Sounds and Sights of Southwest Florida

Osprey with lunch

It’s beautiful this Tuesday in Southwest Florida. Some might complain that it’s cloudy rather than sunny, but I’m not one of those people. Instead, I am grateful to be enjoying the call of an osprey from its nest atop a palm tree in my sister’s front yard. I can hear, too, the sound of the little fountain in her pool on the lanai, the occasional rattle of palm fronds in the breeze.

Somewhere north of here friends and family are living with one of those unusual snow and ice storms that come farther south than Nature intended. For Southerners, it’s more fun than not, an opportunity to watch the snow fall, or maybe find something on which to slide down a hill. For those less excited by these conditions, it’s a challenge to clear sidewalks and driveways, find one’s way to work, if necessary, knowing that most of us born in the South don’t drive well in snow and no one really drives well on ice.

But I’m not there today. Instead, I’m basking in 70+ degree temperatures on a little island off the Gulf Coast of Florida. Ft. Myers Beach is a haven for those who choose to escape from winter, whether in Ohio or Hamburg or Middlesex. As we take our morning walks, we say our “mornin” greetings, usually reciprocated with a crisp “morning,” the “g” intact, as pronounced by those raised in the Northern U.S. or Canada. Then there are the distinctly accented responses, those that clearly reflect a homeland across the ocean. This is a popular destination for Brits and Germans.

We take long walks before breakfast, taking pleasure in the soft sea air. This morning there was thick fog across the landscape, limiting visibility beyond a couple of hundred yards. That was tolerable because within our view were so many sights to enjoy.

People-watching is a constant delight here. Those who live here year-round bundle up when the temperature drops below 60 degrees while the visitors are wearing bikinis. Fashion tragedies occur minute-to-minute as every imaginable combination of tank tops, flip-flops, sequins and orthopedic shoes appear. Then there are the midriff-barers who should be arrested for crimes against nature. It’s truly amazing how we human beings choose to attire ourselves.

There was a flock of ibises using their long curved beaks to explore a neighbor’s yard. They were snapping up something that must have been tasty because they weren’t the least bit distracted by our passing close by along the street.

There were all sorts of trees and shrubs we don’t see in North Carolina, some blooming gloriously with huge red or peach-colored flowers. We who are not accustomed to palm trees marvel at the many different varieties of palms, both trees and shrubs.

Then there are the homes themselves. This is an area of canals, so most homes have boats behind them, many with pools covered with the huge “cages” or screens to keep out the summertime bug population. The houses come in a variety of colors with many approaches to the “Florida” look.

There are mailboxes made to look like manatees or dolphins. There are mailbox posts that look like the pilings that hold up docks. There are houses decorated with birds or seahorses or suns.

There are tile roofs and lawns of rocks interspersed with grass lawns that are perfectly manicured. There’s the house down the block that has been abandoned for a couple of years, sitting derelict among well-tended homes, its curtains hanging forlornly, eaves sagging, landscaping unkempt.

And everywhere, all around us and usually in eyesight, there is the water. The water in the bay is an aquamarine color that shimmers under the sun. The ocean water is a darker blue until it reaches the shallows along the gleaming white beaches where it becomes a pale blue-green. Sometimes the canals and creeks and sloughs have water in them that is so dark it appears almost black because you can see through it to the black earth beneath.

This, then, is a visual smorgasbord of land and sea, people and places. As my friend Anne says, it’s a place meant for “nothing to do and all day to do it.” Even as we explore and discover the natural and man-made beauties, we do it on Florida time—no hustle, no bustle, just living life as we come to it.

All photos by Mike Lumpkin