January Is Nearly History!!!

Most of you know January has been a difficult time for all of us. 2010 and 2011 Ellie-Dot suffered respiratory failure and was in the ICU at LeBonheur Children's Hospital.

"It's infection, Mom. She needs to be infection-free, but infection is everywhere", the docs told us. "You just can't do it. RSV lives all over the planet, and all we can do is just try to treat her".

Not everywhere. Not on St. George. Not really.

Years ago, I found St. George island when a flight student of mine bought property down here. Most people don't know about it, and for that, we are thankful.

It's an hour and a half south of Tallahassee and an hour and a half east of Panama City. You'd never accidently run into it, but if you did you'd never vacation anywhere else.

It's like the 50's, in a way, thus the blog name, the Retro Adventure. St. George has no high-rise hotels, and probably never will. We ride bikes everywhere along the 20 or so miles of the island, on a concrete bike path and into the State Park where no one lives except a few RV'ers. There is one tiki bar, owned by a man named George, where they light the tiki torches most of the week and we can grab drinks out on the beach.

They fry up the best batch of fresh seafood you've ever had, fresh oysters out of the Apalachicola Bay, bay scallops, and shrimp. The grouper is still swimming on the plate.

There is one ice cream/pizza joint, and believe it or not, they make some of the best pizza we've ever eaten. The kids beg for ice cream, and they sit outside at the wooden tables while I retrieve the flavor of the day.

The fire chief, Jay Abbott, has pediatric equipment on the truck, and has his plan in place in the event Ellie-Dot suddenly isn't doing well. Sandy, my only other friend here and her mother, "Momma", can be called at a moments notice to hang with Nolan if there's trouble on the horizon. Nolan calls her "Momma" just like I do, though he doesn't know why. Sandy is a first-responder, and is notorious for running out on the beach in high heels to render CPR. That's my kind of woman.

Snowbirds are here, but we don't see them much. We have the entire beach to ourselves, sharing with only jellyfish. Those bad boys know to stay out of Ellie-Dot's way, or she'll dissect them.

Tomorrow, we are blowing balloons, making a cake, and celebrating a safe and healthy January. And we'll pray for a healthy February and March.

In March, we move into the Retromobile, our 1950's renovated airstream and into a fishing camp up the road from St. George. It's 150 square feet, and a million miles of adventure, we hope.

Happy January!

They Don't All Get Away

"Momma, you don't really know how to fish too good, do you?" he asked. Ouch. "Well, son, I can't say honestly that I really do. Seems like you just throw something sharp in the water, sit for a long time in the sun, slap each other on the back and go home", I replied, a little sadly as we made our way home empty-handed again.

He expected to be dazzled with his mommy's fishing acumen, and after all, the promotion had been way over the top, mainly to compensate for taking him away from his buddies and his house for the winter. "We'll have a great time! We'll do lots of fishing and probably even catch a shark or two!" I said brightly on the way.

Nuts. No bites. Day after day after day and each journey home sans fish earned an inch less stature in my son's eyes.

Then, suddenly yesterday happened. A man appeared on the beach. Six three, about 270 pounds of him trudged toward the shoreline hauling a large bucket and two very serious-looking fishing rigs. Nolan eyed the man, then me a little suspiciously as he observed his tiny $20.00 low-end fishing get-up. "Yes, babe, you can go - stay a few feet from him and let his ears rest between questions, please". Ellie-Dot and I played on the beach building sand castles as I observed the two from twenty yards. They appeared to be engaged in great conversation, the big man leaning to listen, then rearing back like he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. I think I could hear his roaring laughter over the waves.

He soon relegated one of his fishing reels to Nolan, and they were fishing in the sunset a little like grandpa and grandson. Both Nolan's grandfathers died years ago, and the scene made me yearn for the familial ties long lost. Soon, my little boy was hauling in a fish. And then, several fish.

It turns out his new friend, Mr. Bill Stevens, was quite a character. He builds dental implants in a small town in Alabama, and one time, he built a front implant for a friend of his. He turned it gold, put a rhinestone or two in it, and he and his buddy dentist played a little joke during the installation. They used temporary cement, and when their customer woke up, there he was with a custom-made, rhinestone-studded gold implant. The friend and customer liked it so much, he made them leave it there for him to attend a very formal wedding that weekend, wherein he pranced around all weekend in his tricked-out gold, jewel-studded fake implant.

Mr. Bill has been married to his sweetheart, Margaret, for 45 years and he still loves her, you can tell, the way he smiles broadly when he talks about her.

He's a bold man who remembers everyone he meets, and tells a story a mile wide....reminds me a little of my brother, Dave. They are hunters, and fishermen, and storytellers, and boy, did Bill tell some good ones. Like the time he sent some...very interesting gals if you get my drift, into the motel room of his good friend, Bill Dance the famous fisherman. Seems the gals had followed Mr. Dance to the motel after a CB radio conversation, and were hunting "the Happy Hooker", as Dance called himself. Bill Dance promised to "get him back one day", he tells with a resounding clap of laughter as he reels in yet another fish.

One of his daughters has a bobcat for a pet, and used to have a possum that was her family "dog".

And in his younger days, he was a professional fisherman, making his wages winning fishing tournaments. Once, a buddy's wife wanted to know what all the "boys" did when they went on their fishing trips. His friend replied, "Hon, Bill makes us get up at 3:00 a.m. to catch our bait fish, fish at sunrise until sunset, and by the time we're done, we caint do nothun but got to bed". This man loves his fish.

"Doggone it Nolan, you let that fish swallow that hook!" he exclaims to a bewildered Nolan, who can't for the life of him figure out what he ought to do to keep that fish from choking on the hook. And soon, the big one hits, and we sure can tell it's a big one the way the pole is bent. Nolan yanks it out of the sand cone, and jerks it for all it's worth. "Help!" he yells, but neither Bill nor I offer to relieve him of his load. A boy's gotta learn, and strangely, the worlds of momma and pseudo grandfather coincide. Neither of us makes a move, and instead, let him haul and haul and learn and learn.

And soon, the head appears. It's a shark, a prize catch for all of us. Mr. Bill removes it from the hook, and teaches Nolan how to hold it and soon, the boy is running up and down the beach showing off his specimen. He couldn't be happier.

Bill and I sit next to each other in our ratty beach chairs, low in the sand and peacefully watching Ellie-Dot build her castles alone in the sand, and Nolan reel in fish after fish.

"Now Jan, you can't use a leader line, and make sure the tip of that hook is covered up with the shrimp or they will see the flash and run off. And when they hit, yank to set the hook, but be slow reeling in, and make sure you use fresh black shrimp, and not the red ones." He talked to me like a comrade in fishing arms, and I appreciated his earnest and fast-paced instruction. But he could be harsh.

"Now, you're holding that fish like a girl. Stop that!" he'd command joyfully, knowing I'd be quick on the uptake.

A whole day passed, the St. George sun dropped beneath the clouds, and the backdrop of the palm trees turned pink and delicious. It was time for us all to pack up and go our separate ways.

"You know Jan, I almost didn't come fishing," Bill said. "Flipped a coin and said if it's heads, I am going, and tails, I'll stay home. It hit the edge of the desk, and my wife said two out of three, but a deals a deal. It came up heads, and now I know why".

He'd given us the world, and he knew it. I guess he thought it was worth the trip.

We thanked him, and gave him a bag of happys to take back to Alabama. It wasn't nearly enough payment for a gift of gold. My son really did catch a few sharks, and Mr. Bill made an honest woman out of me. We were sad to see him go, and I fear we will not ever see him again. But we have photos, and in that way, he'll be with us forever, his kindness remembered long past the sunset of today.

Tonight, when I put Nolan to bed and we prayed, Nolan asked whether angels sometimes appear as human "beans". He thought Mr. Bill might have been one.

Though the fisherking would probably deny it with a hearty laugh, I think I believe that's the truth.