Born on a mixed subsistence farm in rural Lunenburg County, Nova Scotia, Canada. Moved to Ontario in 1967 to attend University at what was then Waterloo Lutheran University and moved to Oakville, Ontario in 1971. Without intending to live up to the name became a letter carrier the following January and have worked for Canada Post ever since. I retired in August of 2008.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Florida, It is Hot

For me Florida has been this mythic place seniors went to for the winter and returned from in the spring. Actually arriving puts an entirely different spin on the place. Southern hospitality is great—if you can afford it. The reception I received at Hanna Beach was a mite off-putting, surf so high that swimming is impossible takes the shine off the warm ocean beaches, and being over-flown by a helicopter ever 15 minutes is not a pleasant feeling. I may not like the thoughts of snow and freezing temperatures but 85 degrees is warm for my Nordic blood especially when it barely cools off at night. And then there are the insects, mould, damp, storms, crime, and pricey campgrounds. Nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there.

At Vero Beach I got introduced for the first time to the concept of gated communities with their country clubs, golf courses, rent-a-cops, and million-dollar plots of land. That lifestyle with its fancy yachts, private aircraft, multi-million dollar homes, and security is totally foreign to me. My RV would fit many times over into the cabana in which I was put up. After my RV attempting to sleep in a king-sized bed with 12-foot ceilings above me was intimidating. For those who are not invited into these private enclaves Vero Beach is a highway leading nowhere. There is no such thing as just dropping in on your friends unless the visit be pre-arranged.

Next week I hope to get my heat pump working after a visit to an RV Centre but until then I'm stuck with using my ceiling fan in the hopes of drawing in cooler air. Last evening an infestation of tiny biting somethings bedevilled my night. Again miles of sand are useless if the ocean surf is too high to allow swimming. I'm not into baking on the beach; my blonde skin sunburns too easily. This weekend I'm headed for the Everglades—wait til I write about that experience. Were it not for visiting friends here I'd have made a left turn at Jacksonville after visiting Hanna Beach and headed West. Everything I've experienced here has reinforced my preconceptions that this is not the place for me.

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