Sarasota Jungle Gardens (a real treat)

Haven't been in years, since I don't know when.  My daughter and the youngsters visiting, threw it out as a last minute event.  Well, we all got excited - and, we weren't disappointed.

All the way, from the hand-feeding of the strolling "mingos" - to the ever squawking bird shows - the inviting, towering "jungled" landscape - even down to, the handsome napkin holders placed on every picnic table.

But always, one of my all time big favorites - the ancient stand of native Royals. These majestic palms have been a fixture since the late thirties, before I was born - and today, reaching 60 feet plus.  Beautifully, they stand on their own.

Royal Palms  (Roystonea spp).  Florida Everglades, Cuba.

my wife posted something sweet yesterday - you know how women are

She posted on facebook. And, I don't go there. Sandy, being such a romantic, posted this to friends and family (a lengthy piece, and a little embarrassing).  But, I decided to share her little bit of our history.


SAY CONGRATS! Brad and I got married 35 years ago today! Thirty five years ago, on March 24th, we eloped to the Everglades. We got married in Monroe County, Florida, at Monroe Station. We had seen and taken note of, a huge white marquee in the middle of nowhere, for a old gas station that read, “Swamp Marriages Performed Here.” We saw this on one of our previous trips to the Glades and laughed uproariously. But, . . . too late, we were already snared by the innocuous spell of Fakahatchee Strand and that deep solicitous swamp.
 
We were married with the Lord’s (honest, that is their name) "Sweet William" Lord, seen in far left of photo, was the owner of Monroe Station and Brad’s best man. Susie his wife, was my bride’s maid and our witness. Someone in the restaurant/bar, ran out and made me a beautiful bouquet composed of stray daises and wild flowers, plucked spontaneously from the back yard just for the event. They stuck my bouquet into the cut out circle of a white paper plate. We put a quarter in the jukebox and played, “We Got Married in a Fever.” And so we did, “we got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout....” After the 5 or 10 minute ceremony, we both wept. We were so moved. It didn’t matter that our JP was drunker than a skunk and actually bobbed precariously in front of us like a bobber on the water as he read the “I do’s“ from his musty bible. 

It didn’t matter that Brad had picked up my wedding ring at a pawn shop in Immokelee the previous day for $15. bucks. It sparkled all the same deep into my heart. Earlier on that day we had gone fishing. Brad landed a huge Snook on his fly rod. After pulling it into our canoe, he remarked, “Today’s a good day to get married.” 

We got a room at the Rod and Gun Club in Everglades City and headed for Monroe Station to be wed. Just as we arrived, the sky opened and a veil of soft rain plummeted down all around us. We started to get nervous! The hard rain spooked us like two juvenile snook seeking cover amid the long, swaying turtle grass in the more gentle shallows. Then I remembered It was Good Friday. I said to Brad, of course, it always rains at 3:00 on Good Friday. After we got married, we went back to the Rod and Gun Club. We dined elegantly at a candle lit table, white linens, fine white bone china, gleaming silver, and our own fresh caught snook. In fact there was so much snook (that’s how big it was, honest) that we told the chef to serve it to everybody in the restaurant. All the dinner guests turned, rose and tipped their glasses to us. It still gives me the ‘goose bumps” just recalling that moment. 

Since it was still raining and I was already carrying a sacred passenger - our son to be, Matt McCourtney, Brad told me to stay on the huge veranda and wait. He leapt into the air, landed with a splash and sang at the top of his lungs, (and if you know Brad, this is very uncharacteristic behavior for him) “I’m Singing in the Rain.” As he sang he ran deftly up and down the the steps of the veranda arms open wide and a heart brimming with love. A better Jimmy Stewart? Show ‘em to me! He then tipped his hat (which I am wearing in the photo as my veil, ushered me into his arms and carried me to our little fish cabin on the premises. He ran pell mell and I remembering tumbling to the floor, wet, yet safe within his arms as he kicked open the door.
 
This is a true story. Here we are 35 years later living on Siesta Key, as we always have, with five kids - a ready combo of both step and natural children, seven grand babies, and another on the way. The photo? It too has its own saga. Years later Brad took Wilson and Matt on a fishing trip in the Glades. They canoed and camped out. On the way home, Brad stopped in at the Lord’s. After talking to the bartender and staff, he looked around and there pinned to their wall, along with hundreds of other photos, was this shot. All of you probably know, Brad and Matt and Wilson (our two sons) are professional photographers! Imagine Brad’s amazement upon laying eyes on this photo. We had not even realized at the time that someone in the bar area took a picture of us to commemorate our wedding day. All those years, probably ten or eleven years later, Brad discovered it. Time, he said to himself, to take this baby home. A couple of years later, we received a letter from the Lord’s. In a barely legible scratchy bit of script inked on to a child’s penmanship piece of paper with wide blue lines, they told us that they were selling the old place and were mighty proud to have participated in our swamp wedding!  

one of my best buddies (ever)

The great social photographer - Rebecca Wild Baxter.  She called me the other day, said she was being profiled for a magazine, and that, she wanted me to photograph her for the piece.  What an honor.  One of my best friends ever - my good friend Rebecca.  Today, I just wish we had more time together.

the new Surgery Center at SMH

My wife had a very bad fall while showering this afternoon. Called the EMT's - and soon, she was on her way to Sarasota Memorial Hospital.

If anybody, who has ever had to wait in the ER for an update, radiology, scans etc - you know there's not much to do but, pace and wait.  So, I did what I was born to do - walk around and take pictures.

The new Surgery Center courtyard in the afternoon light.  And thankfully, my 'Donna' Sandra will be OK.

finally saw the caretaker and pulled in

After a life-time of driving by the old Crocker graveyard, 187? - 1901 (for years overgrown and fenced-in near a busy intersection) I found “Whetzel” weed-wacking around the tombstones. At first the old man was a little crotchety, but soon I had him warmed him up with my mention of early pioneer names and my attention to the few remaining, tall long-leaf pines.

Today it is known as St. John’s Chapel Cemetery and, it does have a kinda’ creepy pioneer history. But on this stormy grey day, I was more drawn to the newly built mausoleum. The local Lovingood family goes way back, so I had to ask, “I’ve been lookin’ for a cemetery plot for myself – so, how did this mausoleum come about?”  Whetzel jumped right in, “The family donated $50,000 for the plot - and built that.” A slight pause, then Whetzel, with a slightly lifted eye, “I heard that it cost them $150,000 with all the marble and that.”

Surely out of my price range – and another odd tale to add to this past neglected, nearly abandoned graveyard.  But lately, it’s got a new shine.  And, the grounds are getting that new trim.  Engraved on a large marker standing nearby, “In Memory of Unknown Friends Resting Here.”

people and pets

Ran into this character yesterday in an odd place - the Jaguar dealership's bathroom.  He really didn't want his face shown but, didn't mind me photographing his dog which he named "Smores".  Noticed his notebook - so I took the shot.  I'm sure he thought it was quirky, cute & funny.  I guess you could call it somewhat "funny" - or just odd.

the sound of young voices once again

Dustin & Neve arrived last night and - they were up early this morning, playing and pretending - while I read the morning paper.  I'd missed these voices that we once had at home - that time that once seem to last forever.  But this morning, while thumbing the paper, it became that long-lost forgotten music.  Now it was their time to play.

a short architectural walking tour

Spent the afternoon with Brooklyn-based photographer, Chris Mottalini and Janet Minker, board member of the Sarasota Architectural Foundation.  With about ten interested others, we viewed a select few of Sarasota's School of Architecture's contributions to Sarasota's unique "modern" era.

All very sweet and appreciative, our hosts smilingly shared their thoughts about this historic "modern" and contemporary architecture so important to our area.  But, I'm a people person, so .....


The Umbrella House (Paul Rudolph, 1953).  Nearly thirty feet high of jalousie windows, that I so fondly remember - the same windows used for cross-ventilation in most homes when I was growing up.

Chris Mottalini, photographer (his new book, After You Left, They Took It Apart, 2013) standing  outside the contemporary, Don Chapell House, 2000.

The interior of the Harkavy House (Paul Rudolph, 1957)

Photographer, Chris Mottalini speaking with homeowner Florence Putterman (Carl Abbott House, 1986).

Sarasota High School Addition, under refurbishment (Paul Rudolph, 1960).  A high school that I barely graduated from in 1968.

Baltimore Orioles 15 - Philadelphia Phillies 4

Orioles at bat ....

The young great starter, Miguel 'Angel' Gonzalez throwing in the "bull-pen" - while his good pal, Cuban speaking and designated hitter (Henry) Urrutia, hangs out.  Pitching in the fifth inning, Gonzalez got nailed hard by a line-drive, and sorely limping, left the mound, headed for the "club house".

All the while "Liam", scrambling for foul balls, was looking for just that one autograph.

spring time

Knuckles sunning himself on a fine Spring day.