Swamp People

Speeding through the Everglades on an airboat was a new experience. We had driven more than an hour from our resort on the gulf coast of Florida to experience the swamps. At last, our family of six piled into the boat and launched into the wild to become spectators of the local flora and fauna. Blue crab caught in a trap, egrets feasting on fish, families of racoons posing for the camera - they were all part of the southern Florida extravaganza. But the greatest spectacle of all was our captain, a born-and-bred, middle-aged local with a peculiar accent. Signage in the boat reminded us that he was part of the entertainment... working only for tips. With his dissheveled clothes and well-worn cap, he could easily have made a home among the homeless without looking misfit.

Off into the wild we went, having sunk $150 into the full-hour tour option. Here we were, halfway into the ride and a half hour from shore, when clouds began to gather and darken. I'm guessing this is a common occurrence because the captain was completely undaunted. Seeing the first few fat drops of precipitation, he pulled a large Visqueen "umbrella" from the rear of the boat and spread it like a blanket over our family. Seeking reassurance, our eldest daughter questioned the captain, "We're in the middle of a lake in a thunderstorm in a metal boat. If we get hit by lightning, will we all be killed?"

He paused to touch his chin, as he stood outside the tarp in the deluge. Without apology he replied simply, "I reckon."

Soon we were headed toward shore in a torrential downpour that we hoped wouldn't flood the boat and plunge us into alligator-infested water. The captain likely knew the way with his eyes closed, which is good because visibility was zero. We made it safely to the dock and he let us walk the tarp to our van. We must have looked like an alien centipede with our twelve legs and a body made of semi-transparent plastic. Piling into our van and slamming the doors, we bid farewell to the Everglades and our captain. About a half hour down the road we realized we didn't give him a tip.

On Blogging

I once heard it said about blogging, "Never has so much been written by so many and read by so few." When I was occasionally posting my thoughts out here for whoever might land on my page, I felt that sentiment. "Who is reading this?" So I stopped writing.

When I was in Junior High, I kept a diary of my inmost thoughts. Having a diary was a popular practice among girls my age. They always came with a key so you could protect your writings from the unwanted perusing by brothers or others. The key, of course, was meaningless. Diaries were easily opened with the flip-out file on nail clippers. (Ironically, such files are useless for filing nails.) It was always sort of a game to hide my diary from my brother, and to always write some tidbit he would find of interest if he ever looked upon its forbidden pages.

How ironic it is that forty years later I, by nature an introvert, write my thoughts for anyone to stumble upon.

Of late I've been hearing the value of blogging and have once again returned to this, my abandoned-and-left-for-dead blog site. My plan is to breathe some new life into it and (hopefully) write some words of wisdom welling up from my growing number of years of life on this planet.

So, welcome! No nail clippers required.