Auntie and Grandpa Going to Florida – Day 10

JWise Travels

Florida in 2005

Thursday brings new life and new fun. The sun is shining after some lingering clouds gave way during the early morning. Our first stop is to catch a long-distance glimpse of the Space Shuttle Hangar out on Cape Canaveral and the Kennedy Space Center. Nobody other than myself has any real interest in walking around this corner of history and so we continue our drive north.

Merritt Wildlife Refuge in Florida

Merritt National Wildlife Refuge is the next place of interest, so we stop. This is home to a diverse collection of plants, birds, alligators, and insects, populating the many waterways and probably a lot of other stuff we can’t see. Blue herons and egrets are the most abundant birds we readily see. A couple of cormorants sun themselves while other smaller birds flitter by.

Merritt Wildlife Refuge in Florida

Over in the grass, a small alligator, or maybe it’s a big lizard, a very large lizard. The gator is about 4 or 5 feet long and poses while we gawk. This gator will be the only one we see today, which is unfortunate as Auntie was hoping to see a capital specimen.

Merritt Wildlife Refuge in Florida

Crawling along at five mph, we see more birds, admire the thistles, and get lost in the ripples of water scattering sunlight across its surface. The road through the refuge is a short one with just a few interpretive signs along the way.

Merritt Wildlife Refuge in Florida

We passed a manatee viewing area, but from previous experience, I have learned that these sea cows need more heat than the frigid winter waters can deliver. The manatees go inland to find those warmer waters. What we don’t pass is a gas station for replenishing our water supply and Grandpa relieving his own. Time to go find some of the essentials for continued comfortable travels.

Florida in 2005

On the main road again we pass a few boat launch areas and quickly are at the end of this road and joining another where we find a gas station.

Florida in 2005

Leaving the gas station, a guy on a bicycle sits waiting for us to pass. A Vietnam Veteran with strong feelings for Jesus, he is Mr. Tougher T. Woodpeckerlips, T stands for Than. Not being able to pass this sight up, I ask to take a photo, which he obliges.

He asks where we are from; we ask him the same. He offers up some excellent information about the forest here with panthers and other wildlife that can be seen in the wild. Sadly, we are short on time and have to leave, but not before he tells us how he rows, standing up on his 16-foot flat-bottom fishing boat, rides his bike everywhere, and was recently hit by a car from which he is still recovering. It was after the list of battles that he adopted the description of being “tougher than woodpecker lips.”

Boiled Peanuts roadside in Florida in 2005

That’s it, we are as northeast as this trip takes us. I point the car west, and we are now truly on our way home. Luck shines like the sun today. Not far down the road, we spot a man selling boiled peanuts. I have been looking for fresh boiled peanuts for more than a thousand miles now and need to stop.

I wanted the real thing and not some plastic-wrapped, made yesterday, boiled peanuts that are some garden variety, boring kind. I had to have the cooking-on-the-side-of-the-road, out-of-a-pickup-truck-trailer variety. Better yet, they need to be served up by someone out of Dukes of Hazard, and that’s what I got. Cajun-flavored boiled peanuts served up by the bearded old man sitting with his dog on the roadside, waiting for probably anyone but us Yankees.

Florida in 2005

The back roads of Florida and America, in general, are only back roads to us city dwellers. These roads are not freeways; hence, they must be back roads, is what one would say. In reality, though, they are major thoroughfares connecting small towns to larger ones. Even smaller than these are the roads that cross communities, and then you finally reach the real back roads. These back roads are typically dirt, though quite often, you’ll find them paved. However, it can happen that these roads were last paved 50 or more years ago, and much of their edges are crumbling into the dirt.

So, although I call this trip a back road tour of the South, it is much more accurately described as getting as far off the freeway as possible while still maintaining all the creature comforts that support my traveling companions.

We are out far enough, though, that the character of the land comes shining through. On the freeways, much of America looks the same. The trees may be different, the hills might roll higher or lower, and fields of various crops can line the road, but the generic franchised icons of civilization repeat over and over again as though America’s four million miles of roads were one long homogeneous continuity of the same gas stations, fast food restaurants, hotels, and various other services.

Florida in 2005

Out on the back roads you have the chance to randomly stop here or there. You can look at the things that lend character to a place. Check out a dilapidated cabin that might be the fifth one of these you have seen, but each will have an absolute uniqueness to it. Rail bridges, small streams, and driving along tree-lined roads all share a beauty and intimacy out here that it doesn’t matter if you have seen one or a hundred; their shape, color, height, smell, and other characteristics are all different.

It is the back roads where you find great boiled peanuts and rusting relics of an age that has been left behind. Generally, the pace is slower out here, but you still will find the impatient fool on your bumper as you move like a sloth crawling along particularly scenic stretches of road. The longer I am out here, the more enamored I find myself with the characters, landscape, and ruin.

Give me a broken-down hotel sign that hasn’t attracted a patron in decades to a McDonald’s any day of the week. There are still waters reflecting trees, flowers, sky, and grasses. Roadside attractions don’t have to be the world’s largest ball of twine; I find the chipped paint next to a rusting door handle to hold stories of the last occupants, while even a burned roadside tells you of those less careless and appreciative of what the world around them is to those like me.

I drive these American roads in search of our country. I look for markers from our past so I might glimpse our future, which is very much like the cycle of life: a place is born, and it dies, either from neglect, abandonment, or decrepitude. Our natural world and its biotas recede from the weight of man’s heavy hand; my journey into its domain allows me to witness what increasingly feels to be a rare sight.

Through it all, I love our country even more. The more you can appreciate all the elements, from the anthills, moss, broken windows, fences needing mending, lonely farm animals in the rain, to thistles, thorns, bugs, roadkill skunks, early closing hours, toothless merchants, and even a policeman hiding around the corner, the more you arrive at a near-constant state of wonderment.

Georgia State Sign 2005

Florida gives way to Georgia late in the afternoon. Our trek across Georgia will be a short one, with our destination being Alabama. The first town we pass through is Valdosta, as opposed to the three small communities we passed on road number 41. Places with a few homes, a lot of farms, and maybe an equipment shop are hard to call towns; they are more like communities in my eyes.

Roadside in Georgia 2005

Valdosta is one of those small towns you wished someone had told you about earlier in life. It is one of the places you add to your list of returns, such as North Hero, Vermont, Apalachicola, Florida, Monterey, California, Ruidoso, or New Mexico. All too frequently, cities across America have given away any hope for maintaining their historical integrity. The old is bulldozed for the new, and soon, a clone city with Circuit City, Office Max, Red Lobster, Walmart, and Dollar Stores has taken over.

In Valdosta, at least from the view offered to these travelers entering the city from the south, this place packs in the small-town charm. Main Street is vibrant, with as much traffic as there are stores open, and it appears that all the shops have tenants. Awnings hang over sidewalks that have park benches for resting your feet before making your way through this shopping district. The alleys are as clean as the sidewalks; this place couldn’t be more inviting.

We are just passing through. Auntie and Grandpa are sightseeing; I’m scouting a future road trip for Caroline and me. On the way out of town, we pass a Carnegie Library, the first I have consciously seen, although I’m certain I must have passed hundreds over the years. Not much further down the road, and we enter Quitman.

Roadside in Georgia 2005

This is becoming a trend, Georgia is a downright all-around beautiful state with gorgeous cities. Brunswick, in the southeast, was the first city in Georgia that Caroline and I visited a couple of years ago, quickly followed by Savannah, both of which we were enamored with, while today it is Valdosta and Quitman.

Again, Main Street sets the tempo with two-story brick-built structures lining a divided road marking the downtown area. On either end of the main street are the churches; Baptist, Methodist, and Episcopal are the dominant beliefs. Branching off of downtown are southern-style and Victorian-style homes that these small communities have so far been able to maintain.

Well-kept yards, multi-colored azaleas, Spanish-moss-draped trees lining small streets, a gazebo, and a local cemetery give the eyes and senses plenty to take in as you begin to realize you are falling in love and start to wonder how you could move into a town like this?

Roadside in Georgia 2005

Whigham down the road, on the other hand, shows you firsthand how most of these small towns cannot hold on. The shops are closed, boarded up, broken into, falling apart, and falling down. The homes are no longer well kept, and age will take its toll to ensure that without revitalization, the town will someday become but a memory.

Roadside in Georgia 2005

Before crossing into Alabama, we pass through Donalsonville. This town is in the middle of becoming a has-been and reflects what Quitman worked to save. The shops, for the most part, are still open. They are rough around the edges, wear and tear, and the passing of years are hurting the charm they once held. The main road skirts the old town so many a visitor will never see this little corner, further depressing its chances of rediscovering its glory days. Tourism amongst these types of small towns would be a lifesaver, but little to no money exists to help rescue them. So, these towns will gradually disappear, and we all lose a great part of America because of it.

Alabama State Sign 2005

It’s near dark crossing the border, and not a long drive to the hotel. It is apparent that Dothan is a larger city than the three of us had imagined. Caroline helped guide us to our lodging via long-distance help.

PoFolks restaurant in Alabama

Seeing the hotel, I spot a billboard for Pofolk’s, which, while still active here in the south, has disappeared out west. Grandpa and I make the short drive around the corner to sit down for some dinner and pick up Auntie something to go as she stayed in the room.

Auntie and Grandpa Going to Florida – Day 9

JWise Travels

Florida coast in 2005

Wednesday turns out to be a rather dull day. We started on a good footing with breakfast with the Densfords. By the time we dropped them off back home, it was raining. From here, we began our push more or less back to Phoenix. On the 70 East, it rains, it rains in Arcadia, and it’s raining in Okeechobee. Rain comes down at Fort Pierce on the Atlantic Ocean. Going north in the rain, it continues to rain. When we arrive at the hotel, it’s raining. Delivering dinner to Auntie and Grandpa, it was raining. What a wet, dull day.

Florida coast in 2005

To be clear about the quality of this dullness, I blame it on the low, heavy gray skies pouring rain down upon us. The rain had the effect of moving our moods in the wrong direction, but maybe it was also the fact that all of the important stuff is now done. The environment itself added to my own negativity as I was looking at the horrific urban sprawl of McMansions taking over forest land being turned into pseudo farmland for the sake of people’s egos to have it all. The Tampa/St. Petersburg / Bradenton / Sarasota Megalopolis is growing into the ‘boring’ flat nothingness lands that exist between the other cities and this corner of Florida.

Eleanor Burke in Florida

Passing through Arcadia, a note was made to revisit this small town; it is still authentically small and not modernized by branded commercialism. As for the eastern seaboard here on the Atlantic, what a waste of time this coast is. Everything is privately owned; thanks to California for showing us how the coast should be available to all. Million-dollar luxury beachfront hurricane targets and view obstructions line up like row housing in any urban setting from a big city across America.

Herbert Kurchoff in Florida

There is no ocean to see, no beach to walk, only private signs warning you to keep out. Mile after mile of inhospitable homes acts as a private gate to bar Joe Citizen from the Atlantic Ocean. So, if you are one of the ten million Americans who belong to the club of isolation, then you will probably enjoy your stay here in Snoberita-Ville.

John Wise in Florida

As for our tour of Cape Canaveral that was to take place in the afternoon, the rain slowed us down so much that we were quite late. Even so, with so much rain, I didn’t feel we would get our money’s worth scooting between facilities while Auntie and Grandpa got colder and wetter.

Florida rain

So you see, if it hadn’t been raining cats and dogs and city planners hadn’t allowed the building of forest-destroying super homes with impenetrable iron walls blocking the view of the entire ocean, then things might have been hunky-dory and I wouldn’t have had a dull day.

Sonny's Real Pit BBQ somewhere in Florida

Comfort food to the rescue, as there’s nothing like eating BBQ to soothe the soul. Tomorrow will surely be better.

Auntie and Grandpa Going to Florida – Day 8

JWise Travels

Herbert Kurchoff with Eleanor Burke and the Densford's in Florida

Thunder wakes me before dawn. I roll over and go back to sleep, only to wake on my own minutes before the alarm was supposed to rouse me. Our breakfast will be at IHOP followed by getting onto the next of the three main reasons for this trip. First was seeing Jessica, the second was Grandpa going to Camp Shelby, and now the third visiting the Densfords.

At breakfast, Auntie reminisces about this neighborhood she knows so well. We had no problem finding our way; we even traced the roads Auntie would take when riding her bicycle from her villa to the Days Inn, which used to have a different restaurant than the IHOP we’re at now. Before arriving for breakfast, we stopped at her old place so I could see the house of which I received many photos, along with Auntie and her husband, Ken Burke, while I lived in Germany for ten years.

Auntie tells me the story of how she ultimately came to reside in Florida and the Bradenton area, in particular, following her retirement. She had gone to visit Lillydale, New York, with a friend one day, and one of the psychics asked if she would like a reading. For $10, Auntie agreed to have her fortune read and sat down.

The psychic told her she had to go to the St. Petersburg, Florida, area and that she saw the letter K as having significance, along with something about chicken. Without a lot going on, Auntie called on Grandpa’s wife, my grandmother Hazel, to help her drive down to Florida. On arrival, Auntie picked up a paper and found a real estate listing of a villa she would soon be buying.

Fast forward to a dinner engagement with friends that began with a lady embracing one of the guests named Ken with the exclamation, “K, we have missed you so.” Auntie had just learned Ken’s nickname. After dating for a while, Auntie found that Ken’s favorite food was chicken. So all the pieces the psychic had told Auntie about had come together, and she was astounded to this day that this lady in Lily Dale so accurately had foretold my aunt’s future. What the psychic hadn’t shared with Auntie was that Ken would ultimately be my great-aunt’s first husband: she married him at the age of 69.

Breakfast done we head to our destination, the Densford residence. Grandpa knocks on the door, and after a couple of minutes, a frail, wispy lady answers the door: it is Virginia, and right behind her is her sister Marion. Stepping into the living room, Auntie grabbed both women and hugged them with tears in her eyes; she choked me up, and this wouldn’t be the only time this day she would do that.

It has been three years since last these old ladies had seen each other. For many years they had been neighbors here in Bradenton, but also back in Angola, New York. They have been lifelong friends and today is one more precious moment to revisit one another. Marion is the younger sister of Virginia, who recently celebrated her 90 birthday. I have been told that I met Marion many a time but the memory of a 4-year-old is not so robust, nor is the memory of the 41-year-old writing this.

Auntie’s hearing is normally bad, really bad. Listening to Marion and Virginia, it seems her hearing is as acute as it has ever been. They swap stories fast, catch up on who’s sick and passed away, coming alive in a way I had never witnessed before. Running through events, Auntie was actually riled up about the treatment Martha Stewart received, and she demanded with vocal authority that if her health and legs were not in such poor shape she and the girls would go out to women’s groups across America and demand equal treatment of Ken Lay of Enron and Bernie Ebbers of Worldcom.

Florida coast in 2005

I am asked to recount our trip across the country so far and tell of driving out of Arizona, New Mexico, and into the Pecos Hills of Texas. I talked of the Bayou Coast of southern Louisiana, our detour to Camp Shelby, and our arrival in Pensacola to visit Jessica.

I also have a rather funny anecdote to share with them about passing wind. I do so with Auntie’s permission. Traveling near Biloxi, we stopped for catfish a few nights before. Typically, the noise in busy restaurants bothers Auntie due to her hearing aids picking up too many sounds. As we leave the restaurant, Auntie tugs at my arm to tell me, “I am so happy this restaurant was so loud tonight; I passed gas the entire meal.” Oh God, Auntie, too much info. I told her I’ll be calling her Farts Burke for the remainder of our trip.

Auntie gets a side cramp laughing at this today; she had forgotten about this episode and was tickled to hear it retold. If nothing else can be said as far as body functions go, old people have no shame left.

Ninety minutes after arriving I ask everyone to step outside as the gray clouds have given way to blue skies. Sitting in the front yard, I snap a photo that I would swear Auntie’s smile erased years of aging from her face.

Florida coast in 2005

Before walking back inside, we knocked on the door of a neighbor whom Auntie had known while she lived around the corner in the same development. Bill, a now slight man, answers the door. Auntie and Bill exchange greetings, determine who has died, and Bill begins to tell Auntie about his cancer. He begins with that his testicles and prostate have been removed, which has him having to urinate all the time now.

Not just that, but when he has to go, it is right now. He said he almost lives next to the toilet now, sleeps with a bedpan, but still manages to wake at 3:00 a.m. all wet. If he goes to the bank he has to put on a catheter and wear a bag so he doesn’t wet his pants in line. This is told straight-faced and deadpan, as I said above.

Back inside, I ask to be forgiven as I would like to excuse myself and use the turning of the weather to make my way towards the beach to see if I can snap a few pix before the clouds move back in. With a promise to return in an hour, they encouraged me to take my time. I do.

Florida coast in 2005

Driving away, I was considering returning right away instead of fighting traffic on a road under construction, which is the road I need to take to the beach. Plus, clouds are to the south, to the north, and behind me in the east. I am struck with the fact that this is my first time alone outside of sleeping, so I turn on the music and turn it up. Now motivated, I take the chance that I can get to the coast for a photo of the Gulf of Mexico with some blue sky. It is not long before I am on the bridge, crossing over to Anna Maria Key.

The sea is green; the blue sky opens as clouds dissipate. The sun sparkles in the crashing surf, and couples walk along the water’s edge barefoot, enjoying the absence of the forecasted rain and winds.

Florida coast in 2005

Measuring the beauty quotient multiplied by the weather potential divided by the relaxation-driven retirement population in addition to the throngs who descend on the area for spring training, this place has the potential to be overrun. It isn’t, though; it is pleasant, with relatively light traffic and easy parking right next to the beach. Anyone who’s been to Maine or the coast of Belgium in summer can tell horror stories about traffic snarls and overcrowding.

From one beach access point to the next, I have to stop at nearly everyone for another photo so Caroline can see this place and demand that I bring her here. Gulf Drive is the two-lane road taking me to the northern end of this small island. On that end is a small park with a fantastic view.

Florida coast in 2005

A little boy is throwing bread or chips to the birds who are lining up for the treats. His equally little sister is laughing and yelling while chasing the birds, who are startled and take flight only to hover just out of her reach until they sense a moment of quiet. They quickly land to finish picking up the meal strewn over the white sand.

Florida coast in 2005

Pelicans fly by, shorebirds walk along, while others fly directly at me. On a nearby pier, fishermen can be seen casting a line into the clear green water. In the grasses, wildflowers are blooming bright yellow. It is no wonder this part of Florida has become a draw for retirees.

Florida coast in 2005

Having my fill of picture taking and being aware that Grandpa will need more meds and maybe some lunch or early dinner, it is time to return to the villas. The four of them were just talking away, and for a short time, I re-entered the conversation. I asked if anyone was hungry, and Grandpa said, “We just ate,” well, Grandpa, that was about 7 hours ago. Marion declines, but Virginia says yes, which changes Marion’s mind. Auntie is hungry, as am I.

Bob Evans restaurant was the choice for the group. Grandpa finds out that he is hungry and has a meal with the rest of us. A nearby table starts a conversation with me, asking what I’m doing with the old people. Is this really such an uncommon sight? This isn’t the first time this has happened; it happened in Van Horn, Texas, Lafayette, Louisiana, and Apalachicola, Florida. I explain that I have brought my great-aunt and grandfather out for a cross-country road trip, and they are so impressed that I am nearly embarrassed.

Some have told me that this is one of the most important things I will do in my lifetime. Others have said that I am the greatest nephew/grandson for making such a wonderful gesture. A lady from Illinois told me that I was acting in such an honorable manner that I should be proud of. At tonight’s table, the couple at the other table went on about how nice this was and how they wished other young people would take an interest in their elderly relatives’ happiness.

At the end of our meal, another couple who had been sitting in earshot of the earlier conversation stopped at our table as they were leaving and congratulated me for taking the time to spend a vacation with such wonderful people and hoped others could be so inspired. Almost awkwardly, I start feeling like the celebrated example of a legend who, at the tender age of 41, sacrifices his selfish interests for the enjoyment of his elderly family to take them across the country through hardship and poor weather just to see their family more than two thousand miles away.

In reality, they help me afford the luxury of taking yet more photos of our stunning countryside, and we are traveling fairly comfortably in our minivan to the Days Inns, Best Westerns, and a few random lodgings at the in-between locations.

After dinner, I deliver the Densfords back home. We agree to meet at 8:30 for breakfast and I take Grandpa and Auntie back to our hotel. I head out again, this time going north and then west, trying to capture a nice sunset photo.

I see many nice shots of the setting sun but no opportunity to pull over and frame it. Behind trees, homes, and businesses, I try to grab a spot but the sun is falling out of the sky like the proverbial lead balloon. I manage a couple of snaps, but nothing that comes close to capturing what I had been seeing moments earlier.

Auntie and Grandpa Going to Florida – Day 7

JWise Travels

Florida coast in 2005

Outside my window this Monday morning, the sky is glowing orange. Across the street, the Gulf of Mexico lies in near-silence as it gently laps at the shore. To the west, clouds are building into thunderheads for storms expected along the panhandle of Florida later today. Another hotel breakfast, and we are again on the road.

Florida coast in 2005

On this return drive through Apalachicola, I took a moment to check out a small corner of the historic district and then stopped along a bayside park where Caroline and I had stopped with my mother-in-law a couple of years earlier. This small town of Apalachicola is one of my favorites in all of Florida. The town has not been commercially invaded yet; no massive new homes and no high-rise condos have crept in. The original charm of its perfect setting is alive and well-maintained.

Florida coast in 2005

Making quick time across the southern states was ok but here on these white sand beaches and their clear waters, I want to linger. Thoughts bombard me to take off my shoes and walk barefoot in the sand. I want to kick at the water and drag my toes through the surf before taking a couple of hours to thoroughly inspect all the shells for the best specimens.

Shells on a Florida beach in 2005

Our mission after visiting Jessica was to get to Bradenton, Florida, in order for Grandpa and Auntie to visit some friends. Along the way, we have taken brief moments to see the sights not seen before by these two in all their years of living right here in America. They, too, like so many others, have never bothered to get off the main road.

Florida coast in 2005

At times, Grandpa has trouble seeing the road for what it is and is trying to act as the driver from his passenger seat. Auntie, on the other hand, is traveling like a pro with maps in her lap, following the road by staying up with the instructions of my meticulous itinerary. She looks for flowers, plants, birds, and more of the boiled peanuts I so desperately desire.

Morning here on the coast is a lesson in tranquility. Approaching spring, the trees are fresh with new growth that is especially vibrant in the coastal sunshine.

Florida coast in 2005

I could drive this road for a thousand years. Make a million stops to inspect anything and everything that comes into view. From the white concrete of this bridge to the dew on leaves, hugging white sands and listening to the light wind rustle the grasses on the soft dunes next to the shore. All of these are moments that should be ingrained into the etchings of my memory, never to be forgotten.

Florida coast in 2005

The day rolls along, getting better by the mile. It is a perfect 74 degrees with deep blue skies dotted with the occasional white fluffy cloud. We fall behind with my constant stops for photos; I want it all for memories, for sharing with family, for savoring on a day when I may no longer be able to come and go as easily as I do now.

Florida coast in 2005

Thickets line the road. Blackwaters reflect grayish trees growing out of their darkness. Cypress sends up roots like buds emerging to flower, and birds sing. I am mesmerized by all of this and saddened, too, knowing that many a traveler can never see this profound beauty laid out before them. It is free for the taking, but others’ cynicism can create barriers that act as blinders where they follow the broken yellow stripe in the center of the road to the next stop.

Church on Florida roadside in 2005

Every so often, a town emerges between woodlands. At times, the place is not much more than a gas station or two at an intersection with a few homes visible from the road. Other times, only some remains are off hiding and nearly gone, falling into decay behind the trees. The community church is not much more than a hulking shell with a pew or two left and a broken piano in the corner.

Where boiled peanuts had once been enjoyed along a busy road, the new highway built miles away diverted people away from these places. Without the traffic, they die a slow death, and consequently, everything fades away. The joy of serendipitous finds or stopping for Sunday services and catching the choir was a uniquely different time than the homogenized pop culture we are cultivating today.

Florida coast in 2005

Not all is lost yet. There is still the adventurous traveler who takes these roads and the hold-out residents who don’t want to be absorbed into a vanilla world of look-and-act-alike banalities. The rural fish stand, a taxidermist, and a small bar and grill can cling to life with just a trickle of traffic. Florida may have huge insects, high humidity, hurricanes, road kill stew myths, NASCAR, mullets, snowbirds, and the weirdest news this side of Germany but I have yet to meet an unfriendly person here.

Deserted church in Florida

Toll roads await us. Here a toll, there a toll, everywhere a toll-toll, the collector takes another dollar and another. The sun peeks through from behind dark clouds that come and go while we fight to make our way through heavy traffic, passing through Tampa to St. Petersburg on our way to Bradenton.

Florida coast in 2005

Checked into another motel, we ventured back out for dinner and some supplies. Auntie has been feeling a little “stopped up” and I am introduced to a new type of embarrassment I never could have imagined. I find us a drugstore and start the hunt discreetly. Overhead, I find the description of the product line I seek, Laxatives. OK, where are they? Bingo found the first item, suppositories, not just any old ones but Fleet Suppositories.

The next item isn’t readily visible but ultimately was found with some help. I had to ask where the hot water bottles were. If you wonder what was so embarrassing about things so far, well, it wasn’t anything yet. That happened as I approached the counter, and my tools for unplugging were being rung up.

The young woman at the counter is a gothic tattooed and pierced ‘grrrl.’ As I approach, I’m compelled to blurt out, “You know, I thought it was embarrassing to have to go to a drug store and buy condoms when I was 20 years old. I thought that would be the worst transaction I would ever have to make, but today, I have found a new low. You probably wouldn’t really believe me that these suppositories and enema bag are for my great aunt out in the car would you?”

Florida coast in 2005

Back at the car, Auntie is happier than a clam. Her long bout with constipation is about to come to an end this evening. This dialogue about function, bowel, and urinary issues is a common one at any given hour. I have driven three thousand miles and heard, talked about, asked, inquired, and helped get to and will soon be dreaming of bathrooms and the problems old age brings regarding elimination.

Our weather is supposed to take a turn for the worse in the coming days, according to tonight’s forecast. Thunderstorms and tornado warnings north of us loom large, but maybe, like other TV weather forecasts, this one will be as wrong as the others. I wish for continued clear skies and that everything comes out ok for Auntie as I go to sleep at nearly 1:00 a.m. after another great day.

Auntie and Grandpa Going to Florida – Day 6

JWise Travels

Herbert Kurchoff, Jessica Wise, and Eleanor Burke at the Pensacola Naval Air-station in Florida

Sunday, though it could be any day, as the road trip has made hay of the necessity of knowing which day of the week it is. Up early to meet Jessica for breakfast in the galley – Navy speak for the mess hall – but upon arrival, we learn that no civilians are allowed, so we are turned away. This means that misinformation was given to us yesterday regarding eating dinner here. Hah, this is from the group responsible for information dominance.

Somewhere near Pensacola, Florida

The last reference is about Jessica’s job in the Navy, where she is being trained in data interpretation. Jessica did her basic training in Chicago, Illinois, and is quickly approaching the end of her first year of a four-year commitment. Here at Corry Station near Pensacola, Florida, she is in her next phase of training. Today, we had the chance to see Jess in her dress uniform; she donned it, especially for Auntie and Grandpa. She is too tired to change into her civilian clothes after hanging out until four in the morning, so we leave the base to get some breakfast.

Herbert Kurchoff at Naval Air Museum in Florida

Without a lot of dining options, we resign ourselves to the only choice in town, Waffle House. Afterward, Pensacola Naval Air Station and the National Museum of Naval Aviation await our visit. The air station couldn’t be better kempt; like any military installation I have ever visited, it is immaculate. With this station here on the Florida coast and its own wide stretch of white sandy beaches, this looks like an ideal assignment for any sailor. Getting on the installation was easy enough; Jessica simply waved her badge; for anyone else, you will only need proof of insurance, vehicle registration, and identification for everyone in the car.

The Museum opened at 9:00 a.m., and we were nearly the first visitors there. Auntie opted for the guided tour, so we got her a wheelchair. She and Jessica headed off on their own while Grandpa and I meandered amongst the more than 100 aircraft on display in this large facility. Our first stop is at a Blue Angels jet and I goad Grandpa into crawling up the ladder and shimmying into the pilot’s seat. Grandpa sends me a wave from the cockpit; I snap it and nearly need a can opener to pry him back out of the cramped quarters.

Herbert Kurchoff at Naval Air Museum in Florida

I asked a staff member if a P-38 might be found here, and while the Navy never used the P-38, the Museum does have one on display anyway. This plane is important to Grandpa as it is the one he was helping build while working for Curtis Aircraft in Buffalo, New York, before the war.

Occasionally, I see Jessica pushing Auntie between aircraft as they take their own path through the museum. After the P-38, we look at amphibious aircraft, a bi-plane, various old and modern fighters, helicopters, fighters brought back from watery graves, some old rare examples from an early flight, along with a good amount of photos that show the times when some of the craft were in service.

After an hour and a half and Grandpa tiring, we leave the museum.

Eleanor Burke on the U.S.S. Alabama Battleship in Alabama

It is a 50-mile drive northwest to the outskirts of Mobile, Alabama, where we head to walk the decks of the World War II-era battleship U.S.S. Alabama. Auntie has never been on a battleship. She had enquired in her more youthful days about the possibility of finding employment doing something on a large seacraft but came up empty-handed. So today, at 93 years old, Auntie has her first opportunity to spend time on a battleship.

Being a great sport, Auntie poses with the big guns on the front of the ship as we are both amazed at the size and weight of everything around us. We read the plaques along the way, and we both wonder out loud what it must have been like out on war-torn waters with guns blazing and aircraft attacking.

Jessica Wise and Herbert Kurchoff at U.S.S. Alabama Battleship in Alabama

Jessica and Grandpa wander off to inspect the decks below and the tower above. An hour passes here at the memorial park before we start on our way back to the car. Grandpa was supposed to take a look at a submarine on display here, but after walking the ship and the air museum, he decided he’d had enough walking and let Jessica go on her own.

Sunset on the Florida coast

By the time we get back to Pensacola, it is already time to drop off Jessica so we can resume our trek southeast. Goodbye is too quick. I gave her some words of encouragement and told her to be determined to maintain pride in herself, her family, and her family name by remaining upstanding and doing the right thing no matter the difficulty. I hug her, telling her how great the short amount of time I have had with her, but regrettably, I forget to tell my daughter how much I love her.

Although I hope she knows just how much I love her as I am here with family just to say hello and spend time with her, I still feel that I lost an opportunity to tell her in person. So, I am taking the time here to let my daughter, Jessica Nicole Wise, know that her father loves her and is happy to see her making the best out of what she has undertaken. Good luck, Jess!

It is later than we planned for in leaving Pensacola, so the drive to Apalachicola is expedient and without fanfare. Maybe two stops for a photo, a bathroom stop or two, a quick snack at McDonald’s, and it’s drive, drive, drive.

Outside of Port St. Joe, we move into Eastern Standard Time, arriving at our Best Western Hotel in Apalachicola near 8:30 p.m. Another unloading of the car, situating the folks in their room, and then running over to my room to do the same. Dinner tonight is fast food from Burger King – our junk food day. The King is the only place opened this late, Apalachicola is a small town.

Auntie and Grandpa Going to Florida – Day 5

JWise Travels

Herbert Kurchoff, Jessica Wise, and Eleanor Burke at Waffle House in Pensacola, Florida

It is Saturday in Pensacola, Florida, and we decide to sleep in. This worked out for Jessica, too, as she was on call until 6:00 a.m. Arriving in the evening, we weren’t able to see the damage lingering here until we were on our drive to pick up my daughter at Corry Station, where she is taking her Naval training for the job she will be performing while enlisted with the United States Navy.

Her facility is, like all other military installations, immaculate. I have often wished that cities would organize themselves as well as these posts and keep the landscape clean and in order. We get a brief tour of the grounds and are just as quickly on our way to get some breakfast.

Being here in the south Waffle House seemed like the obvious choice. Even finding an open restaurant is a challenge in Pensacola post-Hurricane Ivan, but Waffle House turns out to be a great choice. Auntie loves grits, Grandpa didn’t much like the waffle, Jessica had a wrap, and I had a waffle, hash browns, and sausage.

Alabama Coast in 2005

Stomachs full and without much of a plan we drive west along the coast. Mile after mile of devastation is all we see. We are all caught off guard as none of us thought the damage was so great or that it was lingering so long after Ivan hit the U.S. back in September. From Pensacola to Fort Pickens in Alabama, we drive through a ghost town.

A few people have come out for the beach; mostly, they are fishing. Some sit on porches in buildings that are largely vacant. The majority of people in the area are construction workers. Everything is damaged.

Beachfront homes lean on their stilts. Foundations of million-dollar homes have buckled, and their raised floors have fallen away, draining their contents and leaving empty shells. Some homes have lost walls, while others had their roofs torn off. In one home, we see through a hole in the wall a dresser with most drawers missing; the closet still has shoes in it. The couch is growing mold, as are the walls. A blade from a ceiling fan is missing, and an old purse, notebook, half-burned candle, and a still-standing open bottle of wine sit on the floor surrounded by sand.

Jessica Wise and John Wise on the Alabama Coast in 2005

High-rise condo owners weren’t spared either; it appears that most if not all, are closed. Facades are torn off; entire corners are gone. Cranes dot the landscape as things are being rebuilt. Resorts and luxury beachfront hotels are all closed. Debris lines the streets and parking lots. Plants, trees, and tennis courts look as though they were abandoned years ago.

Alabama Coast in 2005

The day is gloriously blue-skied, and the weather is perfect. The beaches are crystalline white, with the Gulf waters gently rolling in. A few feet away, a dishwasher sits in the sand, ripped from the home it once belonged to. Across the street, a couch is upended, sitting with other household things scattered willy-nilly.

Alabama Coast in 2005

Bizarrely, a built-in swimming pool floated away from its home and was redeposited where the driveway used to be. Some places have already been pulled out with no further sign of its existence besides some pilings, while others look like they may be salvageable.

Alabama Coast in 2005

Instead of chatting about military life the four of us can’t help but stand in awe at the power of the storm and shock at the tragedy of how life and property were cast aside by the heavy hand of nature.

As far west as we can travel on the 182, the picture is much the same. Time to head a bit north over to Fort Morgan, where we’ll catch a ferry to Dauphin Island. Almost immediately, a sign brings our attention to the fact that the ferry is not open but will reopen soon, another victim of the hurricane.

Although much havoc has been wrought upon these communities, there is still much beauty to be found here. Everything is recovering. The beaches are so very pristine. The forest continues on. Birds still sing, and here and there are the intrepid tourists riding bikes, walking, and playing golf.

Fort Pickens in Alabama

At Fort Morgan, we pay a small fee to view this historic site. The large fortified structure came through the storm without a scratch. The massive walls stood much the same way they have for the past 150 years. What is broken and looking beyond repair is the dock where the ferry to Dauphin Island once stood. Crumpled, folded, battered, this dock we drove off with my mother-in-law just a year and a half ago is in dire need of some tender loving care.

Fort Pickens in Alabama

Sadly, Alabama is in dire need of some cold, hard cash. Fort Morgan is run now by a skeleton crew due to budget cuts. I just want to scream at President Bush: yeah, go ahead and give more tax breaks to the rich and just have the states shut down our state historic sites and close the state parks too to finance changes in Medicare, whose costs will have to be absorbed by the states. Send troops into Iran with bags of cash so we leave our roads potholed. Don’t develop alternative energy; we can export suitcases of cash to the Middle East for oil and move to close down or limit access to our national parks. No child left behind means no cash for forests; log them out of here.

Sorry, but you can’t drive across this country seeing the decay, and ignore it. Of course, you can sit at home in a city that’s doing well and not have a clue any of this is happening, but I’m out here seeing it, hearing about it, and not being able to do a thing about it. America the Beautiful is going to need a Band-Aid.

Herbert Kurchoff, Jessica Wise, Eleanor Burke, and John Wise at Fort Pickens in Alabama

Fort Morgan, though, is still here, and we don’t have a lot of time to visit it. The grounds are beautiful; the bunkers are mossy and wet, with stalactites forming from the minerals oozing through the old brick structures. Displays within the fort walls are well presented, but I wish the glass was cleaned a little more frequently. Old cannons dot the grounds, and darkened passages lend a mystery to the history this fort exemplifies.

A small museum helps tell the story of the coming and goings of this facility that had originally been built to protect Mobile Bay. Do your research before arriving, as the gift store is being starved out of existence due to those budget cuts.

Auntie and Jessica had a great time walking and talking here today. Later, Jessica told me of her respect for Auntie’s enthusiasm and genuine excitement at being at this historic site.

Grandpa had originally been a little reluctant to join us in the fort but ultimately joined the party. Due to the blood thinners he takes, Grandpa is most of the time quite cold; here on the open coast with a good wind, it was a bit chilly, but he overcame that to catch a glimpse of things and visit the museum with us.

I know Jessica appreciates getting to know these two a little better during the past year and a half. Often, she blurts out how funny or cute these two are, how sweet Auntie is, and how Grandpa says some surprising and laughable lines that seemingly come out of nowhere.

Florida Coast at Sunset near Pensacola

It would be nice if Jessica could join us for the next week, but the Navy has plans for her, and what the government wants, the government gets. Even these few short hours spent here she has been able to accumulate memories that will surely leave a positive impact on her and her future.

At 4:30, we are driving east and decided we should try to make the galley before closing time. Jessica calls a buddy and finds that the closing time is 5:30; it’ll be close but we try.

Not a chance; it is 5:27 as we enter Pensacola. Before going on a wild goose chase, we call information to find a Po-Folks, but while on the phone we pull into Barnhill’s. Wow, we were lucky. This is a buffet-style restaurant serving up southern cooking.

The menu includes fried shrimp, catfish, pulled pork, fried chicken, ribs, greens, yams, rutabagas, cabbage, green beans, and at least 25 other dishes. For dessert, we can choose from peach, berry, or apple cobbler, bread pudding, banana pudding with Nilla wafers, and another half dozen items. I am so happy this place doesn’t franchise and open in the southwest; I would weigh 400 pounds before Christmas.

With dinner finished, we went to the hotel and set up Grandpa and Auntie in their room. Jessica comes to my room to read the story of the road trip so far. With tears in her eyes, she smudges her mascara into a fright mask. Next, she views the photos we’ve taken after leaving Arizona and driving through New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Florida, and Alabama.

Just as we finish, a humongous man-eating Florida-style cockroach crawls across the wall. I open the door while Jessica, with Samurai-like moves, lunges at the roach and gently but firmly siphons the hand-sized mutating insect from its clutch on the wall and hurls it outside. Hey, Go Navy! That’s some training. I am impressed with the skill and dexterity that have developed in my offspring.

A friend drops by the hotel to pick up Jessica, saving me the drive back to the base and allowing me to sit down to relate another day on the road with family.