Was it just this morning that I was down in Gainesville, FL in the country? In a place where I ate fresh (fresh from a chicken someone actually knows) eggs whipped into fluffy poached eggs? Where each egg looked like a dollop of whipped cream?

Our friends moved into the country. Driving down the sandy lane to their house, you pass the koi pond and a forest of bromeliads. The frogs, larger than your fist, will stare you down and scare the bejeppers out of you. It’s been 10 years since I visited Gainesville. One remembers to watch for snakes, to recall how alligators (lively in the heat) lurk in the waters, to steer clear of the fire ants that will gladly leave you with small and painful red bites.

One could forget that it can rain for 16 hours straight — or even 20. One can remember feeling sorry for those Orlando tourists who never show their children any part of Florida beyond the cement walkways and carefully sculptured landscapes of Disneyland. One can remember not wanting to remember the Orlando airport — the visitors wearing Minnie Mouse VEILS on their heads. And these are just the adults I’m talking about.

One could miss ceiling fans used in place of air conditioning, open floor plans of Florida houses, the grocery that sold amazing produce, the strangeness of the strange people…

Hibiscus and beauty berry.

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