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 !

From Williamsburg VA, to the Okefenokee Swamp GA, Feb 10 – 21

From Williamsburg VA, to the Okefenokee Swamp GA, Feb 10 – 21


It did snow in Williamsburg; wet and windy and raw and so a perfect day for the DeWitt Wallace Museum and more specifically the Abby Rockefeller Folk Art section.

I was shepherded through by Ellen Morris, an interpreter/docent who gave me nearly 2 hours, one on one, as she described individual objects collected by Abby; an amazing array of fascinating art made by normal folk without the blessing of institutions. I was particularly drawn to carvings and weathervanes and as my old neighbor, Mrs. Hutchinson was a master theorem painter, I thought of her while admiring the collection.

When I came out 5 hours later, the sun had vanquished the snow and Williamsburg Village was a Christmas card scene. If prancing horses, sleds and sleigh bells had been there; I would have been looking at 200 years ago.

On Thursday I drove across Virginia in glorious sunshine. The roads were clear and sure. My goal was Roanoke where I found a hotel, which reminded me of the Crimea. Almost everything had a dusky smell. The guy at the desk was certainly Russian and after he asked for my driver’s license and photocopied it, I remembered the same being done in Sevastopol. This place was on the edge of a city Airport. It was certainly quiet; there was one other car in the lot.

Friday, I met with Lavahn Hoh, (now Dean of Arts? at the U of VA, Charlottesville) in a Ruby Tuesday restaurant nearby. He was one of my graduate students at the University of Wisconsin, now 37 odd years later he’s still where he was hired and is the only prof. I know who teaches a course related to all aspects of Circus. Consequently, with him in mind and found in my special flea market, I bought and brought an ancient Circus tent mallet; an 8 pound chunk of bug eaten, oak, ringed either end with hoops of steel and connected to a sturdy ash handle. If only there was a song about a tent pole driving man! We reminisced about UW days and old friends and then he had to leave for a previously scheduled appointment.

He mentioned “Barter Theatre” about 100 miles south and suggested I visit. I dialed it in to Tom-Tom and a few hours later bought tickets to a superb performance of “Alice in Wonderland “. Imaginative choreography throughout, for example when Alice has to go down the rabbit hole, a chorus of 8 dancers, dressed in brown, picked her up under her arms and flew her around the stage, bent down to create a ledge and rolled her across their backs, flipped her over and pulled her under. These same actors played all the bit parts by adding masks and props. The Cheshire cat, for example, had a segmented mask, so that eyes, nose, ears could each be folded back, over the actors head, to leave only the smile.

Kids in the audience participated with Alice as she got too big or too small to fit through doors held by the chorus. “ Should I eat this? “ she’d ask; to a response … “ No, it’s poison” from some tyke in the front row.

On Saturday, a little overcast, I drove towards Asheville and into a blizzard. Not a whiteout, rather lots of large flakes blowing horizontally. The road twisted and climbed through ever-higher mountains. This was completely unexpected and reminded me of Vermont passes as I neared the highest point. Signs warned truckers to shift into lower gears; a 7 degree slope ahead and in case of brake failure, a run-away truck ramp at almost every corner. As I came down I drove out of Winter into Spring; red buds burgeoning on maples, robins in their hundreds; Asheville in sunshine.

Haley, John and Evan Davison were friends we had made in Kaua’i a year ago last January 09 who have since moved to Asheville. Both Haley and John are artists and Evan their son, is a 10-year-old energizer bunny with unlimited imagination. They bought a house overlooking a park with a baseball diamond and behind it, a singing brook.

Furniture that Haley made in Kaua’i looks great in the new house. She’s a master cabinetmaker with a very discriminating eye for contrast and color in wood. Koa is one of the trees grown in Hawaii and the wood has a wonderful grain, almost like diffraction grating, catching and changing light as the observer moves. Haley uses it to great advantage. Check her out online. John paints and has been likened to Georgia O’Keefe except his themes are of the dramatic scenery of Kaua’i.

Asheville has many similarities to Brattleboro Vermont. Art Galleries are thick on the ground and it’s undulating. A walk downtown or for that matter anywhere will get the heart pumping. It’s mountainous; the houses near their home were built in the 20ies and are rustic, comfortable spreads with mature trees in their surrounding yards. We hiked up to the famous Grove Hotel about a mile from their house made of dark field

stone and overlooking, literally a drop of a few hundred feet, a very challenging golf course. It took awhile before my second wind kicked in and I wasn’t gasping for breath. First stop was an Art and Furniture Gallery, which is as good as they get. It housed a tremendous range of super work costing from a few bucks to thousands. Outside, were wind turned sculptures, which I photographed and will try to reproduce? We continued up the hill in a slight rain and entered the main hall of the Grove, a cavernous space about the size of a football field, with two giant walk-in fireplaces on either side. A fire was burning in one while an attendant threw 6’ lengths of wood, criss-crossed over massive iron dogs. The blazing result was similar to one of my bonfires at home. We had a light snack, a beer and listened to a guitar quartet. The wind whistled whenever a door was opened, they being equally large. The building was probably built in the late 1800’s; it has the same quality as the great Railroad Hotels, like Banff; a person feels quite small.

Next day, I met Brent and Kurt two woodworking friends of Haley’s. Brent was the reason she chose to live in Asheville; his work is quite unique as he carves wood to look like river rocks and incorporates them into wild but functional furniture. Kurt carves without sketching; he just removes everything that isn’t necessary to reveal what’s in his mind. Both very neat folk; just the kind of people I had hoped to meet on this trip! Brent is a connoisseur of Bourbon. He sucked his teeth when I told him I had acquired a bottle of “ Bookers”, a particularly strong and tasty drink. It makes your toes warm about 30 seconds after the first sip. Eventually I’ll be reminded of their last names and then I can highly recommend checking them out online.

I had great fun with Evan who showed me his latest Leggo creations; galactic warships with droids and laser fighters. I made him a ball in a wire cone sculpture and, along with the sons of Brent & Kurt, they puzzled whether the ball was going up or down when spun. I also taught them to make a $ shirt, an origami folding of a dollar bill, and we got heavily into computer microscopes checking out each others ears, noses and skin. An experiment with a drop of water

from the Venus Fly trap produced wriggling critters and gasps of disgust from the boys.

On Monday, school was cancelled again as a dusting of snow overnight had left swirling white on the streets. John drove me about 5 miles away to give some perspective, up and up winding roads until we ran into ice and hard pack on the road. School busses and their drivers are not prepared for these conditions, thus the cancellation. I reckon we got to about 2000 feet above Asheville before turning back. Impressive panoramas in every direction with very large, costly houses nestled in the ridges and ravines. With this type of wealth, perhaps the artists can make a living? I like to think so.

Tuesday, another cancelled school day so I had a proper chance to say goodbye before leaving for Atlanta. Once again I passed through the surrounding mountains. Since I was approaching from the North and it was a beautiful clear day, last night’s snow lay deep on the ground and highlighted the branches of the forest trees. I stopped at a rest center and marveled at the scene I would have expected to see in New Hampshire. This area is certainly
to my liking.

In driving down the mountain into Georgia

the snow melted to dirt and brown fields and became flat. Lots of Lob Lolly pine grew in rows along the highway. I reckon they’re used for telephone poles as they rise like giant straws, straight and true. For most of the way there were almost no other cars on the wide 4-lane highway, until I approached the outskirts of Atlanta. It then became a moving tide of vehicles, 6 lanes, one way, tearing along at 70+ miles per hour, each a few feet off the other in an every increasing flow. The speed limit is 50; one would be flattened to obey. I can’t remember any other city in the world, (Rome, London, Paris?), where there is such a density of traffic. Perhaps LA comes close. I have a memory of a woodcut, a driver in Chicago, teeth gritted, hanging on to his steering wheel to the point that his knuckles are white. It’s not surprising that there are 2 or 3 fatalities every day around the city.

I haven’t seen Paul & Sally Wonsek since a delightful wedding in Vermont 13 years ago. The groom arrived sun burnt to say his vows because we’d all been canoeing that morning on a nearby river. Paul was a theater student the year I taught at U Mass, Amherst. Besides working on productions we skied together at Mount Tom. He taught me a lot. Today his business is involved with converting church spaces into theatre spaces, as more and more, especially in the South, pastors want to entertain as well as pontificate. Often their efforts are televised so light levels have to be high and lighting positions, if properly positioned, allow for modeling and excellent visibility.

On Thursday, we went to install two “ moving lights “, computer controlled lights that can turn any direction, change color, and include slides called gobos, flash in patterns; one light performing the task of many. The church was on the other side of Atlanta. Once again into and through the maelstrom of traffic, which is easier when, Paul is driving because he knows the way. Hairy when I’m driving; one has to be well positioned to make some of the off ramps.

The pastor of this church is a soft-spoken gentleman who is not afraid to “get down and dirty” and physically do the work of hanging posters, setting out chairs and so on. As general contractor, he has built a conglomerate of buildings from scratch to cover about 2 acres. Paul has been his consultant in making it also a theatrical space. I’m not sure whether he took my observation regarding the repetition of history, as a compliment: Medieval cathedrals being the early home of the Passion Plays and now modern churches converting into production spaces for Christian Theatre. Anyhow, he was gracious.

One evening, we went to see the I Max version of “Avatar”. I had seen it before in 3D Theatre and thought it “awesome”. The I Max version was staggering, so much so that when the film ended after 2 and 1/2 hours, none of us were sure our legs would support our bodies to walk down out of the auditorium. The seats are sloped at about 30 degrees to the screen. The dimensional effect is so real that, at times, one feels the auditorium spinning and the body being flashed through space. We sat reading the credits for about 10 minutes and then, hanging on to railings, staggered out of the theatre. Even 10 minutes later, sitting in the car, it felt as though we had just finished a workout in the Gym. Wow. If this is the opening salvo of a 3D film, I can’t imagine where it will go. It’s as though we can live in dreams.

Friday I met with my old colleague and friend, Roger Zobel, from the Rosco Days in Port Chester, NY, ( 73-79) . He and his wife Pat began a Theatrical Supply business and have been living in Atlanta for nearly 30 years. We always laughed a lot and enjoyed each other’s company because he’s a funny guy and Rosco was a very small company , perhaps 7 or 8 people. Roger’s presently in a wheel chair due to 2 accidental falls which first, broke his hip and then, shattered his femur. We had lunch together and then chatted away the afternoon. I’m pleased to see that his spirit is undaunted and he’s still full of laughter.

After lunch at a local BBQ where I must report the pork sandwich did not compare to Mark’s, I said goodbye to Paul and Sally. I’m extremely impressed how well their lives are ordered and the mastery of the tools they have developed to perform their business.div>

Passing south through Atlanta from Marietta where they live was once again harrowing. Thank God it didn’t last more than 25 miles where , I found myself mostly alone, tooling along at 75.





Valdosta was my destination and a motel 6 in particular. Jeff and Kristina were to meet me tomorrow, somewhere in the Okefenokee Swamp about 50 miles south east of Valdosta. Jeff is Linda’s son, Kristina his fiancée. They will marry in September in New Jersey where Jeff grew up but live and work in Gainesville. FL.