(APALACHICOLA, Fla.) — I’m sitting on a large porch, near a wide street, in a small, rainy Florida town. I am leaving today, but I seriously considered moving here. When I arrived a few days ago, it felt like the town opened up its arms to me, and almost immediately I met tons of cool small-town people. I could get a job here, I thought, I could make this work for a while. But I can’t. Maybe I’m not ready to really settle down quite yet or maybe the idea of not working for a newspaper again is just too sad.
Or perhaps my old homes of Silver City, N.M. and Moab, Utah still have their hooks in me so deep that moving briefly to any other tiny town would feel like cheating.
Anyway, as I get ready to depart, to drive off to Panama City, I leave you with some images from my last Florida stop, St. Augustine. This city, the oldest continuously inhabited in America, wasn’t what I had expected. It was far funkier, more down-to-earth and weirder than I had imagined. Before I arrived, I was worried that I would feel swallowed up by a corporate beach community mentality, but instead I felt comfortable there. This was thanks to my couch surfing hosts, April and Conrad, but also to a delicate friendliness in the air. I can’t exactly explain it, but perhaps I can illustrate. One afternoon while running downtown, I realized I was seriously dehydrated. Nothing felt right in my body, so I quit my run and immediately felt like a slacker. My guilt led me to knock on the door of some elaborately decorated mansion, one that now serves as a $10/a pop tourist attraction. I asked the older, well-put-together woman selling tickets if she knew of any nearby drinking fountains. She said no — and handed me a bottle of cold water. Then I finished the remaining 25 minutes of my run.
I think there must be a law written in stone somewhere that you will always have a soft spot in your heart for towns where you have those kind of moments.
St. Augustine to me: the fort , a palm tree, the highway. Castilo de San Marcos is very old, I mean 17th century old.
A hard day's work at the fort. Outside Castilo de San Marcos in St. Augustine, Fla.
Happy Festivus. Outside Potter's Wax Museum in St. Augustine, Fla.
Outside the Pirate Haus Inn, which my gracious hosts own.
And inside the Pirate Haus Inn.
Old town St. Augustine, Fla.
This old lady was spunky and British, and she was delighting the young military guy who stood guard outside his base. Coast guard? Marines? I have no idea what service he was in. I only know he enjoyed laughing with her.
In case you were wondering — yes, it still is really cold in the South. Old town St. Augustine.
Smoking section. Old town St. Augustine.