AK Update

To bring you a little up to date. It's been so long.

I lost my wallet and contents in Seattle on the way to meet Niah. Bummer as it contained my driver's license, credit cards, Medicare and a one year fishing license for Florida.

I spoke to the Alaska Div Motor Vehicles who were very sympathetic. NJ could learn a thing or two.

The bureau is streamlined and feels like going to the movies. A gentle woman asks your desires and then gives you a number to talk further to another gentle woman. At first all I got was sympathy. Then one adviser suggested I get an Alaska Driver's license!! She explained that if I wrote a post card to myself and mailed it to my daughter's street residence, and if it was delivered, I would be considered, by the DMV, to be a resident of Alaska. Since one department of Government, THE POST, had officially dubbed me Sir Nicholas of Alaska, who were they to argue. Also, they suggested I visit an almost empty Social Security Office to obtain a copy of my SS#. I had already been there to get a letter stating I was covered by Medicare. Chap was pleased to see me again

Three days later my post card arrived after being sent to Anchorage, sorted, returned to Fairbanks and placed in Marla's mailbox.

I returned to the quiet DMV and requested another number to take the driving written test again, a 20 question multiple choice exam. ( I had tried it the first day and failed as one must answer 16 correct and I got tripped up by a few screwy questions that I forget at the moment). However, I realized that each exam contained some of these and the option to SKIP was offered. This means that the question is put to the back of the pile to return again later. After 15 correct answers, I had it knocked; just a question of strategy; do all the easy ones first, skip the screwy ones.

Long story etc.. I've got an Alaska Driver's license. Bank of A, canceled my credit card and gave me a new one, but for the one year Florida Fishing license, I'm back.

Yes. Niah is cool. I get to spend quality time with her, sharing a bottle, burping and farting. There are no ladies around to take her away from me the minute she peeps. I've been here to watch as she begins to focus and am starting to teach her the tongue language wherein she sticks her tongue out and wiggles it in response to my lead. I'm practicing diaper speed changes and considering a contest much like Indy 500 pit stops. "Gentlemen grab your diapers..."

If I put her in a carrier called a Boppy, then put it on a 24" diameter exercise ball, I can reproduce the effect of driving in a car, flying, shooting rapids and so on, with great ease. I don't have to hold her weight and can continue for 1/2 an hour. Even sip a glass of wine. It's magic. I can flip a screaming child into a docile sleeper in less than a minute. I'm thinking of putting this on U-Tube to help all other Dadski's in distress.

Marla and Hank have the whole process well in hand. Marla is able to easily multi-task, cooking something on the stove, answering e-mails and feeding Niah, simultaneously. We were in a shoe store recently. Niah was hungry. No problem, she was placed on the appropriate button, wrapped under a shawl and Marla tried on various shoes. She bought a pair before Niah was finished.

Our weather has been fabulous with crystal clear skies, puffy clouds and all shades of blue. You can see Danali 80 miles away, (unusual but because it's 20 plus thousand feet high, it sticks up above the horizon.)

Most of all, I'm on call for Niah duty while Marla goes to work or to school or on a run. In between, I've finished a few projects; the railings and new wider stairs for the deck we built last fall (Heather, Mark, Hank & I ), a reconditioned compost bin found at the transfer station and today, a portable greenhouse. Life is good.

The Boys of Autumn. Hilton Head , March 22 - 27

During the last week of April I visited with Hank and Marge Sieben in Sun City, Hilton Head, Georgia after leaving Jeff and Kristina in Gainesville. ( Marge is Hank’s Mum as in Hank & Marla, Hank (Sr.), his stepfather.) What a wonderful retirement community. I’m impressed by the scout camp-like atmosphere where people seem genuinely happy to see each other and there are so many activities offered it makes your head spin trying to decide which one to try.

One morning, a 55 degree sunny day, I went with Hank where he was to play a soft ball game at the Sun City diamond. Must have been a 100 people in attendance, 80 watching, probably 40 waiting their turn to play and 20 playing. Almost everyone knew Hank and they thumped him and each other in greeting. Lots of kidding about stiff arms, legs and shoulders that don’t quite work, hopes that they will in the coming games, hats being slapped against the other’s chest and gentle fists to the shoulder; just guys acting like kids though without the insecurity of youngsters trying out new roles.

The game is soft pitch, softball. The pitcher throws what we used to call “sucker“ balls, a slow curved arc to the batter which to be a strike, must hit a rectangular, 18” x 24”, plate. Even before the batter starts he has a ball and a strike against him. This makes the game go faster as each player has only 2 strikes to be out, three balls to walk. For the same reason, if the batter hits two foul balls, he’s out. The bases are designed to minimize collisions between players. First base is not a square but a rectangle made up of two squares one white one orange. The base runner has to touch the white side, the first baseman the orange side. Similarly, home plate is 18” or so away from the strike zone; the runner aims for the traditional diamond, the catcher, the rectangle mentioned earlier used for pitching. All these are meant to make the game safer for older players.
The camaraderie and good fellowship demonstrated by everyone is astounding. Even though each player wants to win, they applaud good hits, defensive catches, strong throws and running skills. “ Great hit, Gaston. You showed ‘em where you lived”. “ That guy has a cannon in mid-field.” “Christ, you wash lined that catch. Fantastic Vito!”

If a team reaches 5 runs in an inning, the other team comes to bat, (otherwise, in a miss-matched game, the score could be 50 to 1!). Also, games play in about an hour and a quarter, long enough to be challenging without crippling the players and short enough so that 6 or 7 games can be played in a normal day.

I was invited to stay in the team dug out, protected by hurricane fencing from foul and miss-thrown balls. Visibility was not as good as watching from the perimeter of the field but had the advantage of “listening in” on the team’s repartee.
Hank was the pitcher on the Outdoor Design (OD) Team so known because the Company had sponsored the uniform and bought an outfield advertisement. They were playing a formidable opponent, whose name escapes me, but a team made up with a number of players under 70, (“ ringers”, they would say). Hank is 74 and his first pitch hung too long, the batter got under it and made a solid hit to centerfield, and he scurried to 2nd base. Unfortunately, quite a few other hits followed and the score moved steadily towards 5 runs. Another dispensation to older age, whenever a runner whose running skills were diminished by arthritis or hip surgery made it to first base, a spry, 60 year old “pinch” alternate took his place. Some guys could really move, others not so well, sort of gimped and stuttered but with all the concentration and enthusiasm of committed youngsters. At 5 runs the teams switched sides.
Hank’s team were up and down in order; 1 2 3… gone. However, a special moment happened when Hank, number 2 in batting order, drove a slashing ball straight into left field. Home run for sure. The left fielder lurched into movement, gained speed and made a surprising, clothesline catch, feet off, almost horizontal and then crashed to the ground. Silence all around the field then, instantly 10 guys were at his side checking that nothing had broken. He unfolded, arose tentatively, and with a huge smile displayed the ball tightly held in his gloved hand. Hank was heard to say “ Holy Smoke. Da Bastid caught it !” in his inimitable Brooklyn accent.( Possible, he might have used another “S” word.) “Great catch Charlie, but don’t expect me to give you mouth-to-mouth “. Charlie got up, shook himself and contended he was “ Fine” so the game continued.
The OD team’s defense improved as the game continued but were having trouble scoring; by the 5th inning the score was 14 – 1, against. OD caught their first wind in the 6th, began to smoke and then flamed adding 3 runs. Then in the 7th, they shut their opponents down in order. Now the chant in the pen was, “ Only 10 to go to tie ‘em, 11 to win. We can do it. ”. (The 5 run rule is set aside in the last inning so the losing team can score as many as they are able, so long as they aren’t put out. ) The energy was electric and the score climbed to 14 - 9 with only one out. Did I mention the cheering wives? Cow bells, horns, clackers and loud enthusiastic shouts, both for and against. Probably 30 onlookers supporting both sides, all heavily invested in the game. What a hoot !
The 82-year old score keeper, plotting every play, was sitting on the edge of his seat hollering himself hoarse belittling the pitcher. The OD team bench was empty, all standing, fingers hanging through the fence, shouting alternatively, abuse at the other team and encouragement for their own heroes. Second batter struck out. Damn; the tension was unbearable. OD’s best hitter took the plate. First hit a foul ball, another and he’d be out. Whack; the ball made a gentle ark into the pitcher’s glove. Oh well, (deep breath), it wasn’t to be. The contest ended as both teams met on the diamond to warmly congratulate each other on a game well played.
As our teams cleared the field, the next two teams began sweeping the bases and cleaning up the runs in preparation for their game. There are 14 teams in the league. At the end of each season, members are shuffled about and are placed on a team according to the reports of their abilities, scrupulously noted by various scorekeepers. To make the games competitive the best players are balanced, shared around the teams in the league. Thus, over a period of years, players have often played with and against each other. Makes for great friendships, lots of memories and constant kidding; big kids without egos, just playing for fun. I‘d like to have joined.
Because our game ended at noon and it was Thursday, it was also,“ Hot Dog Day “; 12 inch long dogs for $1.50 each, dogs so good that people bought one to eat and two to take home for later. Hank bought a round for the team and as I reached for my wallet, he pressed me into the line saying, ” It’s all paid. Help yourself”. One spritely lady with a twinkle in her eye offered to spread relish“ all over your dog” which caught me openmouthed for a reply; three other ladies who overheard, exploded in laughter.

Hank & I played golf two days running. Didn’t bother to keep score, just enjoyed the game and felt good about the best shots. First game was played on one of the Sun City courses. I felt the designer of the course could have used the water hazards to better advantage. They always seemed to be peripheral to the fairways, never a threat. “ Wait ‘til tomorrow”, Hank said. “We’ll play a private course where their signature hole is a world renowned.” Number 13 was fantastic! The tee approached the green, diagonally and a crow flying would first pass over a patch of grass bordering reeds, a 30 foot sandy beach, 150 feet of open water, ( embracing the fairway in a large “L” , with the long arm receding to the right and past the green) , then over another beach, more reeds and sloping up 50 feet of fairway to the flag. Perhaps a 220 yard hole, tee to flag; certainly do-able in a perfect world. (Bloody big challenge; which we both rose to like hungry fish to flies.) After 6 balls lost, mostly right, EACH, we decided to try the conventional, more intelligent approach, out at 45 degrees to the diagonal, 100 yards or so and then across the water to the hole. Most humbling hole but wonderful fun. Screwed up the next one as well as it bordered the ocean and by this time we were “water shy”. Absolutely glorious day in a very posh resort where numerous 10 acre lots are offered for one million dollars each and houses started at 3 or 4. Beautiful but deserted and unlike the beehive community of Sun City, we hardly saw anyone except some of Hank’s security guard colleagues who patrol the area. Hank has a part time job at the resort thus he invites special guests and we were able to play.
My four days with Hank and Marge gave me a new appreciation for the Sun City retirement community. Everyone I met was friendly and welcoming, probably because I was with Hank who engenders these interactions. None-the-less, I could see myself living there. I must mention a visit to a dilapidated clam shack on the edge of a bay where the absolute best, fresh water clams were available, dredged directly from the river, cleaned and shucked for $8.95 a pound. On my last day Marge and I visited Hilton Head, the Lighthouse, Harbor, Stores and then walked for miles along a beach with dolphins for company. This is the area Hank (Jr.) spent his summers. I was shown the spot where he managed to sail his windsurfer into a bank of clamshells . He came out bloodied but unbowed. That evening we saw a production of “ Little Shop of Horrors” at the Sun City Theatre, produced and presented by residents. It was enjoyable and full of energy. However, it is tough to cast 60 year old gals to play bobby-soxers, even though their voices are youthful, they are undone by ageing muscles and sagging bodies.
I was pleased to have time to get to know Hank’s folks better who, although I’d met previously at events such as Marla’s wedding or when they were passing through Fairbanks on a cruise, didn’t. They are generous host and I look forward to our next meeting.
After leaving Hilton Head, I briefly stopped in Charleston with the hope of exploring a city I had visited and enjoyed, years ago. A marathon was being run on Saturday and 40,000 additional folk were expected for the weekend, consequently downtown rooms were going for $350 a night; traffic police were directing cars into remote parking areas and everything seemed chaotic. I wasn’t up for the hassle; I headed for Myrtle Beach 300 miles North. All along the highway I could see the early signs of spring; forsythia in riotous yellow, cascading in shaggy clumps, cherry blossoms against the dark green of new grass. Next day, after an early breakfast I started to think of home and all the work I’d have to do to prepare for summer; the fields full of overgrown grass, gutters to repair from the heavy winter snow, new skins to replace on my hot water solar collectors, who knows what else. I put my foot down, drove 500 miles with a brief stop for lunch, the longest day of my trip, through the city of Washington, across Maryland and Delaware into New Jersey and home by about 10 pm. I walked about the yard in the dark and realized I had been premature; nothing growing just then, but certainly, immanent. I’d been away since January 26 and returned March 28, two, mostly fascination months, visiting old friends, making new and meeting family previously unmet. What a great way to spend a life!

Punta Gorda. Evergaldes, Islamorada Key, Mar 7 - 16

Punta Gorda, where Hank's Dad lives, was only 1/2 hour drive away from Harry's place in Port Charlotte across an arching bridge with views of the bay and the city. Once you leave the city of Punta Gourda, the road cuts through what I've come to think of as most of Florida; scrub pine, sawtooth palmetto , sand and mangrove. An old guy I met told me to keep an eye out for wild pigs. " A 300 pound sow can make a hell of a dent in a car; put you right off the road." I saw a family of pigs chowing down on the edge of the road. He also mentioned that pigs that got hit didn't rot much as locals "picked 'em up and ate 'em". Gives roadkill a new meaning. Don't know what they do with the passengers.


Frank is a burly guy with a brush cut. I brought him pictures of a boat that the Tokay's want to get rid of. It's been unused since Charley's visit, but still floating. A 20 foot O'Day, without a mast , rigging and sail ; probably a major recon job. I'd have a go, if I lived nearby and was hoping Frank would be interested as it would have been a neat project to re-cycle .

Understandable , as it'd cost a grand or more to refit. His partner is Rebecca, Becky to her friends and family, some of whom were visiting. Phylis and Dennis are her siblings; Mike is Phylis' husband. Mike is in a wheel chair because of MS. He used to be a firefighter and I know he's mighty frustrated being a burden, not being able to be active. Phylis takes good care of him; nonetheless, it sucks. Dennis is a retired Policeman from Michigan, a friendly guy who I found out had a great sense of humor.

Almost as soon as the introductions were completed, Frank was thinking about fishing. Me too. We went to his favorite store to check out a new rod which the salesman, also an avid fisherman had decided Frank would buy. He was right, the balance and weight was perfect and would match Frank's new reel . That afternoon he took me to the flats about a mile off the road, down what must have previously been a logging road. He lent me a rod, gave me instructions and suggestions on how best to work the lure and we started to fish. The water stays knee deep for about 1/2 mile from shore where a tan sand bar divides the aqua water from the deeper green of the bay. Patches of seaweed are the home to snook, redfish and sea trout. Frank told me to shuffle as I walked as stepping on a sting ray would result in a month of pain. I shuffled.

I caught the first fish, a nice sea trout which Frank unhooked for me with a special unhooking device, ( and as it turns out, the only fish I caught in 4 days of serious fishing. Oh well. Hope springs eternal and a good day fishing, etc., etc..) We released the fish. Frank caught another and released it. That night and into the next day, it rained 6" in 10 hours. Further down the coast it had rained 8"! Everything was soggy but by afternoon the sun came out, so we had another go at fishing. This was the road we had walked yesterday, now ankle deep and a semi river. Naturally it affected the ocean water turning it Bovril brown where yesterday it was crystal clear. The wind was blowing 15 -20 knots from the bay, so we hiked out 1/2 mile and fished parallel for 1 mile or so. After about 90 minutes , Nada, except my hands turned white and I lost all sensation in my fingers, just wooden sticks ; always happens with wind and 60 degree water, so we pulled the plug.

We returned home, had a beer or two and chatted with the family. Becky had come from Wal Mart where she works, Max the parrot, from his cage in the corner. He, Max, is infatuated with Frank, only person he likes to be near. Whenever someone else is too close, Frank gets bitten. Figure that ?

My last day, I played golf with Dennis and his friend from Michigan, Michael, who has recently become besotted with Robin, a lovely lady in her mid forties who seems to reciprocate his feelings. Michael is 75 and acted 18. He claimed much of his golfing power had been squandered the previous night. In any case, we had an enjoyable day of golf , even though the wind was howling and the greens were as hard as a billiard table.

Like many houses in Florida, Frank's is set off in the middle of a large field. He had to clear a lot of Kudzu, the vine overtaking the South and was fortunate to have a few trees left on his property. We tried fishing one last day, the day the big tournament was taking place and the one where Frank got bumped off a team because another more important guy turned up. We drove to the end of Pine Island and fished in a wind secluded bay for a few hours. Nada, again. However we did have an incredible hamburger in a small village, sitting at dockside and watching boats. We quit in time to make it back to hear the results of the Red Fish tournament broadcast at the Crab Bar in Punta Gorda. Frank's team, the one he didn't join came in 2nd to last with 2 red fish weighing a total of 4.8 lbs. The winners, travelled 130 miles to places unknown and caught 2 fish weighing 15.8 lbs. They had to be red fish, no longer than 27" each and anyone who would be a contender had to have scoped out the Bay well in advance. Frank was not upset that he didn't get up at 5am.

Frank, Becky and Dennis in the living room and on the couch where I slept most comfortably for a few days. I know I screwed up the normal daily routine since the kitchen was in the same room. Thanks for being so quiet each morning Becky!

When I arrived at Everglades City I was surprised to note I had already been there with Linda some years ago. We had been involved with an all day trip through the Everglades guided by an extremely knowledgeable naturalist. Everglades City had been one of our stops and a boat ride out to surrounding islands. This day, the wind was about 30 knots. They had only canoes. To get to the safety of a small mangrove edged creek, one had to cross about a 1/2 mile open bay. I ate my lunch , did a bit of carving and decided to head for the other, hopefully quieter side of the Everglades, near the Keys.

This handsome fellow was laying by the side of the road and seemed to be smiling. I reckon he was 15 feet long. I watched for awhile. Another monster alligator was swimming in the river, slow, powerful sweeps of his tail moved him silently forward and only front teeth shining above the water. Fish were fleeing, leaping out of the water when he slowly sank. I can imagine he found one or two.

This photo was taken beside Clyde Butcher's Gallery. He is a superb photographer who has specialized in taking glass slide pictures of the Everglades carrying 100 pounds of an ancient Kodak Camera into the swamp.


I like playing with the reflection; this one's right side up. It would probably look better flipped.








Harry had given me the name of one of his friends who had a place in Tavernier Key. I knocked on Gary Kuhlman's door about 11 am and as it was the day before St Patrick's Day, brought some good Irish beer. He's a retired tree surgeon from Michigan, loves to fish and specializes in bone fish, " Whom God wishes to drive mad, he first makes a bone fisherman". As we chatted and drank a cool one I looked off the edge of his dock and was amazed to see a 10' manatee floating not 5 feet away! " O Yeah. Spot " he said, "I'll bring him to the surface for you ." Gary dropped a garden hose into the water and Ol' Spot hooked on like a fighter jet to a tanker to drink for the next 30 minutes. Turns out that manatee cannot drink salt water and in the wild must find sweet water springs to slake their thirst. Gary made the search easier.



He sank to the bottom until the hose was turned off. I thought he'd drowned.


Gary was pleased to take his flat boat out and show me around the fishing neighborhood. Dick, an old friend of his came along. We first tried for red fish . I stood in readiness on the prow of the boat while Gary poled, ( punted) with a 12' long, fiberglass pole. This is so we can sneak up on the fish. The water was clear but had a little tea color on account of the rain. Gary poled expertly around the edges of the mangrove, I kept a too tight ,white knuckle grip on the rod expecting, any second to see my fish. Besides a few bait fish, ( minnows) and some mullet; Nada, but you already know that. Gary was really surprised as he was certain we would catch something. Then he dropped the motor into the water and I nearly slid into the water as he hit 30 knots heading for Tavernier creek, another certain fish hole.

Gary & Dick on the flat boat. I'm sitting , desperately holding on with one hand and taking this photo.

We must have covered 20 miles , through passages that joined one side of the Keys to the other, down to Islamorada, ( love the name ) , past incredible houses and screaming just feet over the bottom of the bay. Felt like 50 miles an hour so close to the surface of the water.

I left Gary about 3 pm. and was sorry that he had other plans as I really enjoyed his company. I showed him a picture of the Champion Live Oak. He was as impressed as I am. Later I went into Islamorada. stopped at the Sportsman Center and gazed at the fish I had hoped to catch swimming in an immense aquarium in the store. I talked to Sandy Moret the owner of a fly fishing school and guide business who said the conditions had been drastically turned upside down by the cold snap, that hundreds of snook had died because the water temperature had fallen below 50 degrees. However, he smiled and said the tarpon would be coming in, soon. The pelican on the Marina sign is real. He flew away when I tried to touch him.


Next day was cold and rainy. I had hoped to canoe in the Everglades but decided to aim for Gainesville and warmer conditions on the Sante Fe river, canoing with Jeff. The drive confirmed my opinion of Florida, miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles. Flat fields through Clewiston the Capital of Cane Sugar where I had and excellent buffet lunch at the Clewiston Inn. They served a delectable corned beef and cabbage in honor of St Pat. In the lobby was a museum of "all things Sugar Cane". I especially admired aluminum legging armor for cane cutters. Knights of old would have been envious. I swung past Orlando and headed north on Florida's Tnpk paying $3 for the privilege of doing 8o. Lovely names,; Okahumpa. Wierdsdale, Apopka, Oklawaha; I stopped at Micanopy to buy 1/4 bushel of Tangerines, just short of Gainesville and on a road I knew was going towards Jeff's place. He had prepared a welcome supper. It was good to be back to Je"Free", Kristina and my comfortable bed with plans to canoe the Rise River tomorrow.


That had to wait until Friday when the weather turned beautiful again, 76 degrees, no humidity or flies. The Rise river get it's name from the fact that the Sante Fe vanishes underground for 3 miles joining a huge underwater aquifer and then suddenly rises, springs up at the source of the Rise. Mike, one of Jeff's colleagues joined us with his inflatable kayak. We rented the old standby, a Grumman aluminum canoe which the attendant claimed was "at least 30 years old, but indestructible" .





Spring is "just around the corner". Witness the flashy red of the swamp maple flowers, the brilliant green of the floating weed. ( Don't know it's name. Fluffy looking islands where, on our approach, alligators vanished.) Check the reflections, bloody marvelous! Lots of turtles sunning themselves and warily eyeing us, and wondering, should we leap or stay sitting on this comfortable log?




Saturday, I spent some time on my re-carve piece that I had found at the flea Market in Sarasota. I'm indebted to the original carver for the theme. He may or may not approve of my improvements; I learn by thinking how he carved it and by the changes I make. I'm going to like the finished piece.

On Saturday Jeff, G-eff ( said with a strong Southern accent) and I played golf and hooked up with Vic on the 3rd hole. We had a lot of fun. G-eff is from South Carolina, who has a wicked sense of humor, played golf in flip flops and didn't notice that most of the clubs he rented were left handed. "Whats the difference between a lost ball and the G spot " He asked. " A guy will spend 30 minutes looking for a lost ball".

And Jeff says. " G-eff has single handily upheld the penicillin industry during this recent recession"

We played well. Jeff kept a sharp eye on my strokes as well he might. I need a clicker which goes off each time I swing for real. I just can't remember anything in the short term. None the less, I beat 'em, fair and square.!! One guy, (G-eff) was exactly 1/2 my age, the other, Jeff, 2/3rds. Hooray. Afterwards we went to the Red Onion Bar and had one hell of a meal listening to a gal with a voice like caramel, lovely rendition of "Autumn Leaves, Summertime and I Get so Lonely" amongst many others.

Today, I've been writing since 10:30 with a short break at 5pm. It's nearly supper and Jeff is at it again. Tilapia in a ginger , tangerine sauce, grilled eggplant, and a walnut, raspberry salad with blue cheese dressing. Going to be hard to leave tomorrow.

Sarasota to Port Charlotte, FL March 2 - 7

Stan took me on a drive about Sarasota; to Turtle beach made of rough brown sand where the wind was whipping and two people were harvesting limpets: to Siesta Beach, a mile long crescent of snow white sand which National Geographic has claimed to be one of the most beautiful in Florida; then downtown to various Theatres and over to the Asolo Theatre where Jim Bakkom and I did a weekend seminar so many years ago, part of UF and the Ringling Museum. I remember three long days, challenging questions, new insights and a long soak watching stars in the Gulf of Mexico.

Lunch was at a Cuban restaurant, which has served Floridians for 5 generations. Their “1905” salad honored great grandfather’s culinary skills. I was very pleased to see some of my favorite sculptures from” Grounds For Sculpture” in Trenton, NJ, represented along the Sarasota shore line. Last time I was at GFS, probably October 09, I noticed some pieces were missing. The dancing log partners now dance in Florida sunshine.

Joyce made a superb dinner and we caught up on 40 years! The last time we were together was in 1967 when Trudy & I “honeymooned” on a road trip from Wisconsin to Montreal during the very short 6-day war between Israel and Egypt. I am beginning to think memories are stored in a deep pool where events and people are layered like leaves falling into water. They rise up again in the most unexpected ways; like those black “8” balls which , after a shake and turnover, an answer to a question floats to the surface; “ Yes. She's waiting … or No chance”. We lived Next Street over 60 years ago so some names and events haven’t surfaced for a long time. Like Champagne bubbles popping these memories burst forth as entertaining and pleasant surprises.


One night I attended a Pulitzer Prize play called “Ruined” at the Keating Theatre in Sarasota. Got the last ticket. Heavy subject about war in the Congo and a whorehouse/ tavern run by a Mother Courage type lady who services soldiers from both sides with drink and comfort. She attempts to walk the thin line of fanatical politics as each side continues to slaughter the other. The working ladies are those who have been rescued from horrible brutalities and allowed to find a home working in her brothel.

The theatre had approx. 350 seats, so was intimate with excellent sight lines. The soldiers to a man, were physical specimens, muscles rippling and clearly representing mortal threats, the ladies in various stage of disarray and disposition; some very sexy, some shattered from gang rape and enforced slavery. Like Brecht’s play, one leaves the theatre with a feeling of revulsion against the inhumanity and savagery of mankind.


LaVahn, my circus professor friend, mailed complimentary tickets to the Ringling Circus Museum where Stan, Joyce & I spent 5 enjoyable hours.

The first tent housed the extraordinary Miniature Circus; a 45-year passion carved (!!) by one man, Howard Tibble , which I'll call, A DAY AT THE BIG TOP CIRCUS. It started with load-in, through performance, to load out , perhaps 24 hours later. 6,000 miniature people, 1 ½ inches tall, in 8 tents, interspersed and interacting with 800 animals, 100’s of vehicles and a 59 car, train, all to scale and representing every phase of living, working, performing and enjoying a Circus.


As I left I realized what I hadn’t thought of before, the extraordinary planning and organization required to transport and produce such a monumental event, (often only one day at a site before moving to the next). Hundreds of men and women on the “Flying Squad” arrived a day early to set everything up for the performers and their audience. A kitchen to serve 2000 in shifts was first, then animal tents, the Midway with all it’s games and temptations, the three rings of the Big Top, adjacent dressing room tents, holding space offstage for the next acts, and so, on and on.

One walked into the L shaped space of approximately 3500 square feet and on the short end of the L, passed empty freight cars, which had brought everything we were to see. Next, the first dinning tent and hundreds of tiny costumed people, row on row, all in different realistic poses sitting down to eat. By the time you reached the 3 rings of the Big Top, you had passed through the Midway, where the bearded lady, the thin man beckoned and of course, all the other ways a pocket could be lightened, balloons, cotton candy, peek shows etc. I felt like Gulliver looking down on Lilliputians surveying 50 acres of activity. Although we spent time at other attractions I was deeply impressed with the amazing thoroughness of Tibble's creation.
The Museum Grounds were scattered with impressive sculpture which Ringling had purchased in his worldwide travels. This one caught my attention. Don't know the story but would be easy enough to say she had said NO to some powerful King and he, to get her attention, tied her to an enraged bull.

After a delicious early dinner at " the best" fish house in Sarasota, we drove to watch a glorious sunset. Most people left as soon as the green flash moment passed. It did become colder but, 5 minutes later and a little patience, they would have seen this awesome sky.

Saturday just before leaving Sarasota for Port Charlotte, Stan & I found a flea market where I promptly bought “stuff”. Two ducks carved from South American rosewood, a finger plane, books, a 50 year old carved piece of teak, which I will have fun re-carving.
(I’m fulfilling my mission, old friends, theater, flea markets, National Parks, and wooden things.)

Harry & Carol Tokay live on a canal where their 40 foot motor boat floats 50 feet from the living room. They helped me unpack and showed me to my nautically themed room . Harry collects ducks so the two I adopted, joined his. Our last meeting was in Atlantic City 10 or 12 years ago. They were sailing from Florida to Maine. Since then, hurricane Charley visited Port Charlotte in 2004 and devastated the area and thus created open lots where houses once stood and showed the strength of 140 mile/hour winds. Harry’s lost weight and his red hair, Carol seems to always stay young and still mischievous; both are healthy, enjoying their lives together and their daily activities of tennis, golf, boating, and socializing at a very neat Yacht club in Punta Gorda across the bay.


The night I arrived, Niah Lenwood Statscewich, Marla & Hank’s baby girl also "dropped in" , in a Fairbanks AK. birthing center; Trudy was in the outfield, Marla the pitcher, and Hank caught her. Marla says the placenta was slow in coming. She asked for a little more time before a medication would be given to speed up the process. One of the nurses pressed on a pressure point on her little toe and " vois la ", it also dropped out, a completely natural childbirth. Good on ya, everybody. Niah's trip was longer, probably more difficult and Marla was relieved and overjoyed. We raised numerous glasses in their honors and hit the sack late.

Sunday was glorious. We brunched at the Club and then drove around Punta Gorda.

The houses and lots were tastefully groomed, with glimpses of Charlotte harbor behind palm trees and mangrove. No building can exceed 3 stories in height so the contrast with Sarasota where high-rises abound was striking. We visited a rescue center for birds and animals that could no longer fend for themselves. Two bald Eagles, both missing their left wings sat shouting their high-pitched bleat. (OK so it’s not a bleat, certainly not a whistle, perhaps a screech.) If one had a right wing, they could have teamed up, duct taped together and awkwardly flown?? White and brown pelicans in abundance, ospreys and red tailed hawks, a horned owl and quite a few buzzards and vultures who flew in to scrounge an easy meal. I bought an Eagle carved into a Tagua nut from South America. Tagua is called vegetable ivory in that the nut very hard and milky white.


Driving home we passed a Crafts show where I got an in depth introduction to ancient sharks by a guy selling fossilized shark’s teeth. Also, seen for the 2nd time (first with John in Lunenburg, NS), an excellent plastic simulation of a white crane made out of 4 inch, PVC pipe. The legs bent when blown in the wind and the head bowed, which I intend to make (someday). We had a beer at the Crab House and met the same honeymooners who asked us to take their picture in the park near the Craft Fair. The bar area overlooked the bay and was decorated with magnificent carvings.

Check out the eagle in the entrance to the building.


That afternoon the Yacht Club was reviewing the fleet. The three of us briefly joined them in Charlotte Harbor to take pictures and shout compliments to the passing boats. Out in the bay, a regatta was in progress with 60 sailboats scrumming for a start. (Yeah. I know; they don’t scrum, they ??? ). The sun was warm and for a change the temperatures enticed folk out to enjoy the weather. Once the sun set, it became quite chilly and cool. We headed for a Tia restaurant and has a good nosh. On Monday, I was looking for a project. The re-roofing of a shed seemed too ambitious so clearing out a poolside bathroom of toilet, sink and shower and converting it to better storage, sufficed. Tomorrow. For the first time, I’ll meet Hank’s Dad, Frank, the other Grand Dad in the Niah equation. He thinks a day fishing is the right thing to do. I lay my pole at his feet.

Okefenokee swamp. GA; Gainesville to Sarasota Fl. Feb 20 – Mar 1st

Valdosta to Fargo is about 45 miles through forests of pulp pine on a road, drawn by snapping a chalk line. Speed limit posted was 45; I was late, did 75 and never saw a sole. At Fargo, I stopped and asked a local if he knew where I could rent a canoe.” Take the next left, go 17 miles and you’ll reach the main office of the State Park.” I left a phone message with Jeff saying I was going on. Again, I was on a road like an arrow where 30’ long stake trucks stood on either side, each loaded with 10” diameter poles like so much spaghetti and close to clear cut land. Monday morning, tractor-trailers will take them away to be chipped for pulp.

I took a picture to the entrance of the park and chortled.

As I was deciding whether a canoe or a kayak, Jeff came in and gave me a bear hug. Kristina brought a picnic; we grabbed paddles, life jackets and went to the boat jetty. My kayak was #1, their canoe the first on the rack. No others were rented by 11:30. By a sign warning of alligators, slept 6 footer.

The water is black, opaque and as reflective as any mirror. I couldn’t believe the clarity of the reflection, almost as though it was sharper focused than the object being reflected (which by comparison, seemed blurred.) Everywhere I looked the mirror image was fascinating. Turn the following photograph upside down, the light blue above, that’s the way it was photographed. I flipped it as I think it looks better with the blue of the sky in the water.

We saw quite a few very large alligators. Jeff saw the first because he moved off the bank, slipped into the water and floated. The reflection made him look like a rippled, thin log, just the snout, nose and eyes, doubled, and then a space and following, a repeating image of spiky scales. You couldn’t imagine the actual shape or how long he was until the tail broke the surface 8 feet behind the eyes.

There were almost no other living creatures. One woodpecker, one snakebird, just silence and droplets as our paddles sliced the black water. It was magical and peaceful; took my shirt off and, alligator-like, soaked up the sunshine.

We returned our boats around 4:30.

Driving to Gainesville was fast; a constant flow of high-speed vehicles. The dogs, Coda and Ethyl barked welcome. Jeff made a delicious fish dinner; we talked until 2 with a model of the shovel sculpture sitting on the dining room table.

Sculptor working on model of twisted shovel pipe

Ostensibly, this was the reason I visited; to help Jeff weld 50 shovel heads to a 12’ high, black pipe, inverted cone. Florence, his elderly neighbour’s husband had been a metal worker. His shop, a spacious barn, was complete with a forge, electric hammer, anvils and marvelous collection of ancient tools. Outside was a pipe bender with a patent date of “ 1872 “ stamped into it’s throat. However, there was no welding equipment. We purchased 40 feet of 1” mild steel black pipe and necessary fittings and started to reproduce the model. If the pipe is held at a constant flat angle, with the immense leverage of 10’, it’s fairly easy to bend a 4-foot diameter circle. The conical shape meant that it also had to climb so one has to crimp and bend with a slight inward twist as the pipe is fed into the bender. We completed the top and most difficult bend first. Jeff kept the upward motion consistent, I pulled and grunted. It took a few hours and then it was dark.

The next day, I joined Jeff in his lab where he was trying to prove/disprove the existence of specific neurons in a very exact area of a rat’s brain. The preparation took 2 hours; mixing very exact solutions of chemicals, laying out the surgery, adjusting the microscope and pipette making equipment. After lunch, a rat was procured, decapitated, the brain removed and then sliced into wafer thin sections and placed into an oxygen-enriched fluid. The first rat didn’t work out so the process was repeated with another.

Jeff’s skill was remarkable. Infinitesimal small slices were put under the microscope and enlarged to fill a 20-inch computer screen. He could find one cell, place probes on either side of it, connect one inside and use the other to spray the cell with a known chemical. The electrical reaction produced by the cell created a specific graphic, signature pattern, which identified its type. In the next 4 hours Jeff was able to test 4 cells; astonishing, detailed, exacting work. I tried my hand at manipulating the probes. Like playing an electronic game in a 3D environment; needs a lot of practice to be as expert as Jeff.

On Saturday we returned to finishing the sculpture. Instead of 3 lengths of pipe, Jeff determined that two lengths more closely matched his intent. It’s possible the threaded joints will need to be welded to stop them twisting under the weight of the shovel heads which Jeff had collected from local flea markets. I drilled and pinned the elbow holding the most weight. He has both arrow and flat-headed shovels. By taping them , with points along the pipe Jeff created a convincing, organic, petal-like, simulation of a sort of cactus. Florence suggested three arrow shovels bunched together at the top.

Every evening, Jeff provided delicious suppers. Friday, we had a BBQ party with friends and neighbors and, one night we went out for Pizza. It compared in quality to those Travis and the boys make Tuesday nights or ones we ate at the Moose’s Tooth in Anchorage.

Sunday Kristina purchased a large and heavy set of drawers near Cellon park, which contained a “ champion live oak”, 344 inches in circumference, 79’ high, a canopy spread of 154’. Note: Jeff, the tiny insect standing on the left, opposite the branch touching the ground. A phenominal tree; largest I've ever seen. Unfortunately, no one has cored it to determine it's age but I would guess 6 or 7oo. You can walk up the branch touching the ground on the right, fairly hairy but , if you don't fall off, you'll be 20 feet up when you reach the trunk.

We picked up the drawer and later we watched the Canada/USA Olympic hockey game with Larry, Jeff’s neighbor. He uses a 4-foot wide, metal, freestanding fire pit to burn fallen pine branches and keep his yard tidy. We enjoyed its warmth, the company, the wine and, of course, the game won in overtime 3 to 2 by Canada!

Following morning I shared a shower with Grasshopper who was inside because the temperatures had been hovering in the 40ies. He liked the overspray.

I left Gainesville passing through Ocala and heading south on 75. While with Jeff, I searched on line for Harry & Carol Tokay, friends from U Mass, Amherst 1968. Because I had unearthed and was using a 25-year-old road map, his name was unexpectedly written beside Port Charlotte, FL. Damned if I didn’t find an address and a phone number. I’ve been unsuccessful for the past 15 years.

I left a message to which Carol responded a few hours later as I was on the road to Sarasota. What a hoot! We arraigned to meet on Saturday after my visit with Stan & Joyce Winton, who I hadn’t seen since, probably 1967. Serendipity; my old friends living almost in the same neighborhood.

Stan is almost exactly as I imagined, older, but recognizable as his younger self. They married 49 years ago and the mutual admiration and respect they hold for each other explains the longevity.

Their condo overlooks a ½ mile bay on the intercostal with an uninterrupted view of mangroves, birds and sailboats , an ever-changing panorama as daylight and weather conditionsvary. It’s their 2^nd home away from the Montreal home but I suspect it will become their first. They love the culture of Sarasota, the weather , how convenient their needs are met and the friends and activities they have in Condo-Dom.

Looking south , out of the screened porch

Yesterday we called Bob Mason one of our friends from teen days living on a frozen lake north of Lachute. ( It thaws in the Spring.) Our conversations brought memories that haven’t surfaced for many years. Great to have such friends from so long ago !