Tupelo Honey

All along the “Lost Coast” there are signs for Tupelo Honey.  Signs point us down sandy driveways, “Third house on the left”.  Displays in gift shops have pretty bottles (some going to sugar, which real Tupelo should not ). Roadside stands still advertising fresh produce which won’t arrive for a few months have Honey for sale.  We were looking for the real thing and we think we found it.
Matt Owen is the youngest of a family which has been making and selling "the Cadillac of honey" for two generations and selling it at the same Newport Florida crossroads stand for twenty years. We had to stop.
More on honey and the Owens family CLICK HERE
“Tupelo Honey is produced from the Tupelo Gum tree which grows profusely along the Chipola and Apalachicola rivers in Northwest  Florida. Here in the river swamps, this honey is produced in a unique fashion.  Bees are placed on elevated platforms along the river’s edge, and they fan out through the surrounding Tupelo-blossom-laden swamps during April and May and return with their precious treasure.  This river valley is the only place in the world where Tupelo Honey is produced commercially”


Hmmmm.  Biscuits tomorrow!

A Walk in the Woods…

….or the salt marshes, or around fresh water ponds.  Actually the St Marks NWR included all of this.  We struck out along the East River Dike Trail which separates the tidal marsh from the fresh water impoundments and heads higher into pine/palmetto stands. This day we weren’t overwhelmed by the vast numbers of critters; we had to work at it, but by mid day we had found most of “the usual suspects.”


The dikes are wide, grassy and well mowed, easy walking and high enough to peek over both fresh and salt environments.
   
We saw Osprey and flocks of ducks that would lift off with a great Swoosh, circle around and land again in a long cascade of splashes. Herons and Egrets appeared in ones and twos, but our search for “Chauvinistic Mega Fauna” was stymied until we found a catch pen with four yearling feral hogs.  These guys play havoc with the whole enviornment, sometime churning up the ground like a bottom plow. Rufuge personel remove about 75 a year, but that hardly accounts for one sow’s production.  When we reported the trap was sprung, we had a nice chat with one of the biologists about this and other threats to the refuge. 
“No, not barbeque”, he replied to our question. “They’ll be eaten by the rest of the refuge critters.”
We asked about the Whooping Crane Chicks   which usually follow  Ultra light airplanes South to St Marks in an attempt to establish an Eastern Migratory path.  We had been following their progress south until they got stuck in Northern Alabama by weather, Christmas, FAA snarl ups and more weather.  We were planning to watch the “fly over” a few miles from our home, but left them still struggling to get the chicks to fly again after the long delays.  It seems the decision has been made to let them stay in Alabama and enjoy this mild winter weather.  If all goes well, they will instinctively return to Wisconsin in the fall. There was a little disappointment in the voice of the volunteer we spoke with, but she had tales to tell about past “crane rodeos”.  More info on this fascinating subject at OPERATION MIGRATION

Biking Today

     We had planned to ride only a part of the 40 mile Metzger Marathon with the group; Patty’s shoulder is responding to light mileage days and we don’t want to overdo. 


We ate the $2 breakfast at Savannah’s and stuck off South along the St Marks trail toward the confluence of the St Marks and Wakulla rivers. The trail has been widened two feet  and smoothly paved, so we enjoyed gliding down the long green tunnel. 


 At St Marks we toured the San Marcos de Apalache Fort and cruised the marina.  Food reviews for St Marks weren’t much, so we headed for Bill’s selected Biker bar –- Outz’s  in Newport.  Actually Outz’s IS Newport if you don’t count the county RV park which sees very little use.


We made contact with the merry band, but they were an hour away.  The smoke from inside the lean-to/ restaurant and the smell from the berm of recently deceased oyster shells ringing the parking area was enough to discourage our palates.  (No pictures of Outz’s or its friendly denizens.)

We decamped down the shoulder of Hwy 98 (The Coastal Highway) until we found the Rail Trail crossing and BINGO BURGERS. 
 




BINGO BURGERS is run by ONE hard working woman close by the intersection of Hwy 98 and the St Marks Trail.  The menu is extensive and we can attest to the quality of the 1/3 pound Burger.  Our new friends are residents of St Marks and filled us in on a lot of local information. It was a great spot. 
Thus replenished, we extended our ride to 21 miles without damaging Patty further.  Everybody loves the “train wreck” story about her shoulder and we have one suggestion that a Railroad Pension or disability may be on offer.
On the way home we toured the Alligator Point community and got back in time to try the TV  reception.  No Joy on the Super Bowl.  Who’s playing anyway?

White Squirrels and Manatees!

We knew Ochlockonee State Park on the river of the same name was famous for its white squirrels and they did not disappoint.  Three greeted us at set up and were generally available for anything but  posed photography.














We were not prepared for the Manatees frolicking in head spring at Wakulla Springs.  Evidently, they have been getting into the springs for about three years now and are, of course, BIG favorites. The fencing that once discouraged poachers as been breached and Patty is in ecstasy. She has a real soft spot for marine mammals of a certain magnitude, having once spent most of a day at Sea World leaning over the sill of a porpoise enclosure trying to touch one.  We watched these until the bus load of fourteen year olds began their own frolicking and sent them off to the distant shore.
 
Wakulla Springs Hotel is looking grand as ever though we  miss the massive trees hung with Spanish Moss which have disappeared from the back.   The state has added about a mile of sturdy iron fencing to prevent mayhem …


 We eventually joined up with Bill Metzger and his merry band for 10 miles of  shoulder riding;  we had to turn back before the Rail trail to save strain on Patty’s shoulder. 

We compensated ourselves with sunset photography on the St Marks NWR and delicious pasta dinner.

A Perfect Day in Paradise

Sixties through the night with spasms of light rain. The early morning view from the bedroom was like a Japanese painting –- a few tall feathery pines silhouetted against the grey fog.


It was quiet in the fog, but nearby a pair of woodpeckers with an exemplary work ethic were plying their trade.  The colors of the Cardinals pair were muted by the gray, but their song was very insistent.

We wandered along the beach until the sun burned through.  There are miles of beach with nothing but nature and a few early risers searching for shells.


Back at camp, we unhitch, unfurl the canopy and set up for PANCAKES WITH FRESH STRAWBERRIES. 
 
Glad we brought the electric grill.  Pat likes cooking outside away from the noise of the exhaust fan and our breakfast nook is perfect -- 65 degrees with a gentle breeze, birdsong and Monarch butterflies flitting thorough.
“Shouldn’t you guys be in Mexico by now?”
With the sun out, but still perfect weather, we biked all the park roads, stopping to inquire after some of the local hangers on at the Marina.


In the afternoon, a haze formed and chances for a tropical sunset diminished.  We cleaned up and headed in to appraise the offerings at …and we were NOT disappointed!  The pizza lived up to all the superlatives and the place was refined and very well run.  For the second time this year a small town pizza place has lived  up its rave reviews.  We are believers. 


 Riding home in the dark, mellow tunes playing , we counted ourselves fortunate indeed.

Modern Shell Middens

Much we know of coastal Indian tribes (The Calusa and others) comes from examining their shell middens. They lived from the sea most of the year bringing home shellfish and disposing of their shells nearby. Eventually they build temples and additional living space on the high ground thus created.
Modern man sometimes follows the practice, bringing home a washtub of oysters and adding the shells to the vegetation around the campsite.
 
More poignant are the little middens left by departing campers. Check any abandoned site and you will find a small cache of carefully collected shells and half shells abandoned near a tree or left atop a picnic table. We will never know the age of the collector, though we may guess. Nor can we measure the anguish or hear the protestations or know what really good shells are now transported to inland destinations. We can only read the clues and speculate…

Onward to the Lost Coast

They call this the “Lost Coast” because, after driving  South on 73 through featureless pine forests in grey drizzle,  you emerge in an obvious  time warp --the city of Port St Joe.  On the way down (when we were sure the big weather was going to miss us), Patty entertained me with restaurant reviews including some really extravagant claims for Joe Mama’s Wood Fired Brick Oven Pizza.   We were hungry and ready, so we parked in a big church parking lot and hurried to their door.  Sorry, wood fired ovens don’t just simmer along all afternoon waiting for ravenous Airstreamers.


“Open daily at 4:30” 
So we took our appetites to the No Name Cafe.

 
…but  thoughts of Wood Fired Gourmet Pizza linger…
 

Our site (#84 Shady Pines) at St Joseph’s State Park is nestled into the Saw Palmetto, just over the dunes from the Gulf.


“Do you hear the traffic noise, he asks?
“NO”
“EXACTLY”
On a quick scouting trip in the gathering dusk and sprinkles, we came upon a family building a splendid sand castle.





Darkness fell on one of the quietest nights we’ve spent in years, light rain occasionally pattering on the roof….