Serendipity Do Da

After spending most of the afternoon with Teir, as he rebuilt our furnace, we realized that it was too late to get very far before dark. So we settled into the parking lot of the large Flagler Hospital complex for the evening, and slept with a steady rain pattering down on our roof. The morning broke clearer, and we were ready to say good-bye again to the Atlantic coast, and aim west. We crossed the St. John’s this time at Green Cove Springs (Florida is polka-dotted with springs), then turned south on a small road at Lake Butler. We were going to go by O’Leno Park, for old times sake, stop for a picnic lunch, and then head west again on 27. However, we missed our turn just after Dukes, but decided, oh well, maybe there’s a nice spot up ahead. Moments later on our right, a beautiful town park appeared on the banks of a small river. We slowed down, and saw the sign that said “Closed due to high water.” We were momentarily disappointed, until we saw in smaller print “No Trespassing when the gate is locked.” But the gate was open, and the grounds were certainly passable, so we rolled on in. It was perfect. There was a covered eating area, that would provide shade for our faces while our legs were warmed by the sun, and a flat parking lot right alongside. While D prepared lunch, I took the dawg for her noon time walk. The park road stretched along the side of a hill, below the raised highway. It first passed a secluded camping area, and further on was a boat ramp, another riverside picnic area, and a series of nature trails. Called Chastain-Seay Park, it was built in 2002 for the citizens of Worthington Springs, as explained by a plaque along the road. As we were eating, the sheriff rolled in, tinted windows, dark sunglasses, lookin’ like Rod Steiger. But he was friendly enough, and we chatted a bit, and he wished us well before driving off. Later, as we were cleaning up, a young man stopped down the road and took at series of photos of the areas of the park still under water, and damaged by the flooding. He then drove up to us, and happily stated we were just the folks he was looking for, could he take our picture. He explained he was the mayor, and he wanted to have pictures of people stopping and enjoying the park, even now, in the winter. When we asked how such a small town could afford such a beautiful park, he said, “Grants, lots of grants and stimulus money.” He was just getting ready to put in another to help with the repairs. He said the park was good for the town, it provided work for local folks, income for local businesses, and maintained the area as a viable gathering place. At one time, four hotels existed at this spot, and people came from miles around to bath in Worthington Springs, and enjoy the festivities that accompanied a bustling social center. Eventually, the springs filled in, stop flowing, and surfaced somewhere else. The hotels closed and were eventually torn down, with the springs only existing as the town name. But mayor John D. Rimes III was doing everything in his power to help the town and area become vibrant again. He was sincere, and gregarious, and optimistic about the future. The town was lucky to have him working on their behalf. After a twenty minute conversation, he said he had to get back to his paying job (as both he and the town councillors labored without pay at their municipal duties), but thanked us again for letting us have our picture taken. He also said if we wanted to stay the night, we were more than welcome, just speak to the Sheriff, and he would keep the gate open for us. What a nice man, what a nice place…but we had miles to travel before our rest. But if folks are ever northeast of Gainesville and looking for a quiet place to stop, find Worthington Springs on the map, and look for the town park by the river.

We headed west on 27 on flat straight roads through small towns and tall trees, then after Perry carried on further west on 98. We were almost to the Gulf Shore, and were hoping to make it to St. George Island State Park. Fortunately, as it was getting on towards sunset, we decided to call the Park, and found they were full up, without a site available. Checking the map, we saw that we could turn inland near Sopchoppy, and get into the Apalachicola National Forest, where there were a number of campsites; or stay on the coast road towards Panacea, and see if we could find a place to hide away for the night for free. Panacea wasn’t a cure for all that ailed us, but it did have a closed down information area that seemed like it might fit the bill. Four guys working outside a machine shop said it probably was all right there, or we could park in the IGA parking lot, just up the road. They said it was pretty laid back little town, and no one should bother us. We checked out a small town park where the Blue Crab Festival is held every March, bought a few things in the IGA to check out the vibes, and then decided to go down the road to see if anything better turned up before the bridge across the bay, knowing we did have a couple of fallback positions. Nothing had looked promising, and as we rounded a long bend and saw the long, long bridge over Ochlockonee Bay, we decided to take the last right before the bay and find a place to turn around and head back to Panacea. And there, just around the corner, was a sweet little church with a beautifully secluded parking lot, under a large stand of live Oaks. Realizing that the Ochloclonee Bay United Methodist Church was providing for us this night, we pulled in, found a dimly lit corner, and settled in for a very peaceful supper and long night’s sleep.

The next morning, happy and well rested, we rolled over the bridge,. On the far side we found a turn off to a quiet boat ramp into the river, that was bordered by miles of unoccupied white sand beaches. We pulled down to it, had breakfast and a long walk on the beach. Dixie had a great time frolicking in the sand, and 45 minutes later, we were ready for the days drive. Since it was too early for the park, we took a detour down an anchor shaped peninsula jutting out from the corner of the coast. In one direction was Bald Point, where there were State Nature Trails and parts of the great Florida Birding Trail (and also a parking lot near a quiet beach access that looked promising a potential over night spot). Tucking that bit of info away, we turned around and aimed for the other point of the anchor, Alligator Point. Here we found quiet beaches and several miles of cottages and houses lining the road. As in so many places, there were both the older, smaller cottages, and newer and larger and grander beach houses, interspersed among each other. As every else, almost half of the places had For Sale signs on them. You can see the state of the economy, and the fallout of the real estate/ banking/ economic problems so dramatically all along the coast. People could get cheap financing, built or bought second or third homes, and then reality hit hard. Payments couldn’t be met, cash flow got tighter, bank rates went up, and now every other place was on the market. But despite this, it seemed a laid back, peaceful little community, that might be an interesting place to pass a few months, or winters away. Always dreaming, we drove down to the end, picked up a few real estate flyers from the boxes on the sign posts, and realized that $100,000 would get you a shack, a reasonable place started at $300,000, and most of the big fancy places for sale were close to a million dollars. Good luck to those folks. As we were driving back towards the road out, I stopped to get the flyer for a chunk of undeveloped land for sale, just being curious. I had to back up a ways, and a pickup truck passed us, turned around, and then came back to ask if we needed any help. It was a couple from Quebec, who had spent the last few years in the area, and loved it. Seeing we were fellow Canadians, they generously went out of their way to lend a hand if needed. We said we were fine, and then spent ten minutes talking to them, totally blocking the road for the non-existent traffic. Finally, they said they were going into town for a while, but we were welcome to stay at their place if we wanted, they had a big yard down past the Volunteer Fire Station. We thanked them, exchanged addresses, and when they drove off, decided to go back and see what one could rent for a thousand dollars a month, all utilities included. It was beautiful; a medium sized beach house up on stilts, with a large fenced yard at the end of a quiet road. Two minutes to miles of beaches, ten minutes to the Tiki Bar that’s open four nights a week, half an hour into the grocery store, not at all bad. If you wanted a nice place to spend the winter, or part of it, renting a house in Alligator Point wasn’t a bad option. We left them a thank you note and a PEI garlic in their mailbox, and continued on our way, wondering if we would see these folks again, either here, or in Quebec, or maybe in PEI. An interesting, friendly couple, about our age, who said they used to live on a boat, and now were happy living in the Gatineau’s in the summer, at Alligator Point in the winter, and seeing what life brought them in between.

From there, we carried on along the Gulf of Mexico, remembering the “forgotten Coast” of Florida. In Carrabelle, we stopped and talked to Suzanne in the tiny town information office, across the street from the world’s smallest Police Station ( a retrofitted phone booth). We learned how things all along the Panhandle were slow, that a place that cost $20,000 15 years ago, sold for $300,000 5 years ago, before the hurricane hit, and then bottom fell out of the economy. Now there were lots of places for sale, but no one buying, and the locals are just doing their best to keep things going, waiting for things to get back to normal, whatever that might be. We bought some fish at a local fish market, had hush puppies and grilled shrimp for lunch from the little local drive in restaurant, found one of the best stocked hardware stores I‘ve seen in years and got a plug adaptor I needed for the Thirty amp sockets some of the big parks have, and shopped in the local grocery store that surprised us with their selection. Again, as last trip, we were falling in love with this part of the Florida Panhandle. Eventually we aimed to St. George’s, but because their was no service for my cell phone, it wasn’t till we drove the thirteen miles over the bridge and out to the Park Entrance that we found out they were still totally full. There was a big Chilli Cook-off coming up in town, and they had been booked for weeks. The Ranger called St. Joseph’s for us, and confirmed that they did have plenty of room, and contrary to their policy from eight years ago, they did allow dogs in the campgrounds. So waving goodbye to St. Georges, and remembering our week’s stay all those years ago, where we first got used to Dixie being part of the family on our last big southern adventure, we once again aimed west. We passed through Apalachicola, still seeming as charming and slow as before, and turned onto the road towards St. Joseph’s Peninsula State Park. We had heard good things about the park, including the fact it had lots of trails where dogs were allowed, and miles of isolated white sand beaches (which unfortunately were off limits to our four legged friends). On the way to the park, again we experienced miles of beach houses, with at least a third of them for sale; gated beach communities that were half built; stilts in the ground awaiting houses that probably never will be built; and small beach cottages, with newer, larger beach houses behind them, closer to the shore, and then the grand beach mansions right on the water’s edge, the final step in the chain as the once large lots that were first developed years ago were divided, then divided again. And then it all stopped at the sign post announcing the State Park, and the empty dunes and long stretches of sand and ocean are all we can see.

We drive up to the gate, and start the process. We get our map; drive around the two different areas; discover that the site that we wanted from just surveying the map was indeed a fine site, but occupied by a gorgeous little Airstream Bambi, all 16 shiny feet of it; and eventually pick a quiet spot on the other end, next to a little fibreglass Scamp. We get checked in, pay for two night’s, and return to our new home for the next several days. The Park does seem nice, the air is good, the nights promise to be cold, but we are here, and settled, and ready to enjoy a settled few days after the unsettled past week. It feels like our trip has actually really started. We are never late, never lost. We are taking what the road has to offer, and seeing what’s around the next corner, even when it’s not the one we were expecting. And judging by what has happened these last two days, it’s going to be a memorable trip. And to paraphrase a wonderful song from an old movie, “Song of the South” I believe, “Serendipity do dah, serendipity ay; my o my, what a wonderful day. Nothing but sunbeams coming my way. Zip pity do dah, zip pity ay …It’s the truth, it’s actual, everything is satisfactual.” We had everything but a bluebird on our shoulders…and who knows, maybe even that will happen. We’ll see.