It’s February in western Pennsylvania. Cold, damp, with bracing winds. Unforgiving. Unlovable. To rub salt water in the wound, several folks I know—family and friends—are escaping to Florida this weekend. So, I’ve had Florida on my mind.
The last time I visited Florida was in March 2004, I believe. The painting above is based on a photo from that visit; the setting was DeSoto Beach, near Tampa, if I’m remembering correctly. There’s an old fort there too (aptly named Fort DeSoto), in a pristine state park full of seascapes you imagined and then found in reality. The whole trip remains a precious, balmy memory that I store safely in a special corner of my mind; I’ve returned to that shore many times since my actual return. Someday I’ll go back.
People we know, Pittsburgh natives, moved to Tampa a few years ago and then, this past December, made the pilgrimage north, back to this cold place. I thought of them several times during that week that they relocated; it was frigid here, snowy and messy as I recall, and I was wondering if they questioned their decision at all. Of course, if I were living in Tampa when Katrina or any of her violent cousins came ashore, I would probably be questioning that decision, too.
I still wish I were in Florida right now. I think I’ll go sit by the kerosene heater, close my eyes, and put on my Polynesian beach CD that sounds like ocean waves lapping in the background. A weak substitute for the real thing, I know—but all I can manage right now.
Happy vacationing and a safe trip, you travelers. (You know who you are. )
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