Switched At Birth

Pensacola Trolley Tours

Buck and I were enjoying lunch downtown one day last week when I saw this adorable trolley pull up to a traffic light and snapped the picture with my Drone Phone. (Actually, it's a Motorola Droid, but Bucked dubbed it "the drone," and the name has stuck.)

I swear this year we'll grab up the whole family and take a tour of downtown on the trolley during Christmas season for carols, hot chocolate, the victorian-style lights, all of it.  Ooh, that's a nice hot August night thought!

Mississippi Sweets

The Bailey family at Bailey's Farmer's Market has been selling fresh vegetables and fruit to Pensacolians for more than 40 years. I was there early one morning last week and came away feeling as restored as if I had been on a hike in the mountains. Bailey's was busy, but serene. The shoppers were serious about the produce -- looking, touching, and talking with each other about it. I spoke with an older woman at the display of greens.

"These are pretty greens," I ventured.

"Oh, my yes. Aren't they? And I have a big sink outside where I can wash them," she replied, moving her strong, thin fingers over the huge, leather-like collard leaves.

Examing the turnip green bundles, tied with rough brown twine, I noticed there were two types: small white ones and large ones that were mainly white with purple tops. "Which ones are better, do you think?" I asked her.

"Well," she gave me a quick, appraising glance, then flashed a smile, "I can never remember which one it is has a bite, and which one is sweeter, but I like the purple tops 'cause they're prettier."

Returning her smile, I said, "Yes! Me, too. I just like the way they look."

Completing her selections, she hefted a bundle of purple top turnip roots and greens and a bundle of collard greens into her cart. "Nice talking with you. You have a blessed Easter."

"Thank you, and you, too."

I thought about all the work involved in cleaning and stripping the leaves, and all the women whose strong hands have done this work over the centuries. Getting my arms around a bundle of sand-paper feeling tunip greens, I put them in my cart, along with some collards.

The cashier saw me coming and laid out a big piece of brown butcher wrap. "Put your greens here," she commanded, and expertly rolled them into a manageable bundle. She rang up my sweet potatoes, fresh young okra, tomatoes, pole beans, onions, an avocado, English peas in the shell, and the prettiest cranberry beans you would ever want to see. When I shelled them later, they looked like little speckled pink Easter eggs.

08:30 AM in Mary Beth's Kitchen | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack

Holding The Mirror

I've been continuing to read the many stories in personal mail and newspaper accounts of the impact of this summer's and fall's hurricanes and floods, and am working now on developing a story sharing experience with folks in our episcopal church parish. As bloggers, we are all accustomed to telling our stories, and sifting our experiences via the written word. Not so with most folks. As Tom Montag's (The Middlewesterner) life work reminds us, everyone has important, moving stories to share. More than 6,100 homes were destroyed in the Pensacola area alone. Displaced folks are living in travel trailers, motels, and tents, and with relatives, friends and near strangers. Endless stories. Sharing them reinforces our humanity and helps us to evolve beyond the bottomless pit issues where only the names change.

"There are heroes in the seaweed There are children in the morning They are leaning out for love And they will lean that way forever While suzanne holds the mirror". . . from Suzanne, by Mr. Leonard Cohen, bless his talented heart.

Maybe holding the mirror is something we can do, in our blogs and our off-line writing lives.

About a week ago, Denny Coates (author and former Book of Life blogmeister) and Kathleen Scott (fabulous photographer, writer and Denny's soulmate) added comments -- one to a post called "Full Circle" and the other to "Behold" in which they wrote poignant post-hurricane updates from their home base in Vero Beach, Florida. Comments often get lost in the flow, so I'm re-posting them here:

from Denny. . .

"I've been so busy that I haven't written much about what has happened here.
But I can clearly see the value of your journal-like posts about what has
happened in your part of Florida. The impressions need to be captured. We
need to keep writing, begin writing again.

 

After the second storm, when we were able to return to the island, we saw
everything blown over, blown down, broken and all the leaves on everything
had been blown away. It reminded me of winter up north. It was
disheartening. As Kathleen put it, "It hurt my feelings."

As soon as we could, we stood everything up again and reinforced the soil,
not knowing if this would do any good. A few weeks after Jeanne, nearly
every tree and bush has new leaves, at first tiny, then pushing up as young
branches. Even the bouganvillea, which was cut to a stump with a chainsaw,
has sprouted about a dozen new leafy branches, each about three feet long.
The habiscus bushes, bare only a couple weeks ago, are covered with leaves
and some flowers. I know these plants have well-established root systems,
but I'm amazed at the life-force asserting itself. Maybe some won't make
it...we'll see.

Each day, we do something else to move forward. Each day, nature reasserts
itself with more color. Before long, the last of the debris will be picked
up and the streets will be clean. Eventually, things will be even better
than they were before."

 

from Kathleen. . .

"Our plants are budding again. Most of
the natives and many of the tropicals and most of my heirloom roses will
make it, I think, a powerful testament to life. Makes me feel good
everyday to see life coming out of the destruction from the two hurricanes."

 

Kathleen is right. My three scraggly rose bushes are blooming. Many of the leaves were shredded, but by God the brilliant blooms make a statement. Same for the damaged magnolia trees, where spring green new leaves are profuse, here at the Halloween end of October.

Flood-borne suffering spawned by the hurricanes hit our friends in Canton, North Carolina hard, that beautiful smoky mountains place where we spent seven summers in the Rice Cove community of Beaverdam. Yesterday, I read an affecting moment by moment account of the Hurricane Frances' related flood there, written by Becky Johnson, staff writer for the Smoky Mountain News, a small weekly paper. It's called Remembering The Flood, and I highly commend it to you. This is not a bloodless recitation of facts.

And finally, for today, a friend from Beaverdam wrote me a few days ago with some updates on the community and the Beaverdam Methodist Church folk and our former neighbors. The author, Betty Driver, is a recently retired high school teacher and long-time choir director at the church. When the phrase "salt of the earth" was coined, Betty might have been one of the prototypes.

excerpts from Betty. . .

"We are fairing well here now for the most part. The road still has some dangerous washouts, but that is about all the damage left here on Beaverdam. Harold and Hilda have a temporary bridge and can get in and out if a bit precariously. The church ceiling is still patched with plastic. They will have to take the steeple off to repair it and then patch the roof which involves a crane. They are trying to get all the people together to do the job. . . The town of Canton is slowly recovering although it will never be the same. The businesses are cleaning out and many will not be reopening. There is still no dry cleaner open. The debris removal is almost complete, but in some cases only shells remain from the town hall on down to the stop light going up to the post office. People are still in the process of cleaning out homes and some rebuilding is going on, but it will be a slow process which you can imagine since you can see it first hand. I have been working at the recovery center a few days a week. I have heard some very sad stories especially from the poor and the old. One girl was about to loose her leg and had lost everything in the flood. Her story was enough to make it difficult to keep a professional face. I almost cried. Another old couple came to get cleaning supplies and food. The lady was distressed that she had to have some help. She said she had never had to ask for anything before. Both the Baptist and the Methodists have building teams working in the area, but there are 400 homes to repair of tear down. People are having trouble finding places to go. FEMA is here and will not let some people rebuild. They may be the lucky ones since their property may be bought by the government. . ."

I salute us all this morning, all over the planet, in our common living, loving, struggling noisy humanity. Even the seemingly mundane is precious, and all we sinners are saints, too.

10:19 AM in Day Book, Longleaf Preserve, Pensacola Scene | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0)

 

 

Hurricane Ivan Aftermath

Look at this morning’s Pensacola News Journal for a clear idea of the reality of Ivan’s devastation to Pensacola and surrounding areas. The unthinkable has happened.

Buck and I flew out of Pensacola Airport on Monday morning confident that Ivan would weaken, turn and dissipate, bringing some wind and rain, maybe scattered power outages for a few hours. We were wrong.

I remember standing in the driveway Monday morning as we were about to leave for the airport. Buck was setting the alarm and turning off the water at the valve outside. I thought about the approaching storm and its uncertainties and wondered, just for a moment, if Longleaf would look the same when we returned from Scotland.

It won’t.

The only person we have been able to reach so far is our friend and builder, Ted Parker. He lives a little further out from the city than we do, and while his home was damaged and he – along with everyone else – is without power, his telephone is working. Ted drove out to our place to assess the damage, and we called at midnight last night (Isle of Arran time, 6:00 p.m. in Pensacola) for a report.

Ted had to park his truck at the gate and walk the third of a mile in to reach the house. In addition to being a builder, Ted is a wood hauler. Has been for many years, and he knows how to cruise timber.

Ted says one third of the standing old pine has been either blown down outright, or twisted off and ripped apart.

But there are two miracles:

1) Trees are down all along the corridor from the gate to the house. Power poles and lines run along the left side of the dirt and gravel road to the house. Ted says the trees on both sides fell in such a way that not a single power line was touched, except for one closer to the house where a small branch is resting on one. There’s no power, of course, anywhere in the area, but with the tree devastation, it would be unreasonable to think that the power lines which are so close to the trees could have survived when the trees did not. But they did.

2) Our home has no damage, not even a roof shingle missing. The screened porch door is gone. That’s it. Even the red aluminum storage building we had installed to hold some of our North Carolina things – mainly tools and boxes of irreplaceable old photographs – was untouched, even though a big old oak tree between it and the house is leaning. We had visions of the storage building scattered over one hundred acres. Our pick-up truck and car were also untouched. The van is out in the open in long-term parking at the Pensacola Airport, so it’s fate is so far unknown.

We believe the force of the wind spent itself on the trees sufficiently to blunt its impact on the house and outbuilding. Sounds logical, but given the surrounding destruction, we are filled with wonder, and immensely grateful.

We last spoke with our kids just as the leading bands of the storm were hitting. They are in new-construction, up to code homes, well inland. Same for Maggie’s kennel. In fact, the kennel, Magic Touch, is the most bunker-like of all. Nonetheless, the twisted feeling in my gut won’t subside until we are able to make voice contact with all.

I’ll update as soon as there is any more news to report.

 

05:28 AM in Day Book | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBack (0

A Perfect Pensacola Day

Jamie's is a wonderful small restaurant in the historic district. Buck and I recently rediscovered it. Today, we drove into town for lunch there. Our server, Carl, was as enthusiastic about my Waldorf salad as I was, and Buck's sesame crusted salmon with cucumber vinaigrette was fresh and delicious. After lunch, we took a half hour turn around the block, enjoying the sunshine and the breeze.

Florida Stone Crab Claws and Maine Lobsters at Joe Patti's Seafood

Everyone takes a number at Joe Patti's Seafood in Pensacola.

I've been there plenty of times when it was crowded, but I have never seen such a crush of would-be revelers hot to make off with their catch as there were on this New Year's Eve!

The lobsters seen in the background had just come out of the steamer. When they were placed on the ice for display, I could hear little sizzle sounds and see ice crystals pop.

Half Shell With Stripes

Luminous Bon Secour Bay oysters on the half shell, striped from the irresistible sunshine slipping through the blinds at the Marina Oyster Barn, Pensacola, Florida.

The Oyster Barn (yep, it's barn -- not bar) is a local hang-out, still crowded at two in the afternoon. It's friendly, low-key and a happy kind of noisy.

This is a northwest Florida winter day in top form: sixty degrees, raw oysters and fried mullet, seagull watching, boaters easing in and out of their moorings. Ahhhh.

Pensacola Afternoon

Pulling into the waterside parking lot of Joe Patti's Seafood, I sit for a few minutes to watch the sea gulls wheel around in the late afternoon sunshine, their spirals following the wake of a shrimp boat slowly making its way to another night's work. Huge brown pelicans hop around on the wooden dock beside a line of moored fishing boats.

Not everything in Joe Patti's was caught locally, but most of it was, or in the nearby bayous of Louisiana. Sniffing the briny bay air, wind blowing hair into my eyes, I enter the cathedral of crustacea, the font of fish, and take a number.

Some folks come to Joe Patti's for the people-watching. Business folk in tailored suits with cell phones surgically attached to their ears stand shoulder to shoulder with entire families including grannies and babies, peering closely at the rows of whole flounder, mullet, scamp, redfish, snapper, grouper and more. Vats of different-sized shrimp, head on or headless, bay or gulf make the choice challenging. Or the Royal Reds, with their sweet, lobstery taste -- more suited to dipping in hot lemon butter than a spicy red cocktail sauce. I see a big guy in a tropical shirt and Bermuda shorts hoisting a net bag full of live oysters. He is accompanied by a large, sun-burned red headed woman wearing bikini bottoms and a t-shirt emblazoned with "Where Were You When The Ship Hit The Span?" Her shirt is a reference to that memorable event a few years ago when a barge knocked a hole in the Pensacola Bay Bridge.

An elegantly dressed woman who appears to be in her 90s discusses the thickness of swordfish fillets with Joe Patti's senior swordfish and tuna cutter, a Vietnamese gentleman of indeterminate age, with wise eyes and undeniable charm. Tourists carry out loaded styrofoam containers. This is a place where food choices are made carefully, fish eyes checked for clarity and lively discussions held on everything from price to cooking methods.

I want everything, but satisfy myself on this trip with two beautiful red snapper fillets, two pounds of jumbo gulf shrimp (headless), a pint of West Indies crab salad and a half-pint container of plain, fresh-cooked lobster meat.

In another section of the building, the Patti family operates a wildly successful specialty bakery, deli, gelateria, gourmet provision and wine shop called Amangiani. Following my nose, I grab up one of the warm sourdough loaves just as it was slid into a long bag, straight from the oven. Some black Kalamata olives, a chunk of Port du Salut cheese, a bottle of Rabbit Ridge Chardonnay and I'm out the door, homeward bound with my day's catch.