From March to July

I hear the stories of summer – how meeting that kind person in the supermarket made your day. How the car in the other lane made a U-turn into your parking place but thankfully another spot opened up on your third circle around Main Street. The flood gates have opened and the reservoir is full- no drought – no shortage- no space. I hear the battle cry, ‘look for the good’ and I am sure it is out there-if I were out there to look for it.

For me this is the time of quiet reflection-a quiet knowing that the village is filled to the brim and life is or can be a party. And though I may have hosted a number of parties in my day-either my age or my priorities have left me with different longings. As some Floridians take to indoor crafting in the hot summer months – I take to backyard nesting – sitting- reading-writing -resting.

I think it was Dan who told my friend Jean that he likes to go out very early in the morning because it is then that he feels that he is still part of this village- the quiet right after the sun rises - when you can feel the space and smell the salty air.

It is not a case of sour grapes – I can easily understand the economics of the tourist industry, the jobs created, the revenue coming in, the heightened activity level for fun and frolic. And I also know that each time I travel, I am a tourist, a visitor, an outta towner- it’s easy for me to connect those dots and know that we are all just fellow travelers on this planet. But the seasons certainly change our routines and our schedules – when we shop, go to the beach, go out to eat, travel west, travel east, or when we know that it’s best to stay put.

My early morning walks support the biggest visual of the changes around me – the aquatic real estate is beyond measure and houses a floating village of wealth and prosperity. It’s hard to imagine that this once sleepy village now attracts the buoyant one percent. Yes, and they too help support our local economy.

Although for many those yachts hold their appeal, I truly am happy in my kayak- where I feel one with the water and the waves – floating over the dreams and the ashes of my ancestors. Under all of the accouterments still lies the beautiful village that I will always call home.