Life in the Glare of El Sol

When in Florida, do as Floridians do. Or so goes that overworked, dull-ass paraphrased saw.

When here, it’s interesting how few people are outside, fercrissakes. Why is it that everyone seems to hole up in their caves when the weather is so awesome, so nurturing, so inviting as to envelop you in a veritable blanket of warmth? This phenomenon sure is puzzling for a Yankee pink-nosed boy who just got done moving large piles of snow around his yard as the temps ranged from the teens at night to mid-30’s in daytime.

But hide they do – inside walled fortresses of pink or white, where a few palm trees poke skyward as if to say ‘well, at least there are SOME trees here’.

The palms, of course, provide no shade whatsoever. But that’s precisely their allure: who the hell moves here to stay in the shade? Yet therein lies the catch-22 of my initial observations: why so few folks outside?

We love it here, and relish the opportunity to get down for a visit, though wonder if we could live here long term. Employment wouldn’t be a problem. In fact, as of last year, ’twas mentioned by cohorts that the unemployment rate was 2%!

So even for a moderately skilled laborer/handyman and his gentle skilled spouse – neither of which have college degrees – there would be gainful employment available. At least on the sunny side of the street.

As a tree fan, what a treat it was to stumble upon this massive arboricultural/botanical trove:

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