Ibis Foraging in Old Pasadena

When the spirit moves us, or more to the point, when the spirit is inclined to move us by events here on Skinny Island, we pack up a few things and head across state to the west coast offices of the Post, our little digs in St. Petersburg, South Pasadena, specifically.  The two annual events which always prompt this dash are the Daytona 500, and Bike week, the reasons for which are self-evident and require no further elaboration.  But to allay any thoughts this may engender that we are one-per-centers, with a myriad of posh homes to enjoy, some elaboration of the facts might be in order.

The very few of our readers who have actually visited both the west coast enclave and the Little Hacienda on Skinny Island will know that the Skinny Island house, while modest and utilitarian, is a veritable palace compared to the Pasadena place.  This is a choice of both economics and philosophy.  We don’t need what we can’t afford, and vice versa.  But to be perfectly honest, its purchase, nine years ago this month, was born of two things even more fundamental: balance and baseball.  The balance aspect stems from my Tampa area roots.  I am a Tampa native, and have roots there from the 1850s.  I wanted to go home, the Bay, the Gulf, etc.  The baseball angle is a tad more obtuse.  In 1998 or so we got the idea to go catch a few games of the fledgling Tampa Bay Devil Rays, a new American League franchise based in St. Pete.  We got a partial season ticket package, 22 games, way in nosebleed.  We’d drive over three hours in the afternoon, watch the game for three hours, then drive three hours back.  Not always.  We found a sweet little old Florida motel on Treasure Island, and stayed there often.  Still, it was costing.  We finally said, hell we like it over here so much, and the baseball, (even though they were the worst team in baseball then,) so we started looking for a little house.  We found one in South Pasadena, a two-bedroom little place, not much to look at from the outside, and as is our custom, set about rehabbing the joint.  It was great.  We got better tickets gradually, eventually ending up about twenty rows back of the home dugout.  My running joke with our seat-mates was that every game was costing me about $1500.  We finally got priced out of the seats, but kept the house.  The year after we gave up the seats the Rays made the playoffs, and the World Series the next season.  Oh, well.

John's Pass, Treasure Island

Anyway, it’s a great little place for a few days get-away.  Great neighbors, and an interesting mix of houses.  You can walk to Boca Ciega Bay, and it’s just a short drive to the Gulf Beaches of Treasure Island.  This week past was cool, rainy, and windy, but we managed walks on the beach, and even some quiet sitting, plus many walks through the neighborhood, some pictures of which are enclosed.

A Little Gargoyle Goes a Long Way

Big Banyan

But the highlight was something we saw while sitting on the beach.  We were enjoying watching a bunch of sandpipers and gulls along the surf, as well as a scattering of Willets, one of our favorite birds.  one particular adult was being followed quite closely by two little ones, all long beak and legs.  They darted after her every move, and demonstrated a short,adept flying burst when she did.  Then, with no signal we could discern, mama walked off down the beach, and the little ones did not follow.  They pecked around in the sand a few minutes, then joined a gathering of sandpipers, and just stood there.  We watched for about an hour for mama to come back but she never did, and the little ones made no attempt to follow.  Here’s what we think it was, an extraordinary moment we were privileged to witness:  they had graduated, and she had turned them loose.  We think we saw the moment that happened, a small, but singularly amazing event of ancient nature.

A Willet