My Grandma and Grandpa Marshall visited my Aunt Betty for the first time in the, maybe, later 1960's/early 1970s. I don't really know that part of the story because I've never heard it, but what I do know is that they loved it. They purchased a typical mobile home and made Land O'Lakes their winter home. I fondly remember that black and white mobile home with the little shed in the back, built by my Uncle Dick. The screened-in porch with the AstroTurf. The fake-wood paneling. The smell of moth balls. I miss it.
In order to save on the telephone bill, my Father purchased a tape recorder or someone gave it to us and we taped hour-long conversations that were sent to Florida. In a few weeks, we would get a tape back in the mail. While they got to hear me tell the story about a woman I saw in a movie getting boiled in oil or listening to my Sister play a song on Grandma's electric organ, we heard about Otis and Earlene, Lutz, Padgett Lake, fishing, and someplace called Tarpon Springs and another called Disney World.
Being very young, during the diaper period, I remember only one part of our bus trip to Florida, but nothing else. One of my earliest memories involved a man in a hat and a balloon. The man was the bus driver who gave me a balloon. I have looked at the photos of me wading in the water. Looking at animals in a local zoo. Playing in the sand. My Father liked to talk about how my diaper would come off, so they finally let me run nude through the water. I don't think I could get away with that now... At least not on any beach. I remember very little of that first trip to Florida.
However, what I feel is different.
Florida was the place where Grandma and Grandpa lived. I have deep-rooted feelings, an insatiable yearning, to visit there. A place to go and rekindle the memories. A great destination to visit the Grandparents I barely knew, whose only presence there now is a headstone with their names, birth and death dates. Yes, I knew a lot about them, but never really got to know them. To me, they seem like distant relatives, unlike my Sister who adored them. It's that generational gap.
When they sold their home here in Indiana and moved to Florida permanently, I only saw them once or twice a year after that. I was young, maybe eight. As a family, we would visit them at least once a year. I loved our trips to Florida. From when I was just a toddler, Florida was a far away place. Not like home. They had palm trees, sandy beaches, and salty sea air. Aw, the smell of Florida. Stopping at the welcome center just south of the state line. You would get out of the car and Woof! That Florida Smell. I can't really describe it. I haven't had the opportunity to smell it recently to describe it here.
Some people really hate Florida. Not me. There's nothing more exciting then hearing the waves wash against the sandy beach. My favorite beach was at Fred Howard Park in Tarpon Springs. I never knew who Howard was, but love his park! This oblong patch of island, connected by a concrete causeway, thrusting out to the gulf. As I recall, never go without sandals until you hit the water. The pavement will burn your feet. The sand will burn your feet. The water feels great. Running your toes through the wet sand, feeling the warm gulf waters rush around your ankles as you wade. Watching sand crabs scurry into the little holes. Getting a few burrs on your feet. But you know what... Who cared! It's Fred Howard Park and I loved it.
CSM
In order to save on the telephone bill, my Father purchased a tape recorder or someone gave it to us and we taped hour-long conversations that were sent to Florida. In a few weeks, we would get a tape back in the mail. While they got to hear me tell the story about a woman I saw in a movie getting boiled in oil or listening to my Sister play a song on Grandma's electric organ, we heard about Otis and Earlene, Lutz, Padgett Lake, fishing, and someplace called Tarpon Springs and another called Disney World.
Being very young, during the diaper period, I remember only one part of our bus trip to Florida, but nothing else. One of my earliest memories involved a man in a hat and a balloon. The man was the bus driver who gave me a balloon. I have looked at the photos of me wading in the water. Looking at animals in a local zoo. Playing in the sand. My Father liked to talk about how my diaper would come off, so they finally let me run nude through the water. I don't think I could get away with that now... At least not on any beach. I remember very little of that first trip to Florida.
However, what I feel is different.
Florida was the place where Grandma and Grandpa lived. I have deep-rooted feelings, an insatiable yearning, to visit there. A place to go and rekindle the memories. A great destination to visit the Grandparents I barely knew, whose only presence there now is a headstone with their names, birth and death dates. Yes, I knew a lot about them, but never really got to know them. To me, they seem like distant relatives, unlike my Sister who adored them. It's that generational gap.
When they sold their home here in Indiana and moved to Florida permanently, I only saw them once or twice a year after that. I was young, maybe eight. As a family, we would visit them at least once a year. I loved our trips to Florida. From when I was just a toddler, Florida was a far away place. Not like home. They had palm trees, sandy beaches, and salty sea air. Aw, the smell of Florida. Stopping at the welcome center just south of the state line. You would get out of the car and Woof! That Florida Smell. I can't really describe it. I haven't had the opportunity to smell it recently to describe it here.
Some people really hate Florida. Not me. There's nothing more exciting then hearing the waves wash against the sandy beach. My favorite beach was at Fred Howard Park in Tarpon Springs. I never knew who Howard was, but love his park! This oblong patch of island, connected by a concrete causeway, thrusting out to the gulf. As I recall, never go without sandals until you hit the water. The pavement will burn your feet. The sand will burn your feet. The water feels great. Running your toes through the wet sand, feeling the warm gulf waters rush around your ankles as you wade. Watching sand crabs scurry into the little holes. Getting a few burrs on your feet. But you know what... Who cared! It's Fred Howard Park and I loved it.
CSM
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