Look North

Maine.  Pretty far north.

Garrison Keillor, in a long ago News From Lake Wobegone segment on Prairie Home Companion, made the comforting observation that the further north you go, the smarter people get. There are certainly abundant examples to support and disprove that statement but having now returned to the north after five years away, I think I have acquired a level of gravitas appropriate to truly appreciate the wisdom of that wit. In other words, we’ve been in Maine two months now and have yet to slap our foreheads in disbelief over the idiocy of our new land.  In Austin, our pates were frequently black and blue.  In Florida, we resorted to wearing head gear.  For now, we are enjoying the clear thinking.  Mind you, we had a close encounter in Hannaford’s supermarket a few weeks ago that reminded us nothing lasts forever.

It all started with chocolate milk.

The state of Texas has a lot of things to be proud of but one of my most treasured jewels is Promised Land Dairy’s MidnightChocolate milk.  It is the stuff of epiphanies and has set the standard by which all other chocolate milks shall forever be judged. When we left Austin for Florida, we lamented leaving some dear friends, Mandola’s Italian Market, Salt Lick Barbecue, HEB’s Central Market and Midnight Chocolate Milk. Nothing in Florida was even remotely close, though what was surely a gift from the universe was a lone bottle of Promised Land at a posh grocery store in Sarasota. We only ever saw it there that once.

It was in the spirit of that eternal quest that I found myself standing in front of the Smiling Hill Farm cooler at the grocery store. Smiling Hill Farm is a 12^th generation dairy farm in Westbrook that provides its milk in glass bottles similar to those of bygone days when your dairy products were delivered to your door.  I had tried their chocolate milk years ago and remembered it was pretty tasty.  I also remembered that I’d been surprised at the checkout to find out there was a one- dollar deposit on that bottle.  Back then, I had intended to keep the bottle to use for a vase so I just factored the deposit into the price and thought no more about it.

But now here I was contemplating Smiling Hill under slightly different circumstances.  I was making a conscious decision to support a local business along with hoping for a super bottle of brown moo.  Vaguely remembering a deposit, I started to investigate.  There is no sign on the special Smiling Hill cooler stating there is a required deposit, let alone the hefty dollar amount.  There is no sticker on the bottle nor on the lid.  What there is is miniscule print at the bottom of the bottle’s silk screened label that says “Wash and return for deposit.” It might show up as readable with regular milk in the bottle but with chocolate milk, or devoid of liquid, you’ve got to do some serious looking with young eyes to see that.  Despite the fact that the product was already a bit more expensive than the standard brands available, Jamie encouraged me to grab a bottle in the spirit of exploration. I did so and we headed up front to check out.

The cashier was a gal I recognized as a long-time fixture at the Yarmouth store.  As she busily scanned our items, I watched the display for the bottle of milk.  The deposit had gone up to $1.50 and as I had no plans to make this bottle a vase, I asked with a smile how to go about getting my deposit back. And that’s when the fight broke out.

Or shall I call it an informational incident.

First I was told that all bottles and cans in Maine have deposits but that most redemption centers won’t take Smiling Hill Farm bottles.  I’m quite familiar with Maine’s Bottle Bill, my father having worked for Seltzer & Rhydholm, bottlers of Pepsi Cola in Portland, for 42 years and myself an avid roadside collector of tossed bottles and cans which I’ve parlayed into tanks of gas and plane tickets to Europe. I was pretty sure that milk was something that didn’t require a state deposit regardless of how it was packaged.

When I asked if I could bring the bottle back to Hannaford I was told no, they didn’t refund Smiling Hill deposits.  I would have to join the CLYNK program. When I asked what the CLYNK program was, I got a look of incredulity and the fateful branding-iron comment of dismissal plied with disdain upon those unfortunate enough to not have been born, raised, and lived their entire lives in the obvious center of the universe:

Oh, you’re not from around here.

I was tempted to let her know that I was from around here for 42 of my 47 years but I couldn’t argue with the fact that I didn’t know what the hell CLYNK was and how it stood between me and my $1.50 refund so I kept my mouth shut and let the maelstrom descend.  The young woman who was the shift leader and bagging at the next register described in non-linear sentences at breakneck speed something about signing up, getting bags, first bags free then you pay, there’s an account, it might not register deposits for 48 hours and more that was simply unintelligible.  Then she stopped talking, drew breath, and offered:

Or you could just drive out to the farm.  It’s not that far.

Well, on a global scale, she’s right. But according to Google Maps, it’s between 23 and 28 miles one-way to Smiling Hill Farm from our house in Pownal.  Given that gas is $3.80 a gallon as I write this, and our Ford Tardis, Traveller, gets about 26 miles to the gallon, I’m looking at $7.60 in gas to get my $1.50 refund. Heck, even to go home, enjoy my milk and drive back to Hannaford, sign up for CLYNK and toss my bio-degradable CLYNK bag in the bin is a 12-mile trip at $1.90 to eventually get my refund, which I’ll have to drive back to Hannaford after 48-hours to retrieve, bringing me back to still a loss of $3.80 in gas.

At this point at the check-out, the ball was again in my court.  Jamie sweetly paid for our groceries as I commented to the cashier and bagger that considering the hefty amount of the deposit, and the effort required to return the bottle for refund, it sure would be helpful if there was some sort of signage on the Smiling Hill Farm cooler stating at the very least that there was a $1.50 deposit required on the bottle because it’s a bit of a shocker to see how much you actually end up paying, especially if you’re not prepared for it. 

The cashier commented that the larger bottles have a $3.00 deposit.  The bagger began her spiel again about CLYNK or driving to Westbrook.  Neither was smiling and it was clear the content of my suggestion was a non-issue to them.  Also clear was the unsaid words just at the tips of their tongues:

No one is making you buy this stuff, lady.

I said thank you for explaining things and as I turned to leave noticed that all the open check-out lanes were quiet and everyone within mooing distance was giving Jamie and me the once over as we walked out.  Golly.  I’d become “one of those pushy people from away.”

Getting in the car we immediately popped the top on that expensive little jug of milk and do you know what?  It was just ok. 

In the weeks that have followed, I’ve kept my eyes open for Smiling Hill Farm products.  Shaw’s in Freeport carries it with no information on the deposit and evidently no on-site refund options of any kind.  Morning Glory Natural Foods in Brunswick carries it with no signage about the price of deposit but there is a sign on the front door saying you must return Smiling Hill Farms bottles to the farm for deposit. Royal River Natural Foods in Freeport also carries the milk and kindly has a sign about the deposit, though I don’t believe they provide refunds there either.

It’s ironic that in an attempt to support a local business, one that is priding itself on being careful caretakers of their land and cattle, and bottling in glass for its benefits of taste and environmental impact, I am actually increasing my dreaded carbon footprint, as are the many folks who trek it out to Westbrook for their deposits. It’s also less ironic and more, dare I say opportunistic, that the dairy is making a point to not advertise the price of the deposit on their coolers nor urging their retailers to be pro-active with the information.  In fact, if you go to the dairy’s website, as of this Sunday morning as I write, the link on where to return your bottles does not work. Nowhere on the site does it even mention paying deposits. What they do point out is that their glass bottles are sturdy investments, some currently in circulation being over 40 years old.  That in itself  is really cool but still, why not just be open about the deposit?  By the way, you can only return six Smiling Hill Farm bottles at a time and here’s why.

That same deposit has also created an unexpected investigation by the Feds. As reported in this 2006 article from the Lewiston Sun Journal, a clever little scam by some industrious folks on food stamps involved buying Smiling Hill Farm milk, which is eligible under the Food Stamp program, then returning the bottles for the cash deposit which they then allegedly spent on booze and cigarettes, both of which are not eligible food stamp purchases .  Which just goes to prove Garrison Keillor right.  The further north you go, the smarter people get.

As for me, I’m drinking Silk Chocolate Soymilk these days.  It’s yummy, there’s no deposit and the empty container goes right into the recycle bin that gets picked up at the end of my country driveway.  And that Smiling Hill Farm bottle is still sitting on the counter collecting pennies. When I’ve saved up enough coins, I’ll buy some flowers to put in it.

(All images courtesy of Google Images searches!)

The Adventures of Guinea

The Adventures of Guinea in "Turkeys in the Hood"

Click on the link and the follow the story attached to each photo

Adventures of the Pepper Pals

The Pepper Pals: Case of the Colossal Courgette

(Clink on the link then follow the story as attached to each photo)

English Lessons for Non-British English Speaking People: Volume I

Lesson 1: A gaff is your home, be it an apartment, a house or a broken down Volvo Estate Wagon. (Note: a Volvo Estate Wagon is a Volvo Station Wagon.)

Lesson 2: 'Pudding' is a meal course, known in France as 'dessert'. You may indeed have pudding for pudding. You may also have cakes, ice cream or jelly.

Lesson 3: 'Jelly' is what is known in Italy as 'Jell-O'. Jam is what is known as American 'jelly' and Preserves is what is known as what you find at your nana's house or what is referred to as 'jam' on Air Force One.

Lesson 4: Breakfast is what is known as 'brekkies' unless you are in Portugal where it is 'pequeno almoço'. Lunch is 'dinner'. Dinner is 'supper'. Supper is a 'little something something just before bed'.

Lesson 5: If a person is said to be 'rude' then they are a bit of a slapper. If a person is said to be a 'slapper' then they are the sort of people you don't bring home to meet the family but rather enjoy in the privacy of your own gaff after supper and hope they are gone before breakfast, which after a night of debauchery will most likely be pudding.

I hope that clears a few things up.

On Deciding to Become an Artist

Some days the path is very clear but recently I’ve been struggling with how to proceed in my life.  I think a recent trip to Office Depot, however, has helped me to clarify a few things.

I had arrived at the store in need of an ink cartridge for the printer as the old one had stopped working, as they always do, right in the middle of an important print job.  Entering the vestibule from the sidewalk, I could see two men monitoring my arrival.  One was tall, probably in his early fifties with styled graying hair, and his starched collar and clipboard quickly said ‘manager’ or ‘regional supervisor.’ The other man was young, average height, in short sleeves with various Office Depot badges and ribbons adorning his shirt. The men stopped talking as I walked through the sliding door and as if let off his line by the supervisor, the young man came bounding up to me like a dog set free in the park.

“What’s brought YOU to Office Depot?” he asked with fervor in his big eyes. His name tag said ALAN.  My first reaction was to take a step back so I didn’t get muddy paw prints on my pants.

When I said I was there for ink he asked in rapid succession,

“What kind? What color? Do you know where it is? I can help you.”

As I was all ready moving towards the ink cartridge aisle, he leapt in front of me and led the way the remaining few steps. Now faced with thousands of choices, his eyes glazed over and he looked at me expectantly.

“It’s HP 74 I’m looking for,” I said, zeroing in on the area I needed.

He stepped in front of me, scanning the shelves and began to babble.

“Let’s seeeeeee…….HP 74…….Do…dododododo….HP 74…….dododododo…” 

I leaned forward to select the voucher needed to take to the register but his hand shot out and grabbed one ahead of me.

“Here you go,” he said triumphantly with a nod of his head. “Just take that up front and someone will get that for you and you can be on your way unless there’s anything else I can help you find.  Paper?  Envelopes?  Stamps?”

I said no, thanks for the help, and started towards the empty cash registers.  Alan had a slightly panicked expression on his face.  The tall man was looking around with a grim expression on his face. As a cashier appeared from behind them, both men intercepted her so that by the time she got to the cash register she all ready knew what I wanted, though she congenially double-checked as she pulled the cartridge off the shelf and rang me up. The two men walked past me out the doors. Finishing the transaction, I popped the cartridge box in my purse and left the store.

Outside, the two men were leaning on the brick wall in the shade.  The tall man, who was staring out across the lot, seemed to not hear Alan who was waffling on about sales figures and computer programs. Once safely in the car, I started laughing.  What had just happened in there? It was like something out of a sitcom. What was worse, it was like something out of a human resources role playing exercise on customer service. What was designed to make me feel attended to and valued left me feeling that I, too, was being watched by a man with clipboard and that my free will within the confines of the store was something to be challenged and subjugated.

(Take a minute to watch this clip from the very funny British series, Black Books.  It started running through my head as soon as Alan descended on me!http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fyowdq4bVxQ  )

The more I thought about Alan, I came to realize I stopped being him when I decided to pick up a paint brush and create.  Once you consciously separate yourself from procedures and trends that regard you as a cog in the machine rather than as an ambassador of the message, then it becomes increasingly difficult to spin the spiel and dance the dance.  The need to create something of your own and add your voice to the universal good becomes your trend, your procedure, your message.  The desire grows to connect with yourself and others through colors, sounds, words and works, not because a man with a clipboard full of statistics says so but because it feels intuitively the right way to move forward.  Despite the natural way of it, it’s not easy to be in today’s world as an artist and yet here I am, sensing that it might just be more beneficial to create something beautiful than to sell the most boxes of ink cartridges.

Roseate Beach Peeps, Easter 2012

Anna Maria on Dwellable

Signs of the Times

I love a good sign, it's true.  Whether it's pathetic or clever, I simply can't resist a good, long look at something designed to catch my eye and Florida has offered up its fair share of beauts.  It's rare that the car doesn't turn around for a photo but when that's the case, well, I do mourn the loss for the next few miles. Sadly, we were quite lost when we drove past "Curl Up and Dye" so it would take a bit of investigating to track it down again.  It's a beauty parlor as you might have guessed.  Then there was the Salvation Army Donation drop box that had the additional words "Rescque Me" stencilled on the front.  And it's a sure bet we won't ever be in Lakeland again on purpose to snap a picture of "Shake-N-Go Beauty", a beauty supply store.  Oddly, it's right across the street from "Steak and Shake" which is a fast food chain. That particular restaurant should be called Steak, Shake and Regurgitate. We only stopped for a bathroom break but bought a shake and a small fry because it seemed rude to just use the loo. Everything there was scary, but I digress.

So here's a sampling of favorite signs from the past 10 months.  Some are self-explanatory.  Some are very clever.  And some, well, we'll let you decide.

Farm Stand outside Wauchula



Really hope the illness  wasn't the cause for the missing "s"




Sodding typical cowpen sod. 




Pastor Rick seemed to think Sunday might be iffy




Pastor Mike always has a great sign at Bethany Baptist



You kids knock it off down there....



Do you suppose there's a website for pastor inspiration?




You have to look close but someone has added two 'nots' to the tailgate comment to soften the emotional blow for the owner. 




A cold day in hell (aka Sebring at the time)



A sure sign you are in the south



 
In fairness, I haven't stopped in at The House of Style to find out if this is meant to be a joke or a catchy ad campaign, though there is a message scrawled on the neck that if you steal the model, numerous things will be inserted up your backside.  My favorite comment on this picture was from a friend of Jamie's in Yorkshire:  Even the head looks sad!



I'd always had my suspicions.




It is, of all things, a freight company that hauls citrus.




Slightly frightening




And here's me spending money on  moisturizer when apparently all I need is a smoke!




Absolutely no idea....



Amish Surprise

When Jamie and I had decided to look in the Bradenton/Sarasota area for housing and work, we spent a day driving through neighborhoods to get a feel for what the area was like.  At one point in the journey we passed what seemed to be an Amish-themed shopping area but it was pushed to the backs of our minds as we traversed the city boundaries. That was back in July.

A few weeks ago, with the happy discovery of O’Brien Family Farms ten miles east of home, we bought butter and kettle corn that came from Troyer’s, a business in an Amish community in Ohio according to the label.  Then one evening Jamie and I had an Amish collision.  I had seen an ad on Craigslist for a baker’s assistant at Yoder’s Fresh Market and Jamie had a recommendation from locals for Troyer’s Restaurant, both of which are Amish-run operations in the little settlement of Pinecraft, an Amish village in Sarasota on Bahia Vista. It was the very area we had discovered eight months ago. We never need an excuse for an adventure but it just so happened our two-year wedding anniversary was that Saturday. Prepared to celebrate, we hit the highway south .

According to an article in The Amish Country News and The History of Pinecraft 1925-1960: A Historical Album of the Amish and Mennonites in Pinecraft, Florida, by Noah Gingerich,  what is now Pinecraft began as a the Sarasota National Tourist Camp in the 1920’s. Amish and Mennonite visitors came to camp in tents not only as a respite from northern winters in Ohio, Pennsylvania and Indiana, but also to farm during their southern stay.  One particular crop farmed was celery, which is a vegetable that has a place of honor in Amish wedding feasts.  Celery makes its way to the table in a traditional stuffing with chicken, as creamed celery and as a table decoration in vases.

Over time, the camp area was developed into small homes and today remains a close community of little lots.  Some members of the community live in Florida year-round, owning their homes as well as additional rental properties.  A large portion of the Amish and Mennonites arrive from the north via chartered buses.  Homes in the settlement are a very sought after commodity with the price per square foot higher than in other neighborhoods of Sarasota.

To be honest, the whole thing has blown my mind a bit.

As we waited at a stoplight a few blocks from the Bahia Vista and Beneva intersection that is the stepping off point for Pinecraft, I could not believe my eyes as three ladies in white kapps and traditional blue and purple dresses, zoomed over the crosswalk on their large three-wheeled bikes at breakneck speed.  The baskets on the rear of the bikes were full of grocery bags from SweetBay, a chain supermarket in the mall further up the street.  One gal had a large fashionable handbag on her shoulder and was pedaling in flip-flops.

It turns out that bicycles are the primary mode of transport for the citizens of Pinecraft and as it is primarily an older population, the tricycles abound. No room for horses and carriages here.  We were dumbstruck and kept trying not to stare as we searched for our destination, Yoder’s Restaurant.  When we found it, there was no parking nearby and the line of customers was snaking through the carpark.  Yoder’s also offers a green grocers, a gift shop and a bakery/deli in separate buildings.  We were determined to have a nose about even if lunch was now postponed so I pulled down a side street in search of a place to leave the car.  That in itself was a visit to the twilight zone.  The small streets were clogged with tricycles and people visiting their neighbors. Men in hats with long beards, long pants and suspenders stood in groups chatting.  Women in dresses, aprons and kapps sat in lawn chairs and on steps.  There were good natured waves and smiles as we slowly navigated our way through the melee but the Taurus seemed immense.  It was like driving through someone’s living room and we couldn’t get over the feeling we were trespassing and invading many privacies. 

We parked at strip mall several blocks away and entered the daily lives of the Amish of Pinecraft.  They were everywhere.  Outside the health food store, an older lady in a  cornflower blue dress was looking at a model of a human spine being shown to her by an instructor from Palmer College of Chiropractic Medicine who was offering free spine checks. A couple in their early 70s waited at the crosswalk with us.  Jamie spied the telltale label of a bottle of Pepsi in the plastic bag the gent was carrying.  On the sidewalk and in the bike lanes, women on tricycles navigated the cars and pedestrians.  I say navigated but it was more that they dictated the flow of traffic.  You don’t mess with a lady in a white kapp on a trike!  There was good business at Big Olaf’s Creamery for ice cream and a steady stream of traffic to the small post office.

In the market we found jams, jellies and all manner of canned goods, including the fabulous Jake and Amos Pickled Brussel Sprouts that Dave’s  Aunt Jean always brought back on her trips to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. There were breads and pies, coffee and ice cream and a deli full of meats, cheeses and salads.  Everything looked and tasted fabulous.  The green grocer area was much the same.  Beautiful produce and great prices. We lined up with teenagers in their short and baggy shorts, ladies from Siesta Key dripping with gold and money, retired farmers from Iowa and Amish and Mennonite folk out doing their daily shop.



Peanut Butter Pie



Given the continued length of the line to get into Yoder’s we decided to head for home with our booty, content in the knowledge we would come back during the week at an off hour for a meal of their famous fried chicken and a piece of peanut butter pie in celebration of my upcoming birthday. Doing anything on the Gulf Coast in winter is an exercise in patience.  Doing it on a Saturday prepares you for sainthood…or anger management classes.  It never occurred to us that everyone else in Sarasota would be going to Yoder’s for pie.

As we drove the highway back to our little gaff we reflected on the experience of Pinecraft.  Despite having the camera, we took only one photo and that was from afar of the gal on the trike. Why had we been so quiet and extra courteous moving among the shoppers and villagers?  Why had it felt so wrong to be driving a car through the tiny streets of the village?  Why had we found ourselves staring at people and then feeling guilty about staring?  Why did it seem somehow naughty to find Pepsi and flip flops there?  Why didn’t it seem polite to take pictures?  All it took was a conformity of dress, appearance and belief among other people to make us acutely aware of our own actions.  That’s really kind of strange and powerful when you think about it.  

I stumbled upon this Pinecraft Blog while looking for photos to include.  Have a peek.  It's quite interesting!

        

(All photos from Google Images except for the last three and the earlier photo of the lady in blue on the tricycle crossing traffic.)

Palmer Ranch on Dwellable

A Tern for the Better

 

Osprey

 To be sure, one of the best parts of living in Florida is the frequent opportunity to watch birds.  They have the habit of being everywhere and nowhere at once, which seems to be true of birds wherever we’ve lived.  What’s funny about birds here on the Gulf Coast is that they seem to show up in the craziest places or in startling numbers.

Ibis ( Both photos: Google Images)

White Ibis are like cats here in Bradenton; there’s always one walking across your lawn.  Quite often they are in groups of five or more and they will move about like a herd of cattle, grazing on whatever bug or food matter is unfortunate enough to be in their path.  They move undaunted along the grassy verges of car parks and sidewalks, their long, curved beaks ready to pluck the next tasty tidbit in view.  We had one graceful visitor we named Iris, Iris the Ibis, who spent the better part of a morning giving the lawn a thorough going over.  Today on the way home from the beach, we saw six ibis perched on the power lines looking like quarter notes on a big piece of staff paper.  Brilliant and oddly comical.

Wood Stork

 Our most neck-jerking bird sighting to date was several months ago.  Again, we were on Anna Maria Island going to the Bay Fest festival and there on a patch of lawn just a couple of feet from the road was a wood stork looking all the world like a child’s drawing.  We were so shocked I turned the car around immediately and Jamie snapped a couple of photos.  What is fabulous about long-legged birds is how they walk, like women in extremely high heels that are walking cautiously through cow patties.  Each step is strategic and deliberate.  The stork posed for several shots before sending us on to the festival.



Roseate Spoonbill

 Our most coveted unexpected sight was a roadside pond with five roseate spoonbills and an assortment of ducks.  Again, the car was whipped into a u-turn.  It’s hard to explain the excitement and sheer joy of seeing a pink bird, let along five pink birds.  Then there’s the whole novelty of their bills and watching them feed.  Another birdwatcher was happily snapping away photos with a massive camera that stirred serious lens envy in the Pearsons.  He told us that about 15 minutes prior to our arrival, there had been over 30 spoonbills in the pond but a pair of squabbling egrets had moved most of the flock along.  He said the flock is at the pond every morning and evening.  We went back a few days later but the scene was empty save for a policeman talking to someone who was pulled over right in front of the pond.  I hope they were talking about birds and not arguing over warnings for being on the side of the road looking for spoonbills.

  On the verge of creepy is the recent arrival of big flocks of big birds.  Near  our house, crows have been appearing in large groups.  We’ve all seen those big flocks of grackles and starlings that move as one unit in amazing feats of agility but lately it’s been crows in our neighborhood.It’s usually mid-morning and they come cawing from the direction of the river, flying in all directions at once, their shadows dancing a macabre waltz on the porch awning and driveway.  It’s like a clip left on the cutting room floor when Hitchcock was filming “The Birds.”  (Pictured Above:  Willet)

The vultures have also been massing.  We have turkey vultures and black vultures here in Florida.  While it’s common to see them tidying up carcasses along the road (I refer to them as “the road crew”) it’s a bit spooky to see them in large numbers riding the thermals, avian tornados hundreds of feet tall above the pastures and orange groves.  For some reason it’s even more foreboding to see them kettling at the coastline and yet it’s incredibly beautiful to watch.  My favorite vulture visitation happened on a November day back in Maine six or seven years ago.  We were starting a new tradition of an early Thanksgiving as Dave was usually away deer hunting the week of Thanksgiving and would miss the turkey and trimmings.  Friends and family were just tucking in around the table that took up the entire living room when what to our wondering eyes did appear but a turkey vulture perched quite contentedly on the grape arbor looking towards the house! He stayed for the entire meal.  My brother wisely recommended we use the buddy system if anyone left the house.  One misplaced step and you would be ripe for the picking…hahaha. (Turkey Vulture & Black Vulture:  Google Images)

(Pictured above:  Brown Pelicans, Great Blue Heron, Gull, Sanderlings.   Pictured above:  Royal Terns)
Depending on the day and the fishing, you can expect to share the beach with brown and white pelicans, great white egrets, gulls, herons, osprey, oyster catchers, black skimmers, willet, sandpipers, sanderlings, crows, grackles, pigeons, parrots and my happy favorites, the terns. While well acquainted with the common terns and Arctic terns back home, I was instantly captivated by the Royal Terns with their bright orange beaks and punk rock head gear.  Most often you will find them in groups, sometimes mixed in with the waiting gulls.

(Pictures:  Black Skimmer, Brown Pelicans, Great Egret, Brown Pelican) 

Let me first say that the gulls along the beaches of Anna Maria Island are a brutish lot.  They may cut a dashing figure for a picture postcard but they are grifters of the most notorious sort.  We’ve watched them mob beachgoers for their sandwiches and chips.  Upon stepping out from under a sun canopy with a cheese doodle in his hand, a four-year old was instantly set upon by a pack of gulls and left crying, pecked and doodle-less within seconds.  We had gulls trying to land on a hot hibachi to snag shrimp we were grilling. Most astoundingly though they have the cheek to steal fish from the mouths of the terns and pelicans.  We watched in disbelief as a gull flew alongside a pelican, hovered as the pelican dove into the water, and then landed centimeters from the pelican’s mouth within seconds of it breaking the surface in the hopes of nabbing any fish sticking out of the pelican’s beak or any spilling out as the pelican tossed its head back to swallow.  The practiced precision is amazing.  Oooh, the buggers!

(Pictured below:  Royal Terns and Cheeky Gull)

By comparison, the Royal Terns are positively polite.  Gregarious but not ingratiating, they seem to suffer humans tolerably well.  If you approach a flock at a gentle pace, they will move en masse to grant you passage, sometimes letting you walk right through them.  They don’t beg; they don’t steal; they simply fish, chat and look fabulous.  At least in my mind that’s what they do.

(Pictured below:  Royal Terns & Jamie)

For me, it’s always a great day at the beach when I’ve spent it in the company of the Royal terns and Mr. Pearson.  Several months ago we were lucky enough to share a stretch of sand with a massive flock of the Royals.  As with big piles of leaves or giant puddles, human beings can’t seem to resist the urge to run through flocks of birds.  Over and over again, Jamie and I stood still with cameras going while children and adults alike flung themselves along the sand sending the terns to flight in a flurry of feathers.  Unlike being mobbed by the gulls, this was magical; a living snowstorm of white and wing that rose and subsided on the whims of passersby.  It was an afternoon we will never forget.

Bonus video:  See if you can spot the endangered  le petit maillot de bain bleu in this footage.  Always an unexpected sight!

Bradenton Beach on Dwellable