This morning Mr. Moon got up early and went to the Sebastian Inlet to fish which is something he loves to do when we're here. I love that there's something he truly enjoys doing when we're in my ancient land and so that is fine with me. I took a little walk while he was gone between rain showers. One second it would look like the picture above and the next there would be a downpour. That white sand road is the road that travels from just a little bit beyond where my grandfather lived to where we are staying now. It is a road I have walked many, many times and every step holds memories.
This is the house that some people say Mark Twain owned.
This is the house where I bought my mother a rhinestone pin at a garage sale.
This is the road where we played marbles and where my favorite climbing tree was.
I got to the little Community Park which I learned a few years ago that my grandparents donated the property for. Selfishly, I want to go to a lawyer and say, "Get me a little bit of that back!"
I wouldn't have to tell my brothers, would I?
I always look for the pine tree I remember because it got struck by lightening in a huge storm when I was little. Here it is.
And that's the scar where the lightening hit it. For decades that gash was black. But it has finally healed and look how tall it has become.
It is easy for me to see this tree as a symbol for my own life. My scars may be deep and even visible but I am still here. I have survived. In some ways, I have thrived.
I had to take a picture of the little Community Center where there was a tiny library and I got to check out my first books.
Our neighbor and friend, Mrs. Mockeridge was the "librarian." She would set up her time stamp and ink pad and the marbled cardboard box where she kept the cards which were tucked into little pockets in the backs of the books with the names of the people who had checked them out, on a folding card table. There were three sets of bookshelves. One for children, two for adults. And after I had read all the children's books, Mrs. Mockeridge consulted with my mother as to adult books that I could read.
I feel almost certain that those bookshelves no longer hold those same books if indeed they are even still there. There are blinds closed against the hot sun and I could not see in the windows.
I wish I could have.
Here's a fern growing on a tree in a jungly part of the block I used to live on.
I took a picture of my grandfather and grandmother's old house but there are so many plants in front of it, you can't really see a thing. I have to keep the memory and images of it in my heart, I guess. It's probably good that I can't see it. It would only add confusion to my dreams.
The house Granddaddy built for my mother and my brother and is completely hidden by jungle now. Since that's the first place my stepfather lived with us I am glad of that. I do not need to see it.
I got back here to the Cabana House and then Mr. Moon got home and we decided to go to a place we love for lunch. Ozzie's Crab House. And we always get the same thing which is the Neptune Platter and, okay, well, it looks like this.
Oh god. Yes. Yes. And yes, we did.
About an hour later the platter looked like this.
So okay, we do this about once every two years. And no, we're not proud of this. And no, we can't promise we'll never do it again.
And in our defense, the shell-to-meat ration is pretty large.
Lord, it was good.
We came home and had to take naps. It was raining. We were so full. It's our last day here. Napping seemed the way to go.
The rain had finally cleared and it was magnificent.
The water was so flat and it was so quiet that a mullet leaping and splashing was a thing requiring attention and respect.
I''m going to heat up our leftover pizza and make us a salad which is honestly more than we need.
Tomorrow we'll drive home.
Sometimes I swear I don't really know where home is. But Roseland. Well, it's hard to leave.
As usual, I dug up a few plants from the roadside jungle to take home and plant.
They will have to go in pots because where I live now can get too cold for their tropical ways.
Sometimes I can relate to that.
Sometimes I wonder where it is that I truly belong.
I wish I knew.