What comes after Florida?
Beach Person - January 14
When someone says they are a ‘blank-person’, I think of a specialized topic they geek out on, or a niche where they’re a cottage expert. I’m a train person (cool), or I’m a Disney person (yuck) both seem more appropriate than being a ‘beach person’. Aren’t we all beach people?
The view the shore never gets old. I’ve heard people say that a view of the sea can add years to a person’s life or cure their depression. Is there anyone who doesn’t appreciate some, if not all, of the qualities spread along the edge of the continent? Especially here. It’s cold and no one is out sunbathing on the sparkling white sands of Florida’s panhandle, but the vista isn’t the least bit diminished. The sun is uninterrupted by smokestacks or stands of trees on its vibrant descent behind the gulf.
We’re currently between the large built-up areas of Florida’s vacation industry. Every town boasts something on its welcome sign: “World’s Whitest Sand”, “The National Coastal Birdwatching Capital”, “America’s #1 Coast Community”, or something that subtly asks the driver to please stop before they hit the next sign in a few minutes that will read, “Come Back Soon!” Here in Port St. Joe, they don’t try too hard, “Florida’s Constitution City”. Lame. I like it.
Not that they ever have to try that hard to sell the beach. What’s not to like? Swimming in this cold weather would be a feat of endurance, not leisure, but I might do it anyway. In the meantime, I like everyone else, am a beach person.
Library Day - January 15
We spent the day at the library and I finally convinced Dotti to put some of here thoughts down as a guest post in this blog. Enjoy!
Apalachicola - January 16
It’s a good thing the library closed at two otherwise we never would have left. I didn’t have anything in particular to do there, although there is always more to write. We used the place as a weather shelter.
I thought I was overpacked when we left Louisiana and I had a jacket and pants. The heat and humidity there guaranteed these extra layers were not necessary. Now it’s clear that I could’ve done with a couple more. Gloves and sweater would’ve been a good start. I have room for them in my luggage as we’re only carrying a day or two of food at a time. With these extra clothes, the cold would’ve been no big deal.
As the library was closing, we were heading into the warmest part of the day at two in the afternoon. We are camped down in Apalachicola, only 25 miles from Port Saint Joe. It’s a nifty little town with an even cooler name. I get the sense that oysters are the lifeblood of this place. According to a brochure asking for help supporting the cause, a Louisiana-based oil company may end that. I don’t know if the consequences are overblown to support the cause, or if it is a just concern. In any case, the petroleum company is on a bid to explore for oil in the Apalachicola river basin. The oyster population would suffer the waste products of the exploration according to the brochure.
If tomorrow is as cold as today was, I might take the day to investigate among the locals. Use the weather that is no good for pedaling to get to the bottom of the oil versus oyster concern.
Panhandle Thoughts - January 17
It’s a sometimes poor, totally unique, and widely neglected part of the state, the panhandle. I met one of its most miserable residents this morning, just after crossing the bridge from Apalachicola to Eastpoint.
The conversation started out promising, talking about bikes and the oyster industry. How 2026 was the first in five years that oystermen could legally harvest from the river. He told us about his wife in a way that made her sound lovely and then pulled the rug out by saying she’d been dead of brain cancer for several years.
He then unloaded all the injustices in his life. Mad at the president, mad at the people who voted for him, mad at his insurance company, mad at his neighbors who didn’t check on him, mad at his mother-in-law for stealing money out of his late wife’s business account hours before she died. He was miserable. He wanted to talk, but he didn’t want to have a conversation. He just wanted me to agree with him how awful all these people were.
He wanted pity but the man was 73 years old and should know after seven decades of life the value of pity is a thing of taste, and not of substance. Like frosting or coconut rum. His story was so well-rehearsed that I knew I was only the latest to hear it, not the first. Instead of agreeing with him, I reminded him that he wouldn’t find peace until he forgave all those people. Voice of experience here, unfortunately. I really tried to encourage him to do it too, but he brushed it off and expounded on his sad victimhood.
I prayed for him when Dotti and I went to mass tonight, that he’d show mercy and forgiveness instead of tightening his grip on the injustices and slights. There’s just no freedom in that, no truth in seeking pity on what you need is forgiveness and peace.
It bothered me how ineffective I was. I listened, I asked questions, I quoted him back to himself and empathized. But when I went a step further to show him where he could lay his troubles down… it didn’t take.
I meet all types on the road and many that have helped me. I want to be that for someone. I want to be someone that changes their life for the better, shows them a better way. I tried to, spoke from everything I’ve experienced and still couldn’t be that guy. I’ll keep praying for him, the man who finds injustice everywhere and peace nowhere.
Rain Delay - January 18
I kind of liked the delay. I wanted to get up and get moving, but there was no point with cold rain falling with temps just above freezing. The panhandle to the north and west of us got snow. Maybe those conditions would’ve been worse than rain, but snow in Florida certainly is a cooler story than waiting in my tent until the rain ends.
We camped behind the graveyard of the church last night with the priest’s permission, had fire and everything. When we did finally get going, we crossed the Florida National Scenic Trail, and looked out for hikers, but they were absent too.
I’m not sure what the road ahead will be, looks urban. We are currently surrounded by public land. I’m camped in the Flint Rock Wildlife Management Area right now.
Why do they fly the rebel flag? - January 19
The influence of the confederacy is far from dead in the south, but dwindling. I’m a Yankee by birth, but try to walk in others boots when I’m on their ground like I am here in Western Florida. The confederate flag ceased being a symbol of a nation, but still hangs from ceiling and poles in the south.
The USA accepted the surrender of the Confederacy in 1865 and so the narrative of the war fell to the north to tell. For us Yankees, grade-school history simplified it to a war about slavery, south was all for it, north was all against it. The bloodiest conflict in the nation’s history was reduced to a single word on a multiple choice test: slavery.
While I pass the rebel flag on southern lawns, I try to expand my view beyond just that. The soldiers, with nothing to gain, fought on behalf of the economic interests of a few, who had everything to lose. And when they lost, their villainy was committed to ink and stone, forever the bad guys.
It’s created a sentiment about the veterans of the Civil War that is comparable to Vietnam. But a life lost in war is valuable regardless of the flag it served under. Should it matter to the dead veteran’s family which government offered surrender and which accepted it?
People were pretty nasty to the Vietnam Veterans when things were fresh but time has done a lot to heal that wound. Every small town veteran memorial I’ve stopped at lists the names of their dead from wars this country has accepted surrender from the enemy right next to the ones where the US ultimately surrendered. Names of the fallen in the world wars right beside those from Vietnam and Afghanistan.
A life is a life: I have to remind myself with that repulsive flag. The dignity and worth of a man isn’t diminished by dying for the wrong cause, or for a government that surrendered.
But it’s taboo to talk about veterans of the Confederate Army like that. They fought and died on behalf of powerful men much like soldiers always have. Young men who had nothing to gain and everything to lose. It’s hard to separate the soldiers from the cause when the cause is reduced to that single word: slavery. And it’s hard to separate that flag from the same word.
