The day was bright and shiny, free from the sticky, humid air I was accustomed to. The mood in the car was relaxed, as light as a feather floating. As I recall, it was Abba, Imma, and myself. My brother may have been there too, but if he was, I donât recall seeing him in this memory. It was a very long time ago. It's one of my first memories; I was 2-3 years old at the time.
Perhaps I didnât know where we were going. Itâs possible I was told multiple times, and even though I understood what was said, I didnât fully comprehend, which is what I recall. I knew something of importance was being discussed days earlier, but I soon stopped paying attention as I didnât understand most of the words being used. In the back of my mind, I seem to remember something like people talking about a particular topic as commonplace, yet I had no idea what they were talking about. Itâs possible I had just woken up from a nap or had been asleep and was woken up by my Imma or Abba, which would account for the confusion and lack of context even as I experienced it.
What I do remember is that I was sitting in the back seat of a car in a car seat, likely our old Chevy makemodelyear station wagon, which was all the rage from the time they rolled off the assembly line until around the time Ford released their first âFord Explorerâ in the early 1990s.
I could tell we were going up a hill; looking forward, all I could see was the road in front of us and the sky. I was not accustomed to hills or mountains; my reality was quite flat. Forward, backward, side to side were the directions I was used to, not up, pointing towards the sky. Imma was asking me if I could smell something. âSmell what,â I wondered, as my Abba and Imma cranked the levers to roll the station wagon windows down. I smelled something I had never smelled before, and it was quite distinct. It did not register as unsavory to me and it wasnât sweet like flowers or fatwood from our yard. Whatever it was I could taste it on the back of my throat and on my tongue as I took bigger and bigger breaths in and out.
As I was formulating an opinion on this new, seemingly significant smell, compiling a small list of questions, I saw to the right and left, -- it was definitely water. There was water on either side of us and we were driving over the water on a huge bridge. I had driven over bridges and seen water before, but I had never seen this much. The sun was sparkling and glinting off every small hiccup of water. Millions of shimmering spots would appear and disappear immediately, reflecting and glinting in the sun. I was drawn to what I was seeing and was craning my neck and body to see better from my car seat.
I compiled an amended list of questions for Imma or Abba, whomever was listening, which I immediately set out to ask. I was getting excited. Everything around me was new the day was bright and beautiful. I took a deep breath of salty sea air to begin my rapid-fire questions. I decided to start with question number one on the list, but as I took a to speak, I was immediately cut off, left speechless; we were no longer pointing up towards the sky.
We were at the top of the mountain causeway, and what I saw completely caught me off guard. I was truly speechless and I sat there, brain ignoring my lower jaw which relaxed, leaving my mouth wide open. The readers will be sleep well knowing I did manage to raise an arm up and point with one of my fingers as well. I could not believe what I was looking at. Stretched out before me and going on further than my comprehension could conceivably comprehend, it laid itself out before meâthe beautiful blue Atlantic Ocean. It was, and still is, an unbelievable sight to see. The deep dark blue colors are what I recall the most. The ocean was a beautiful dark, rich blue. I was absolutely awestruck, speechless, pointing with my little finger, mouth wide open, just staring.
I remember wondering if everyone had this huge thing called Ocean and why people werenât talking about this more. Perhaps they were, and I simply wasnât paying attention. Adults were always talking about boring adult things, little of which I understood or cared about.
The smell, combined with the sight of the sea sublimely stretching on forever on that vividly bright and colorful day, is one of my first memories, and definitely one of my most valued. I had never imagined or dreamed of anything so massively huge, and I had never seen so much of one part of Earth laid out to see all at once. If I had to describe it using one word, the one word would be âabsolutely amazing.â There were boats in the water, birds flying in the sky, and I could see the Ocean touching dry land. That day, Ocean was filled with vivid well saturated dark blue hues & the sun sparkled bright on the water, glinting reflections in millions of places.
We were in Butler Beach, Florida. We, in my family and those about Gainesville referred to that area as Crescent Beach or simply âCrescentâ*****
We were descending down the other side of what felt like a mountain; the scene was slipping away, and even though I stuck my small head up as far as possible to keep my enthralling vantage point, the moment was gone. The incredible deep blue hue that the ocean had that day was amazing, and Iâve only seen the ocean appear that color maybe 2-3 times in my life. Most donât realize that the ocean, just like the sky, looks unique and different every day if you look closely enough and take the time to see the sea.
I took in a deep breath of air through my amazing small nose, and I could taste the salt on my tongue and feel it on the back of my throat. The sights and smells were amazing and thrilling. I did not possess the vocabulary to properly express how I felt at that moment in words, and today I feel the same way. What I had just experienced was amazing, and it imprinted in my mind and my nose forever.
After we crossed the causeway and headed north on A1A, my head was looking to the right 98% of the rest of the ride, craning to get another glimpse of the giant waters called Ocean. Perhaps I gave up the much-sought-after ocular angle for a moment while I refused a cookie or some juice of apples, but it's more likely I waved Imma off as one would shoo off a butler who dared disturb their employer, daring to cause an inconvenient moment.
Anytime I caught a glimpse of the water, I would feel excited while at the same time extraordinarily small and almost overwhelmed in a way. I had never seen anything like it, and I had never felt that way. Yes, Imma would have to wait; I was looking at something that I was quite interested in. Sand dunes of white sand sugary looking sand, sea oats and small wooden fences with thin wire half-buried, dipping up and down in and out of small hills. They looked like miniature fences for small little people, and I didnât understand why they were buried in the sand dunes even after it was explained to me.
I surmised certain things were simply going to have to wait; I knew I wasnât capable of understanding everything all at once, but I did have an idea back then, that I would like to know more about things in general. My parents knew this and became accustomed to fielding my seemingly non-stop barrages of questions regarding any particular subject. They always answered any questions I had and I usually understood their answers.
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âItâs a biggie, itâs a biggie!!â Imma was holding me in her hands, lifting me up far above the waves as they came rolling into us and onto the shore, never stopping. The sun was shining bright, the air was warm but not oppressive. Picture an endless blue sky with white clouds sitting by themselves, together making a beautiful summer day stretching across the horizon. There were people walking up and down the beach, but I wasnât focused on them. She was right, it was a biggie, and it was heading straight for usâfrothing, huge; much bigger than I. If it got me, Iâm sure I would have toppled over backward into the sand and maybe been carried out to sea.
I recall laughing and cackling with delighted excitement. It was spectacular and so bright. I remember things being white as they became overexposed in my eyes. âItâs a biggie, itâs a biggie!â she yelled again. I started laughing again, ready to face the biggie head-on. Every time a wave rolled into the shore, she would lift me up, and we would float over the tops of the waves. They explained to me that the salt water could burn my eyes, but it goes away quickly. I donât recall being concerned about the salt water in my eyes. Every few waves, I would happily cough out some intrusive and challenging seawater, but I didnât care about those thingsâit was worth it. I was focused on the fun I was having. Another wave was coming in, and I squealed with excitement. I loved and trusted my Imma and Abba. I knew she wasnât going to let me go, and she didnât.
After some time, we made our way back across A1A to our campground nestled in the low-lying shady trees. I recall being at the campground, the limestone white sandy paths, and small roads. What Iâve shared is all I can remember of my first beach experience. It was later in life that I became cognizant of other things like being sunburned or having the skin on my inner thighs rubbed raw from too much walking while covered in ocean water and sand.
When we would go to the campground in Crescent Beach, we would take my Abbaâs yellow Chevy truck that had an angle-iron bumper on the back of it. The bumper was 2-3 feet from the rear bed of the truck. When someone rear-ended Abba one morning while dropping my brother off for school, there wasnât a mark on it, but the small car that rear-ended him was totaled. When we went camping, there was a silver metal camper that sat in the back of the truck. We would make that camper our home for a few days, which was always a fun time. It had a small kitchen, toilet, and small windows consisting of horizontal glass that would tilt open if one cranked a small metal lever. The camper always sat in the same spot on the west side of our property, almost to the power lines which ran north to south on the west side.
The area of A1A where the campground used to sit has always held a magical haze to it that I very much wanted to return to. There was something about the way I felt when I was there; I liked it, and I couldnât quite put my finger on it. Maybe it was the smell, or the ocean itself, which Iâve been drawn to ever since seeing it for the first time. Perhaps it was that my Imma and Abba were in a chilled-out vacation mood, which put me in the same mindset. We returned to that campground a number of times, and our trips there blend together in my mind. There is a part of me that feels as though Iâve been to that campground more times than Iâve actually been there. We used to go camping quite often in and around Florida.
I usually felt really happy and good on those vacations, save for the occasional stinging bug bite or scraped knee. The memories in my mind are a happy, comfortable haze of relaxing and playing with my toy cars and trucks around our campsite. I was very much into playing with sticks I found and collecting new ones, always hopeful for a friendly game of âPooh Sticks.â It was a classic game. Imma and I played Pooh Sticks at Devilâs Millhopper Sinkhole State Park near our house. There was a nice Pooh Sticking area where a creek flowed under a bridge. It was quite simple, and I will do my best to explain how it was played. The player throws their stick into the water upstream of a bridge, which needs to extend over flowing water. Itâs worth mentioning the game is versatile; it is possible to play Pooh Sticks using any body of water that flows under something you can stand on. After tossing the Pooh Stick upstream, the player and onlookers watch it as it bobs and floats, hopefully heading under the bridge. The second the Pooh Stick is no longer visible, the player then moves to the other side of the bridge and proceeds to look directly down at the water. Usually, but not every time, the Pooh Stick becomes visible again as it flows under the bridge, back into view. This moment of confirmation is the best part of the game. The player, upon seeing their Pooh Stick again, rejoices, hopping and bobbing up and down with glee. There are smiles and laughter; usually, everyone shows signs of happiness and gratitudeâespecially me. Pooh Sticks was an incredible game, and I felt everyone would feel the same way I did about it. They could play it one time with their son or daughter, Imma or Abba, and they would see. Oh yes, I knew it was very likely one day soon everyone would know how incredible a game of Pooh Sticks can be.
Iâve always wanted to return to those moments at the beach or Devilâs Millhopper playing Pooh Sticks. In high school, I began sneaking over to the beach to go to the campground, walking around, looking at the familiar stout bonsai-looking trees and small limestone paths. Eventually, someone tore, chopped, and burned the campground down, then put in a neighborhood of houses. I was in Crescent Beach for spring break and saw the huge trucks ripping the earth apart, burning the beautiful unique trees where the campground once stood. There is a restaurant on the Inner-coastal that the campground used to connect with through the trails and roads. The name is Saltwater Cowboys, and itâs a staple in that area. They open up all the doors and play live music, which can be heard far across the salt marshes and brackish water it overlooks. Itâs a great place to spend your evening, especially if youâre into having some drinks and country music. Not surprisingly, the name of the road where we used to go camping near Saltwater Cowboys is named âFountain of Youth Blvd.â It wouldnât surprise me if we used to put our camper and tents right beside that very road back in the early to mid-1980s.
Today, if you want to experience something close to what Iâm describing, it is still possible. Not far from our campground to the north is Anastasia State Park which still has camping sites that are very similar to the ones we used to stay at. In fact, we stayed at Anastasia a few times, and I often get the two confused in my mind because they look similar.
***Need good wind down or aburpt ending to the chapter
