame sea views as you stand incredibly moved by the union of water, sky and sandy fringes. They block out the beach parking lots from which you've just come, finally managing to snag a space when the car lot is full.
They're the background for millions of vacation photos, the kind that are turned into screen savers or made into Christmas cards. If a picture is worth a thousand words a picture of white beach sand and sea grapes almost says it all.
Sea grapes are hardy. They handle wind and the strong gales that can buffet the coast. They're drought resistant. They're tolerant of salt which is important in their proximity to the ocean. They provide shelter and food to wildlife.
Like other native plants, including the sabal palmetto palm, the Florida state tree, they're protected under Florida law.
Their adaptive qualities make them popular in residential and commercial landscaping. The island road we travel could in fact be called Sea Grape Boulevard.
Homeowners use sea grapes as hedges along the Gulf. The shrubs function as lot lines and noise buffers for traffic. They add a seashore look to the neighborhoods, even those not directly on the water.
Sea grapes (also spelled seagrapes) are most attractive in their natural settings as we see it. My friend Rebecca is of the same mind.
She and I agree that sea grape leaves, which are variously described as round, circular, heart shaped and kidney shaped (and I throw in fan shaped) are attention worthy.
Sea grape leaves are broad. They're eight to ten inches wide. Variation in the color of the leaves makes them very picturesque.
In the winter months leaves can be copper, spicy gold, brown, red, pink, fiery orange and green freckled with red. These various colors, and shadings of colors, ripple in the sun for gorgeous effect.
The colored leaves may be new leaves replacing old foliage. They may be leaves getting ready to fall.
Sea grapes appear to have the same tendency as deciduous trees to shed leaves, based on the piles of leaves on the ground. Dry conditions are possibly stressing the leaves causing them to turn color more readily.
We don't have this part figured out yet. You can pick any guess. We wonder about so many things. All we can say is that in January the leaves are remarkably beautiful.
The fruit of the sea grape is edible and actually very tasty. The berries are in clusters like grapes (hence, I suppose, the name sea grape).
It's pointed out that sea grapes aren't grapes. They're not wild grapes either. Sea grapes are a species of flowering plant in the buckwheat family.
The berries ripen through the summer turning red and purple as they mature. They can be made into jelly and wine. Rebecca was the one who told me about sea grape jelly. This was new to me.
She says it's hard to find sea grape jelly. She's been lucky occasionally. She mentions Southwest Florida International Airport as a place where she has bought it.
She likes to bring sea grape jelly home with her. It makes great gifts for those with whom she wants to share a taste of Florida.
I suggest to her that possibly she can buy sea grape jelly online. She brightens visibly at this.
Rebecca is my age. Our children can be relied on to use the internet like a shopping cart. They know what's there. They click and buy.
We're getting more comfortable with this concept. It still doesn't tend to be our primary shopping strategy. This is why I felt quite current to so casually toss out the idea. It sounded as if online purchasing is something done all the time.
Rebecca's interest in sea grape jelly passed to me. Some investigating was in order. Without even checking it's reasonably safe to assume sea grape jelly recipes can be found on the internet. Of more interest to me was a recipe from a local cookbook.
I was certain local bookstores, or the cookbook sections at libraries, would have church or community cookbooks with a sea grape jelly recipe in them.
It's always worked this way before. Old time methods of conserving and preserving are tucked away in lovingly compiled cookbooks sold as fundraisers by women's groups,community organizations and dedicated members of the congregation.
In the meantime I asked around. Was anyone familiar with sea grape jelly? Had they tasted it?
Almost all the answers were no. Several who grew up along this area of the Gulf had never heard of sea grape jelly.
The woman at the beach bookstore knew her inventory so well she could confidently advise me. I wouldn't find the recipe there she said. Sensing my disappointment she gave me some information.
She hasn't tasted this specialty jelly but she knows of it. Sea grape jelly is part of the workings of her community. The women's group picks the berries, cooks them and sells them.
It was neat hearing her tell this. It gave piquancy to the jelly which, for all I know, has no piquant taste at all. Perhaps it has just the sweetness of the mystery to it. Although Rebecca assures me the jelly is very good.
One person remembered sea grape jelly sold years ago at many of the fruit stands. They had sea grape jelly for sale then but not now I was told.
One woman, in Florida since the 1960s, had never seen sea grape jelly for sale but suggested visiting a fruit stand or asking the volunteers at the nearby park preserve.
I didn't do the first but I did find the park volunteers. One in the small group, busy that morning with an information program, knew just what I was asking about.
She even has a sea grape jelly recipe. She offered to share it with me. I thought Super. See how easy it can be. It shows up just like that.
I turned to help someone who needed assistance. It was important and it took a little while. When it was taken care of the docent group had dissolved, my sea grape jelly recipe lady along with them.
It makes me happy that this cherished recipe is in this person's home file. The jelly must have important association for her.
I was struck by the unhesitating way she was willing to give the recipe to a stranger. Not securing it at this opportunity, however, the search needed to go on.
Pulling a dozen books on Florida cookery off the shelves of the library, the quest for sea grape jelly came at last to successful conclusion.
Directions for Seagrape-Key Lime Jelly are printed on page 18 of Randy Wayne White's Gulf Cookbook (published 2008).
The cookbook comes with memories and photos of Sanibel Island which makes it more than a book of recipes, delightful as a cookbook is in its own right.
It's the kind of book every vacation time share unit, condo or cabin should have on its coffee table. It's a reminder of the ease of life that once was the mainstay of paradise locales like the Gulf.
There was less then but more. And it goes double for the way love was expressed through homemade cooking.
The sea grape recipe isn't included here. I've listed instead some of the titles from the Florida cookbooks gone through. I wish I had time for each one. Perhaps with this roster I can. (Titles include date of publication and author or publisher).
THE FLORIDA COOKBOOK (Jeanne Voltz and Caroline Stuart, 2003)
SEMINOLE INDIAN RECIPES (Joyce La Fray, publisher, 1996) There wasn't a sea grape jelly recipe but two heritage recipes, sassafras jelly and ascerola cherry jelly, made me feel I was closing in on my search)
GULF COAST KITCHENS (Constance Snow, 2003)
A TASTE OF OLD FLORIDA (Florida Media, 2006)
SIMPLY FLORIDA (Florida Extension Association of Family and Consumer Sciences, 2007)
COUNTRY COOKIN' (Joyce La Fray, 1990)
FLORIDA'S BACKYARD (Carrie Hanna, 2002)
THE SUNSHINE STATE COOKBOOK (George S. Fichter, 1985, 2002)
BEST OF THE BEST FROM FLORIDA COOKBOOK Selected Recipes from Florida's Favorite Cookbooks (Quail Ridge Press, 2004)
Sea grapes were the inspiration for this story. Sea grape jelly was the start of the quest.
Perhaps Rebecca's interest, which has become mine, will keep the jelly pot boiling.
It's a great pastime to appreciate local tastes. It goes from pastime to passion to write down and share our recipes, rituals and our times.
Ro Giencke - January 28, 2012
Walking the beach the other day there was commotion out from shore. Bottlenose dolphins were hunting fish. Here weren't the playful antics applauded at marine parks. This was concentrated bullet- fast pursuit.
The dolphins weren't performing for treats or entertaining audiences in the stands. This was instinct. This was natural and living free.
Fish jumped and came down as the dolphins tore through the water. The fish could be clearly seen. They might have been in flight ahead of the predators or were the food at the end of the chase. We stood and watched and marveled.
The dolphins surfaced and dived. They barreled back and forth. The bathtub waters of the Gulf became aquatic theater. It was one of the recent interesting moments at the shore.
Bottlenose dolphins are the subject of a signboard at the next beach. Dolphins are in the Gulf of Mexico all year long but this isn't considered the season of best sightings. That's May, June and July.
Adult dolphins can eat up to thirty pounds of fish a day. The fish they commonly feed on are sea trout, mullet and snook. They find prey through echolocation, which might be described as sonar detection.
Later Al had a different kind of wildlife encounter. He was swung at by a blue crab on Sanibel Island.
The crab had been washed onto the beach. It was a live crab. Al, more curious about sea creatures that come with claws or fins than I happen to be, found this out.
It proved to be a pugilistic crab. This is maybe how crabs are and why we have the word crabby. It looked ready to deliver a quick undercut.It struck a boxer's pose. It extended its claws. Its clamp would be hard. It glared at Al. It had no fear of this Goliath whose giant shadow was thrown across the sand. A woman came along the beach. "That would make someone a good lunch," she said, which told us this was a crab you could eat.
Perhaps knowing you're always someone's possible dinner is enough to make even the mildest mannered crab cranky.Florida at this time of year sees migrations of snowbirds in flip flops and wrinkled beach wear, as a letter to the editor in the local newspaper alluded to the annual influx.
While some look upon snowbirds as the ones to put the binoculars to the real interest should be the teeming bird life. Florida is a bird watcher's paradise.We've not visited the places with the birds with bright plumage or had in our sight the familiar home birds who winter here.
We've seen plenty of white birds, many of which are new to us. We called them water birds but shore birds is a real classification into which many of the birds fit.
We recognize sandpipers, egrets, ibises and terns. There are others. They wade in ditches, at the edges of tidal marshes and along the seashore. They hop or pitch forward on long skinny legs.
Some have long sharp bills. Some speed through the beach shallows like skitterbugs. They make us laugh. They hurry to go nowhere - like many of us.Ospreys are everywhere. We've become adept at spotting their nests. It's easy. Just look up. The nests are atop poles and high in trees. The nests, formed from sticks and other materials including seaweed, are built up over time. They get quite large. This is a sign the ospreys have been there awhile.
Al has his camera trained on a particular pair of ospreys. Their nest is near the pier. The father brings fish to the nest. At least once the mother has sent her mate and the fish away. In this instance he flew to the pier and made the fish his meal.
We have pictures of the pair together on their nest. They could be any hardworking couple with a few free moments to hang in each other's company on the front porch.The most hilarious of the birds in appearance are the royal terns. We think we have their identity correct. Before we knew their name we called them the birds with the eyebrows in back. And such eyebrows. Groucho Marx comes to mind.
Perhaps it's the association with the bushy brows of the Hollywood funny guy that makes royal terns supremely comical to us.
Birds on the beach have made peace with the joggers, shell hunters, yoga classes on mats, bikers, dog walkers and sunbathers. They take human encroachment in stride.
They see the seashore as their sandy garden abloom with beach parasols. Beach picnickers are viewed as their pass to supper. Signs prohibit feeding wildlife but with birds, as with humans, where there's a will there is a way.
They brush off our presence as I did the biting insects which I now wish had been given a hearty swat. They caught me unaware at sunset where scrub and dune meets the beach.
A tern brooded in a nest of its own making on another beach visited by us. It rested in the sun-warm sand where shells lay thick.
Its weight pressed lightly into the shell detritus. It got up and moved before we reached the spot. A shallow contour, a slender imprint of its presence, remained in the sand where it had been.
Ro Giencke - January 22, 2012
There's no scoffing among the initiated. This was my thought the other day as the intended morning walk on Sanibel Island faltered after only a few sandy strides.
Sizing up the busy beach it looked a feasible plan. Simply walk wherever the seashell hunters aren't congregated. Wide as the beach is, it should be easy enough to do.
Failure of plan was as unexpected as it was immediate. A seashell carried to shore came to rest on the wet sands near me. It demanded a look.
This is habit forming I thought as I bent down over the shell. Here I am already mimicking the Sanibel Stoop.
My hand went out toward the cute little colored scallop. The instinctive reaching gesture may have been a copycat gesture. It doesn't take long to follow suit on shell loving Sanibel. More probable there was a deeper response governing me.
Our family took several beach vacations when the kids were young. Some of the best vacations were on beaches like this. In fact some were on these very beaches - the lovely Gulf shores of Ft. Myers Beach and Sanibel and Captiva islands.
We tracked white powdery sand into the car, poured it out of beach buckets brought half full to the parking lot and shook it out of wet swim suits and damp beach towels.
The collections of sea shells picked up on the sea side of the sand dunes inevitably came home in the car trunk as vacation souvenirs.
The seashells weren't thrown out once home. Or only once when the lot of them developed an unholy smell along the way.
Some of the shells were turned into landscape edging. They were put in discreet out-of-sight places in the yard. Seashell decor has a tendency to fight with Midwest taste.
The more striking ones were added to the shells shown off in a woven basket in the bathroom. These shells provided the bathroom motif at our place for many years.
When we moved a few years ago the collection was close to being tossed, "We're starting over" was the reasoning. "Same with some of our stuff. It's time to move on."
Seashells picked up on family vacations do not release quickly we found out. The shells were gently transferred into a double-sacked paper bag and made the move with us.
They were set up in the new bathroom. They're a continuing reminder of family time spent in water and sun.
Beach trips faded as quickly as a September suntan once the kids got older. There were other places to see and other things to do. But there are places you don't forget.
Southwest Florida with its Gulf shoreline and warm winters present now with a different kind of appeal. Shelling, however, wasn't on our long list of things to do.
Shell discovery firmly in hand on that day of the beach walk I resumed my pace. Another interesting shell lay to the side. I scooped this up too. Soon I had several.
They were stacked in my hand, one neatly within the other. This way I could keep picking up without running out of holding capacity. It got trickier when the other hand was put to use as well.
My walk, hardly six steps into it, thoroughly broke down. Concentration was only for the new treasures the washes of the tides were bringing ashore.
The incoming water, eddying, surging and sucking, several times swirled over my sandals as I scoured the margins of the beach. This happened despite judging myself well clear of the incoming floods of water.
A couple times I had to fish my sandals out of the surf with my toes (both hands tied up with shells). The power of the sea was evidenced. It had enough strength to pull the sandals off my feet in mere inches of turbulent water.
Each new spill of water onto the sand had excitement with it. The seashells, rolled by the action of the waves onto the sand, glistened with wetness.
We hastened over. We pounced to the prize. The shells, perhaps never before seen by other eye, were ours to claim as first finders.
Visits to the Captiva Island and Ft. Myers Beach libraries gave chances to identify the shells which my husband and I found separately and together. (The Bailey-Mathews Shell Museum on Sanibel Island is another place to get informed but wasn't visited on this recent trip).
With the help of the library displays our seashells sorted themselves into names which thereupon facilitated our efforts to further differentiate between the various types.
Spreading our finds on a towel we could view them on a somewhat scientific level. They had become more than curiosities and beach time diversion.
We identify Florida fighting conchs, junonias, lightning whelks, tulip shells, coquinas, calico scallops and a dainty specimen charmingly called kitten's paw among our array.
The tulip shell and and conch specimens displayed in the libraries are my favorites. Our casual beach hunts have yielded more modest finds.
It makes small difference. As you stoop and ponder each shell you come upon each seashell is a discovery which somehow makes each shell special.
"My, you've got some pretty shells" a shore fisherman remarked as I ducked, with his permission, under his cast line. (It was either doing that or wading into the water or making a big sandy detour around him.)
I said something agreeable back, two people enjoying the fine day and beautiful setting. The comment about the shells stayed with me, however.
Pretty, as in shells, is in the eye of the holder even more than the beholder. Carrying my shells like precious cargo I felt like a mother with many children. You can find some quality in each that sets it apart. While each is perhaps ordinary as viewed by the world, each is unique because it's yours.
Al and I went along gathering a few more shells. We took in the sea breezes. We absorbed the freedom inherent in the complete ability to bar any thought other than the sensation of capitulation to uncontested outright enjoyment.
The great litter of shells scrunched under our feet as we sank into the shells with each forward step.
This, we knew, with a tact that doesn't require stating the obvious, is the relaxation we came for.
Ro Giencke - January 16, 2012
