Eating, but Not Eaten

To the island of Sanibel for beach combing before going to church. Mixing the two created a classic fashion cocktail reminiscent of the early 80's and 90's when you would see professional women traveling to and from the office in similar combos. Now ballet flats have mostly taken away this fashion move akin to the mullet (business in front, party in the back). 

The lesson of the day was about how being precious is directly linked (perhaps not rightfully) to being rare. On most beaches a little beauty like this:

would be a find, but when you have this:

here it is tossed aside. When they say that Sanibel is THE place to go for beach-combing, they weren't kidding. The Girl was very focused and intent on finding a sand dollar. While we found many pieces, we were apparently there too late in the morning to find any whole ones (she was also focused on seeing a manatee as we crossed little bridges to get to the beach). 

The Boy found three enormous still-attached somethings. He wants to use them to do his animal research paper -- he named them Gill, Mill, and Jill. 

It really was a lovely morning on the beach. 

The church building was surrounded with flowering trees. It will be hard to go back to the city's dormancy. 

Lunch was a dismal affair. On the map Everglade City seemed like a good place to find somewhere. It's a fine balance sometimes between not being a snob and protecting your life. 

After the napkin issue we probably should have left, after what was found in the chips we definitely should have left. Instead we ate and then paid over $60. The only good thing was this poster by the restrooms…

The children started their Junior Ranger program for South Florida's National Parks. It's a packet with three parts: Big Cypress National Preserve, Everglades National Park, and Biscayne National Park. They had to do programs, hikes, movies, and activity sheets and have things passed off at each visitor's center. After completing all three they earn their patch. 

Big Cypress. We walked out on the boardwalk to see some manatees. Which we saw, and we also got our first glimpses of gators. It's quite thrilling. They were just gliding along. We watched our manatees very protectively, but the alligators didn't seem one bit interested.

We drove to an overlook at H P Williams Roadside Park where we met with Educator Kim. Standing across the canal from a 10-foot alligator sunning himself/digesting she taught us a lot about gators. They have an additional eyelid that works like a windshield wiper, they have blood that kills bacteria, they have sound slits so their hearing is as acute at their sight and sense of smell. They can see above and under water, they can hear above and under water. They see well at night, and the color of their eye reflection is orange. She recommended we watch a YouTube video on the mating ritual when the bellows and the vibrations make the water drops dance. We also learned that some can go a month between feedings. I found the fact that they weren't constantly hunting somewhat comforting. We asked her our question about manatees -- do the alligators ever bother them? Never, not even the babies. Sharks also don't ever bother them or the calfs. Our faces were question marks under the broiling sun. She said, "It needs to be studied, doesn't it?" And then she looked into my kids' squinty eyes and sweaty faces and said, "Will you do that maybe? Perhaps one or both of you will grow up and study manatees for us." My kids smiled. 

Winter time is the top birding season. We are stunned at the quantity of huge, beautiful, interesting birds. My favorites are: the Wood Storks -- with beautiful bodies and ugly prehistoric heads -- and enormous, the Anhinga's cool way of sitting in the tree with its wings extended, the herons -- always elegant in form, if somewhat raspy in voice, the pelicans that seem like they should be in a movie or a zoo, and on and on… It is fun to see these huge birds sitting up on branches that don't seem capable of supporting the weight. 

Passing a Skunk Ape surveillance headquarters The Boy convinced us to pull over, but after getting out and looking around he determined that there wasn't much to see. The Dad commented that the man running the show has perhaps run into the Skunk Ape a few times too many. 

We went to Kirby Storter Roadside Park and saw the cypress trees and worked on some Junior Rangers activity pages under the shade of a thatched roof tiki-hut.

On to the Oasis Visitor's Center where the kids passed off the first part of the Junior Ranger program. It's cute to see how the different rangers handle it. In this case everybody in the visitor's center clapped for them. My kids hate that, but they understand that everybody is just being nice. I would like to point out that in awkward moments like that they did the shifty eye-contact and shrinking in on themselves BEFORE they were homeschooled.

In car we found some free samples that we got at the Peep's store. 

"They taste like feet." The Sister

"With a kick." I added with a burning throat and watering eyes.

Feet with a kick? Buh-dah-ba.

We then went to Shark Valley Visitor's Center in Everglades and saw a billion alligators. They just drape around along the side of the road and main path. I kind of liked it, but also felt a bit vulnerable. We went on the Bobcat Trail and the kids signed off the second part of the Junior Ranger program. This ranger was big into setting and requested that we all go outside for the swearing in. 

It was time for dinner. Robert is Here is crazy cool. Really it's a glorified fruit stand with farm animals in the back to look at (guess who liked that part?) and amazing fresh fruit milkshakes. The Girl ordered mango pineapple and the rest of us got key lime. We also got some chips, salsa and guacamole and some fresh banana bread. We ate outside by the man playing his guitar and singing Beatles songs and other classics like, "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You." It was a content, golden moment. 

Back into the park system to the Anhinga Trail where we met up with a ranger-led "starlight" tour. The Ranger was so, so nice. An older gentleman that could probably be retired, but continues on as a ranger. He was thrilled that we were raising children in NYC. He lives in Yellowstone during the summer and in Florida during the winter. He told us how he takes his motorhome to Liberty RV park in NJ, walks 8 blocks to the PATH and is in NYC -- all for $65/night. He was a character. The Boy mentioned that we are homeschooling and the ranger couldn't tell us enough how great he thought that was. He saw the patches on their sweatshirts and chatted about the other parks. All this while we strolled along under the moonlight along the water. 

The flashlights that we brought weren't bright enough to contribute much, but our group saw the tell-tale orange reflections of gators patrolling the water and we saw quite a few along the edges "resting." A man who had crazy powerful flashlights that could see everything came up and offered them to my kids. We used them for a while -- it was amazing. We tried several times to return his flashlights, so that he could participate, but he told me that he had seen enough and he was enjoying watching my kids being able to use them. He told me that he overhead that we are homeschooling and wanted to let me know that his family home schools. They have six children ranging from 4-20-years old. He is so confident with the people that his older kids have become that he has no doubt that they've missed out on nothing and will continue with their younger children. He mentioned how people always ask him about proper socializing, but he hasn't noticed that his kids are any less socially aware. I thought about this man who came up to us in the dark and handed my children tools to illuminate the darkness. I think I can trust that he knows what it means to have good social skills. 

It's one thing to see orange eyes reflecting from a distance, but it feels different to stand above on the bridge and shine the light down and see them right below. It was impressive how fast The Dad backed up (and clattered his flip-flops and stumbled about in a most dramatic fashion) when a gator directly below us suddenly thrashed. When they say that their movements are startling in their quickness they aren't kidding. It really got my heart rate up. In fact, walking back, when we saw a large one on level with us I envisioned how it would be if this guy made a sudden movement like the one we had seen below us in the water… I felt very vulnerable. Some mosquitoes were buzzing around; surprisingly we didn't get eaten. 

We Are Not a Classy People

I've read some blogs that document glamorous lives. Blogs about traveling with children and looking stylish. That's not us. Somehow/somewhere in the planning I heard that we should wear sweatpants, that that would be our best traveling option, knowing that we would be falling into bed late (didn't know quite how late), and then (and this is totally gross) getting up and wearing those clothes to Crystal River where we would change into our swimsuits and wetsuits before heading out to find some manatees. The problem (or bit of redemption) is that we don't really own sweatpants. The kids both have random pairs that are floods and I have these crazy fleece-lined parachute pants-things. Anyway, after a refreshing not-quite three-hour nap we all "got ready" -- meaning we stood up. I put back on my cardigan that I had baptized with Subway sweet teriyaki sauce. We headed to Crystal River. On the way there we realized that we might not make it on time. There might have been an incident with a really nice-yet-stern, fair, insightful, potentially life-saving police officer. 

Inside the office for the manatee tours it was bedlam. It was probably helpful that we were late and most on the tour had already changed, for based on the kooky supply closet and decrepit bathroom we were shunted to I guess they don't have a lot of dressing room options. When you're running on three hours of sleep it is pure joy to stand on a hygiene-compromised floor and try to shimmy yourself and two kids into still-damp wetsuits. 

The ride out on the boat was pretty. The sheer amount of waterbirds -- let alone the variety -- was enough to get us all excited. We passed one of John Travolta's houses (like its surroundings, very pretty). The excitement did start to wane a) as we started to get increasingly colder (the captain said that it was an unseasonably chilly day) and b) as the captain started explaining where he was going to anchor. My personal vacation planner had sold the experience as standing in the water waste-high while manatees came up to you and snuggled. Now that we were squeezed into bacteria-forests and half way down the river it was starting to sound more like "up to 35 feet drop offs" and "the water is murky and choppy today, so hopefully you'll see something." By the time we anchored I had mentally stripped my kids of any swimming skills they have (they are pretty proficient -- in a pool) and visualized them sinking like stones 35 feet under and then being eaten by the only non-vegetarian mutant manatee. After everybody else was in the water, I still stood on the deck with a kid's hand in each of mine and wished fervently that they could just be satisfied with how well we could see them from the boat. 

That first moment in the open water as you prepare to push away from a boat is surreal. To have the water level and the horizon at eye level at the same time your body is in sensory shock is just on this side of too much. I worried for a moment that I was going to have some kind of panic attack, but then realized I needed to suck it up for my kids (The Boy kept flashing me the thumbs-up). As I started paddling about I felt a slight surge of humiliation as I considered that my last pre-heart-attack and/or pre-drowning thought might be that mantra of Ellen's Dori-fish: just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. 

We got to a nice rock ledge that made it shallow enough to assuage most of my drowning fears and we hung out. The rules are that you can't pursue the manatee. If one approaches you you are allowed to touch it with one hand only. There are ropes with buoys that provide sanctuaries -- people are not allowed to pass. As we stood/floated/shivered by one of the ropes The Girl was within a foot of a resting manatee for a good 10-15 minutes. She could barely make out his tail under water with her mask (the water was murky and her mask kept fogging up). When his shnuffler came out of the water a couple of feet from us it was exciting. We could see them all around us rolling and turning. We were told to stand still and their curiosity would often draw them. Just as our patience was about to pay off and one was moving towards us THE MOST obnoxious family materialized from who-knows-where. "Here comes one now!" And instead of waiting for him, they pushed back the marker rope and started groping our manatee. Within moments he determined the family was as awful as we had and he turned and went elsewhere. A super nice couple -- all tripped out in fully professional gear (not like the rented beauties we had -- every time I raised my arms more water would flood in and rain down on the inside) -- saw the entire exchange and offered to email me some of the pictures that they had taken of a couple of manatees with their space-agey water cameras. That was some consolation. After an hour and some change our captain signaled for us to swim back out to the boat. The Sister, The Girl, and I dutifully headed back. While doing so everybody with their masks in the water told us that a small one went right under us. Oh how I wish that The Girl had seen it or felt it! Her tactile disappointment smoldered hotter when The Boy returned with The Dad and reported that "they feel squishy." We were already too far away to call back when they had one approach them. Sigh.

Back on the boat people complained not that there weren't enough manatees, but that there were so many, yet couldn't be seen because the visibility was so bad. The nice couple took pity on my shivering kids and gave us their towels to wrap them in for the return trip (we had been told to bring nothing). The Girl had a huge snotty/booger issue that I had to rectify by wiping with my hand then transferring the goods to my water shoe. There's no end to our type of glamour. After the  peeling and prying of the wetsuits, and the comedy of errors in the nasty bathroom trying to get clothes on clammy bodies, I tried to upgrade for the day from the parachute pants to a casual dress… but the belt fell in the toilet so I had to again don the sauced-up cardigan.

In the car with the heater on, we waited for the kids' lips to become a less-intense shade of blue and talked about the parts that were insanely cool about the experience. I think that our biggest take-away was conquering those waves of panic while getting into deep open water, letting go of the ladder, and forcing ourselves to move further and further away from the boat. Obviously The Boy was stoked about touching the fellow. The Girl liked to know that by all reports the manatee that went under her on our way to the boat was a small one (all baby animals are worth more points), and she spotted a Bald Eagle.

At some point in the car an errant melted chocolate chip from the trail mix rubbed its dirty face and hands all over my cardigan and dress. 

On to Weeki Wachee Springs State Park. Straight in from the gates we hit the River Theater for the animal show. The delivery by two young lads was endearing and we learned quite a bit about animals indigenous to Florida. Apparently that run-zig-zag-if-an-analligator-is-pursuing-you-hint is worthless. They have no problem going zig-zag, can run up to 30 mph, and can jump 6-feet high. I liked the educator's point: you're probably not going to win that one, so instead do your best to not be in a situation that inspires an alligator to pursue (i.e. giving food, getting too close, startling a baby gator, etc.). Sometimes the best strategy/way to avoid being a victim is actually a few steps back in the decision-making process. We learned a really neat term: keystone species.  "A species that impacts an ecological system in a way that far exceeds what would be expected based on its biomass." I want our family to be a keynote species. In a good way. After the show the kids got to touch Elvis the King Snake and Armando the baby alligator. 

Our next event was taking the river tour. The water is from the spring and it is 99.9 percent clear. And in some places a sort of aqua color. The clarity and shallowness made it satisfying, for it enabled us to see many large and beautiful fish. Apparently there is the nice variety of species because the salt water fish have no problem coming in to the non-salt spring-fed part of the river. 

After disembarking we headed to the Underwater Theater to see the main reason we came -- the mermaids. I cannot express how happy this made me. Good kitsch actually makes me teary. Here is why (in no particular order):

1. It reminds me of my heritage. As a kid when we visited my maternal grandparents' house I woke up in a bedroom with an enormous replica of The Blue Boy looking down at me. I wasn't born -- my kitch-loving self sprang fully formed from the head of a dashboard hula dancer. 

2. It's cool. The stores and museums that draw me have always been the collections of random, the assortments of oddities. In part because there's a slight (though this is somewhat compromised by the hipsters) feeling of it being unique -- requiring the view to relying on his/her own aesthetics, history, taste, sense of humor to determine what is awesome. 

3. It brazenly represents "extra." The luxuries of living in developed countries is that once survival is no longer the critical question of the day, you move into a different realm: can I get money to buy food by selling salt and pepper shakers that look like Paul Bunyan and Babe?  If I turn my backyard into a miniature wonderland and sell tickets can I get enough money to buy my own Paul Bunyan salt and pepper shakers? If I put my kids in costumes and have them stand on the corner to lure in more costumers can I get a gold-gilded Paul Bunyan and Babe salt and pepper set? 

In short, why I hope our kids learn to appreciate kitsch: our family heritage, appreciation of the one-off, and the realization that it is spawned by equal parts quirkiness and the lure of "the American Dream" (a point that made redundant the "Proud to be an American" number at the end when the Mermaids lost their tails and contorted around in front of an American flag). Somebody with vision -- who has a clear sense of how vintage retro appeals to a new generation of hipster families (Instagram, black rimmed glasses, saddle shoes) -- could take that Mermaid gig to a whole new level. I went into the gift shop expecting there to be all sorts of that 50's/60's nostalgia that's popular, and was sadly disappointed to find plastic water bottles and baseball caps and really cheesy pictures of the current mermaids. No books, no nothing that referenced its heyday. They do have the peacocks going for them -- dozens of males and females wandering about. And they have those wax mold keepsakes that I love.

There was an opportunity to get your picture taken with a mermaid. While I'm not sad about our decision to not take advantage of the opportunity, I do feel badly for our gnome… I might have been able to persuade the mermaid to tuck him into her clamshells -- which would have made for award-winning photography.

With nacho cheese AND honey mustard generously smeared on my cardigan due to some carrying/hustling (being trash is kind of a slippery slide… once you wear sweatpants it's kind of hard to regain traction…) we headed outward and onward to Clearwater Marine Aquarium in Clearwater, FL. 

We had been told that it was a tourist destination dedicated to the movie Dolphin Tale. I guess that's right, but that's not bad. When you consider that it's an actual animal rescue facility, I think it's nice (and obviously necessary for financial reasons) to allow the public to come and take a gander. And what you get to gander at is really cool. And it's fun to see where the scenes from the movie were shot (it's always a shock to see how camera angles can make spaces seem bigger -- just go and look at an apartment that was advertised in the NYTimes for another good example of this). We looked at otters that had been found damaged and by dumpsters, gimpy nurse sharks and rays, dolphins that had beached themselves and suffered from severe sunburn, sea turtles with missing limbs, and the pelicans that played Rufus in the movie (an aside: on our way to the aquarium we got to talking about Desi Arnaz because The Dad and I had once heard a program about him on NPR that was fascinating. He was a driven man. Like the rest of America, I wish that he had avoided alcohol and stayed faithful to Lucy, but that aside, he made a lot of interesting decisions -- some that showed great insight, sensitivity, and integrity. He had been born into a family of wealth and luxury, and then when the Cuban government changed his family was lucky to get to America intact -- penniless -- but intact. Then he worked his guts out to achieve what he did. Not only did I Love Lucy pioneer many things in the world of TV production, but it also championed the right to show a bi-racial married couple and a pregnant woman on TV. I read these things out loud to the kids -- not sure if anything is sticking?). Anywhoooooo, the two pelicans that played Rufus were named Ricky and Lucy and both have different skills/talents. It's together that they are able to accomplish the job. I like that. Especially on trips where my sense of safety, desire to reflect, and appreciation of all that's quirky balances out The Dad's sense of adventure, determination, and appreciation for ALL that's in Fodor's. 

The programs that they had were great (the kids got to participate in a rescue, and we saw Panama and Winter do a little dolphin magic). They also had a lot of staff/volunteers -- which made everything seem approachable. I asked one volunteer how much the percentage of visitors had increased since the movie. She laughed and said: "100%?" Which makes sense why it's so movie-centric -- that is after all why the people have come. She said that before a "good" day would be 5 visitors, now they have hundreds, sometimes even thousands a day. We chatted about how that is providing the opportunity to do more rescues. They built the additional museum (Winter's Dolphin Tale Adventure) on the mainland that is all about the movie (included in your price of admission), and all of this crazy-new revenue is enabling them to build a new building with dozens of turtle rescue pools and two large-animal rescue tanks. Chatting with The Sister I articulated this cycle: somebody hears an inspirational story and writes a book, somebody decides to make a movie and use the actual run-down rescue center in the movie, Americans throw their money at the movie and then decide to throw it at the aquarium, the aquarium now has the funds to do more rescuing, and hopefully do more inspirational work. 

We stopped by the Winter's Dolphin Tale Adventure and the kids enjoyed the hurricane alley and another touch tank. I learned about HD -- I don't like how it looks. The crispness unsettles me (yes, I'll go eat my prunes and massage my bunions). 

Last stop of the day was the Columbia restaurant. On the way there The Boy started sining: "I like to dance the fffffllllllAAAAAAA-minnnnnngoooo even though I learned it in Spain." It got us squarely into the wanting-to-be-entertained mood. 

The food was very, very good and while I'm not an expert on flamenco dancing, all the stomping and clicking and cane pounding was exciting and provided spunky ambiance. On our way out we saw that the jar holding the chocolate-coated butter mints was unmanned. We filled our pockets. 

Glamorous travelers we are not. However, when we walked out into the spring-like night with our bellies full and The Boy humming flamenco music we all agreed that we would do the day again. Our gnome, having missed the clamshell opportunity might feel differently.