Florida Home

Florida Home



It’s funny what you remember from your childhood, the things that stand out in your mind. They are the things that fill your heart with satisfaction. The moments that did not seem special at the time, but now claim a place in your soul.

I remember creeping through a muddy, murky creek with the smell of stagnant algae- laced water, cattails swaying in the warm breeze. The sun, beating down on my partially bare back, my wet clothes exaggerating the raw pinching feeling I suffered on my already sun burned skin. Vivid memories I can see and feel with all my senses. The smells, tastes and sounds -all the sensations of summer.

The hours of my day were spent wading and catching tadpoles, fishing with cane poles, swimming and frolicking in the amber water of our creek with all nature had to offer. Racing friends with bare feet stained and dirty green from grass freshly cut minutes or hours before. I can see and hear the sprinklers, ticking and swaying in the background their droplets glimmering like diamonds on a tiara. There is the taste of the sandwiches and chips that were the typical afternoon bill of fare, outside on a blanket or picnic table, which we washed down with tea as sweet as syrup, complimentary ants included. I laughed and played with friends I assumed I would know forever. This was my world, the environment where I flourished. It occupied only a tiny patch of land and a home seasoned with love.

In the afternoons the rains would come, swooping upon us like thieves in the night. The humidity and heat from the blistering sun was replaced by dark clouds and wind spreading the smell of freshness. The air suddenly cool and light, which only hours earlier felt thicker than the water you swam in for relief from it. The wind swirling, had everything in a turbulent upheaval. Winding trees seemingly off balance, bending and contorting their branches flailing about. Our bodies would sense that the rain would soon envelop us. All at once, there would be a sudden rush of excitement when it would abruptly come, thundering and splashing up around us. Steam would vaporize from the sweltering pavement beneath us. Nature’s force was staggering. Sometimes thunder and lightning would accompany the rain, announcing its arrival or bidding it farewell. At times it would arrive in unison, inviting our shrieks- with the ecstasy of it all. There was no rule that it followed, it came and went at its leisure and our amazement. It was a cleansing, life unfolding itself before us. The beauty and strength of it all amazes me still.

Frogs, toads and crickets would call to us ever more fervently after those summer storms. The rain would revitalize everything as if it drank from the fountain of youth, a tumultuous new beginning. The sand of the creek was white washed and smooth as glass, fanning itself out from the bank into the water, puddling itself as the rain before it. The vegetation was thick and vibrant green. My eyes would stare vacantly at the vivid display, life rejuvenated.

At dusk the mosquitoes would come out in full force, buzzing in your ear and piercing at your skin, causing a dance resembling some odd form of tribal hoopla, as you swatted them away. Wildlife was teaming in the woods around us almost unnoticed because it was common. The feeling of satisfaction and tranquility I had believing this was all life was and all it had to be. What a wonderful world.

Those days seem almost mystical now. What was is no longer. In that same house, in that same yard, the location is the same, but the landscape is not. The hum of automobiles has replaced the orchestra of nature. Crickets and frogs no longer fill the night, but have been replaced by sirens and car horns. The air still carries with it the thickness of the season but now is strained even further by smog and pollution. The creek is overgrown and vile, its livelihood cut off by the sprawl of urban growth. There is still beauty there but not as it was, not haphazardly placed in random perfection. It’s rehearsed, a part of something planned. The openness is gone.

Some of the same faces are there, now worn and gray as if left outdoors an entire wet sweltering summer. Faded like a canvas forgotten in the weather. Their bodies seasoned with time but their love never faltering.

Now, as an adult there are shades of time layered in my mind which create a mixture of memories. What was my childhood has all but faded now. I am no longer the adolescent who frolics in that wonderful place, but my mind does make an occasional visit.