by Mary Wakefield Buxton –
URBANNA, Va. — It’s warm now in Florida but January and February in the Sunshine State are often cold and windy, even as far south as Naples. We were prepared with a supply of winter clothes as when the temperature dips in Virginia, it drops like stone in Florida too. We had days when the lows were in the 40s and when one throws in cold wind blowing off the Gulf, one better have a ski jacket on with gloves, hat and scarf.
Ironically, if the sun comes out on a cold day, one also has to add a sun visor because tropical sun will still burn skin. I concocted a new look by donning a wide brim straw hat under my ski coat hood. I looked a bit odd but at my age, who cares?
Let the young worry how they look! At 80 years old, just as poet T.S. Eliot wrote in “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” “I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled,” and … so what?
Cold days offer opportunities for day trips. One such trip was to Everglades City, about an hour’s drive east from Naples where we lunched at the Havana Café, a famous Cuban restaurant. We had heard about their delicious food for years so when another couple invited us to go with them on a day trip we happily accepted.
Walking into the restaurant was like arriving in Cuba, but without communists. An indoor and outdoor eating area separated by an open bar with characters that appeared to have stepped out of an Ernest Hemingway novel sat at the bar drinking tall rum drinks … or as Father always called tropical drinks … “rum dumbs,” the sort served to glassy-eyed tourists with pink umbrellas stuck in a wedge of pineapple.
A Hispanic musician sat on a stool in the center of the outdoor bar strumming music and crooning the usual songs that ranged in subject matter from the agony of unrequited love to “he done me wrong.”
We ordered drinks and platters of fresh Gulf shrimp as long and as plump as a man’s thumb, served fried, steamed or sautéed and seasoned in peppery sauces.
Just as I was about to take my first bite a gust of wind blew into the patio and part of the thatched roof fell on my head strewing years of dirty thatch material everywhere. I looked down at my shrimp now covered with debris as our server quickly replaced our dinners assuring us “this has never happened before.” I was left thinking in spite of its classic romantic appeal, maybe thatched roofs weren’t so wonderful after all.
The next cold day took us to Marco Island, which is about 30 minutes south of Naples. No thatched roofs on this island as the entire beachfront was littered with dozens of high-rise condos like what you see in Miami Beach. Each building had a Las Vegas type name like “Apollo,” “Neptune” or “The Dunes.”
Some may find such structures appealing but I looked up at these monsters in the sky and shuddered. They appeared to me like massive bird houses that housed humans and I ardently didn’t want to move in.
Such high-rise buildings rob the beauty of the natural island environment. Olde Naples has so far banned condominiums from more than five stories, however, I think the developers will soon be changing our landscape too.
Traffic was surprisingly heavy, but the Marco Island Historical Museum made the trip worthwhile as one can see relics that speak of 5,000 years ago when Native American tribes such as the Calusas, which the brochure described as “ferocious,” (which is laughable as no people were as ferocious as European settlers moving into land they wanted for themselves). Many of the natives were either killed off by diseases like smallpox and general disease or sold into slavery to the extent they had virtually disappeared by the 1700s — the usual sad tale of history that keeps repeating itself over the centuries — a stronger culture will overwhelm others and this rule has not changed, just look at the poor souls under present struggle against the Russian army in Ukraine. (I always say the Yankees are coming again, so we better stay strong — but, there’s a new twist to my warning, next time the invaders won’t be Yankees.)
Archaeologist digs have discovered exquisite art relics, the most famous being the “Marco Island Cat,” a six-inch carved wood panther-like figure found along with many other relics that describe the life of Calusa Indians. It’s cheering that there are artists working in every age and culture.
The study of history does not let us forget the violent and aggressive nature of man and that virtually every society on earth has eventually collapsed from weakness. Cogito ergo sum. (I think, therefore I am.) Learn history and reflect. It’s the path to survival.
© 2022.
