Scipio
Saturday morning, February 2, in one of my most loved places on earth and in life, so since I was a boy visiting here with my father in his seafood business, and riding, driving through here on the way to summer camp as a child and teenager. Living here those mid-life years as parish priest at Trinity Church. Here I am, here we are.
Peaceful and relaxed on Scipio Creek looking out across the Apalachicola River, no worries, or seemingly so for the moment. After quite a few years we came back here for an overnight or two or three days from time to time, just for the relief of it. In the recovery phase after Hurricane Michael, the possibility of doing so again for sanity's sake comes to mind. Or I could again find a home here, but Linda says no!
Driving through Tyndall Field and east the wind directions in the eyewall testified by the direction of snapped and fallen pines. Mexico Beach, the storm damage is incredible, shoreline washed away by the storm surge, an entire town obliterated, trashed by hurricane wind and waves, reduced to ruins, the sea violently, wickedly, contemning its caution ‘Thus far shall you come, and no farther, and here shall your proud waves be stayed." Surely no one has as yet returned to live there again.
And yet I remember driving through Mexico Beach in the 1940s and early 1950s, a peaceful seaside hideaway, not at all what in recent years it almost maniacally became, beginning, my noticing, in the mid 1980s and on.
We were surprised that the damage on the east side of the incoming hurricane was not near as catastrophic as what we see on our west side of the eyewall across the Tyndall Bridge and through Callaway and Bay Harbor and Springfield and the Cove and Panama City and LynnHaven and StAndrews.
Here we are. 3:19 am EST, pitch black dark outside.
Waiting for morning, and then on with life.
T+
Peaceful and relaxed on Scipio Creek looking out across the Apalachicola River, no worries, or seemingly so for the moment. After quite a few years we came back here for an overnight or two or three days from time to time, just for the relief of it. In the recovery phase after Hurricane Michael, the possibility of doing so again for sanity's sake comes to mind. Or I could again find a home here, but Linda says no!
Driving through Tyndall Field and east the wind directions in the eyewall testified by the direction of snapped and fallen pines. Mexico Beach, the storm damage is incredible, shoreline washed away by the storm surge, an entire town obliterated, trashed by hurricane wind and waves, reduced to ruins, the sea violently, wickedly, contemning its caution ‘Thus far shall you come, and no farther, and here shall your proud waves be stayed." Surely no one has as yet returned to live there again.
And yet I remember driving through Mexico Beach in the 1940s and early 1950s, a peaceful seaside hideaway, not at all what in recent years it almost maniacally became, beginning, my noticing, in the mid 1980s and on.
We were surprised that the damage on the east side of the incoming hurricane was not near as catastrophic as what we see on our west side of the eyewall across the Tyndall Bridge and through Callaway and Bay Harbor and Springfield and the Cove and Panama City and LynnHaven and StAndrews.
Here we are. 3:19 am EST, pitch black dark outside.
Waiting for morning, and then on with life.
T+