As I sit in the van with my bare feet out the window, the sun warms my skin and settles into my bones. Jax is laying in the grass outside napping, moving only to nip at the occasional fly that gets too bold. Dave is flopped on the bed, clean shaven and looking handsome, staring out the window daydreaming. My mental reflex kicks in and I start running down the list of things I need to do. It goes:
1. Think about things you need to do.
2. Draw a blank.
3. Smile contentedly.
4. Commence to simmering down.
We are at Middleton Fish Camp on the shores of Blue Cypress Lake. It's just north of Lake Ocheechobee, tucked far away from towns and highways. The owners of the camp are a couple in their 90's who have had the business for 40 years and counting. It's the only thing for miles around, a small bait shop selling shiners and worms. Outside is a covered porch with some worn rocking chairs and old patio furniture where you can sit and pass the time when the fishing's slow. On a choice cushion an huge old boxer/pitbull mix named Princess naps the day away, only waking up to inspect guests to the shop. If they pass muster, they get the honor of a lick on the hand before she settles back down on her cushion with a sigh.
The pace of life here is slow and steady. Anyone you pass will flag you down for a chat about nothing much at all. The paved road to the area just went in 5 years ago, so it's still a well kept secret. Two men in a golfcart stop and say hello as I peddle past on my bike, and proudly tell me it's the most beautiful place in the world. They both are born and raised here and wouldn't have it any other way. One proudly shows me a picture of his grandmother, who just turned 92 years old and looks as lively as a firecracker. "Ain't she something?" He says proudly "It's the lake water that does it. Keeps ya strong."
We're parked on a narrow strip of grass with forest on one side and a small canal, edged by swamp, on the other. The lake shore is a stone's throw away, and we can see whitecaps breaking beyond the shelter of the trees. The canal is black water topped with little green water lilies. Bluegill and crappie break the surface at all hours.
I try my luck at catching some, but they're wise to my ways and stay away from my worm and bobber. I remember back to watching my grandpa tie flies and decide to try my hand. I find some black string, a small scrap of Velcro, and a turkey vulture feather, and do my best.
Surprisingly it turns out good and looks quite close to the large black insects in the area. I throw it out and get a nibble, but the line breaks instantly.
I decide to let the fish be and simply pass the time by throwing bits of gingersnap cookie into the water, where little fingerlings fight over it eagerly.
The blue herons and robins have followed us here to Florida! The Great Blue Herons patrol the waters like feathered pterodactyls. Their wingspan is massive, close to 6', and when disturbed they rend the silence with an unbelievable Saurian squawk. It's entrancing to watch them stand perfectly still for what seems like eternity, their piercing golden eyes scouting for unsuspecting fish beneath the water. Alongside them are small white egrets, roseate spoonbills, and some type of smaller heron, a dusty dark blue.
Outside the bathroom I find these little guys, a sleepy gecko and a moth the color of pink lemonade.
At night we make dinner while the crickets and frogs start up their buzzing orchestra. The nights are crystal clear and I spin the front seat around and lean it back all the way, staring up into the sky, counting stars till my eyes start to droop and close.
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