The Cycle of Sunshine

It was roughly 10 years ago, near Christmas, when I braved a snowy Boston train ride to the airport. I was on my way to southwest Florida, supposedly stopping in Atlanta on the way. When I arrived I saw that Hotlanta was covered in shitty weather...so I figured I'd talk to a desk agent to see if I needed to be on a later flight, or something. (Remember, this is in the innocent flying days) This man looked at me bewildered and said "why don't you take the non-stop flight?" Next thing I new I was at my destination earlier than thought. While I could have been stuck in line at some belly-busting airport "cafe," instead I sat in a hot tub, viewing the sun setting into the Gulf of Mexico. I was happy at my good fortune, but what I didn't know was that it set into motion a streak lasting nearly two years of luck on my side.

This deus ex machina within my life came to mind as I returned to that very spot of land. It was a decade later. Now, I could look back at that turning point with perspective. At the time, there was much unsettled about my life. I knew that I'd be in LA soon, hustling. Now, of course, I'm...ugh. Not exactly the same but...yeah. Well, look at the peaks and valleys of things. Perhaps as beautiful as this area is, I need to further break away. Find me somewhere off the path...hell, can we find somewhere that has no path?

Yes, you can, if you're willing to look. The Everglades, and the few routes that travel these parts, are a unique mass. At first sight, it appears to be a boring horizon. Perhaps more pleasing than the patterned cornfields of the midwest, but similar all the same. Unlike that area, however, if you look closer there is movement. Animals moving and changing at their own pace, likely having been there their whole lives. Same, I found out, as the people.

For many years, you couldn't make it to Chokoloskee by car. Either you had a boat, or you knew someone who did. There were gators abound, of course. This likely kept away the riff-raff, even if they really wanted to get down there. Even today, which is relatively fluid with transportation, it's a small town barely touched by the outsider. And, oh sweet Moses, we thank the heavens for that.

Please allow me to be selfish for a second to say that this area was exactly what my psyche needed. Put me in the middle of nowhere in warm breezes with people who wouldn't dare judge you because no one wants to hear the results. We needed a clubhouse; a headquarters. Somewhere that isn't as touched by the tourists...if at all possible. Immediately I was reminded that it was hard NOT being a tourist here. And they want you, because it's tough making a go of it here. But shit, I figured, dive in: Pass the alligator. People try to soften the blow by comparing this (and other) sea delicacies as tasting like chicken. But to me, in this moment, it tasted like moonshine, boat chases, and beer. Waiter! More!

Others were ready to keep the day moving, but I was more than glad to find some of the local color. Since the road arrived decades ago, there are hucksters to your right and left. Pose for photos with odd animals! Buy a baby alligator head: suitable for framing! Contact the Everglades busiest taxidermist!

Once sufficient photos were taken, I was driven to an airboat tour trailer. My guide would be Darryl. Unknowingly, I was about to have my world altered.

Darryl's shades likely never leave his face. His voice, thankfully, has been crafted by a lifetime more interesting than I can ever dream. He eases back, handing us fish as pelicans arrive. I am not holding bait, but it doesn't stop a pelican using its wooden chops arcoss my palm. "Yeah." says Darryl. He may or may not have been referring to me.

At the every turn, he is frightening the women of the boat to everyone's comedic delight. He guns it in-between narrow trees. He picks up a gator by the mouth with his hands. I want this guy to share more of his tales, but I'm nervous to prompt such a tide. I sense he's still sizing us up...as if we're worth it. Thankfully, we are. He tells of how, after many beers, he took his airboat to top speed, jumped the beach, and slid right into a gas station on the road. Immediately, this man has reached legend status with me. Then he tells of how he's a licensed pilot as well...and he knew he had to quit drinking when, in his prop plane, he buzzed one too many rooftops. His wife (do we even dare ask?) said he was going to get that stunt wrong one time. That was the mid-80s. Whatever I might have been doing at the time, it certainly wasn't that.

Then, maybe to show us he still has it (unlikely he has to prove it to himself) he speeds to the shore, only to pull a Rockford-style J turn at the last moment. Most clutch in fear. I turned around and clapped, which he smartly took as "Encore, Encore." It was done again, just as impressive.

I wouldn't have said, or even thought about it at the time. (Or, moreover, in that moment) But I knew my return to Dealville would come in time. Though, what I didn't know then I wonder if I would be happy if I didn't have to know now. That is, there's a lot of ways to make it happen. Sometimes you have to overturn a lot of rocks to find gold. Ay yingo, could I use some. Greedy? Simply realistic. Pass the rum. I have seen a glimpse, and I need all the strength I can get.