Bahia Honda State Park

Day One: 20 degrees to 50 degrees (Detroit to Marathon Key)

Pam didn’t ring the bell when she came to pick me up for the airport this morning. She pulled in the driveway and popped the trunk, not moving from her toasty car with the heat vents blasting. Can’t say I blame her. It was a Michigan February, the air clocking in at a nippy 20-degrees. So why was I smiling? I was flying south for the winter, a dreaded snowbird migrating down to Florida for a week or so.

“We are the smartest people in the Metro Detroit area,” one passenger said, shivering in a tee shirt as she clunked her six carry-on bags down the aisle of our budget airline. Her comment prompted a collective murmur of agreement — even a couple of high-fives. 

Yes, we were smart. Goodbye, gray freeze of winter. Enough with the sickness and runny noses.  The winter whining. The daily scrape and grind of shovels, scrapers and snowplows. We were brilliant for leaving the state and congratulated each other accordingly. As we landed, a cheer greeted the news from the flight deck: our destination was a sunny 53 degrees.

Once we reached Ft. Lauderdale, the snowbirds were easy to spot among the native population. They looked like candy canes: pale and pasty (arrivals) or sunburned  (departures). They were the ones rationalizing mid-day margaritas and heinous tropical prints with the same unarguable logic – it’s vacation and it’s warm. We snowbirds were also the only ones smiling at the fifty-degree weather, which was unseasonably cold for Florida. We were like those peppy birthday cards “50 is Nifty!”  but the locals just look cold and unhappy.

an unhappy local

Day Two: High 55 degrees

Arrived late last night on the Keys Shuttle bus. Most of my fellow shuttle-buddies were Midwestern, including a couple of fellows from Michigan. We all got a little choked up when we saw the sun, and trees with leaves on them.

Floridians say it’s too cold. Fifty degrees and I’m searing my retinas, grinning stupidly at the orb in the sky. But Florida residents are inside and scowling. The burrowing owls won’t show themselves and the local news is full of strange tales of frozen iguanas falling out of trees. Florida people are bundled up in sweaters but I’m wearing shorts. Think I’ll take a dip in that water. (It’s not even frozen!!)

Day Three: High 61 degrees

I was the only person swimming at the beach. I know, I know: Never Swim Alone. But no one else would go in with me. In fact, the closest people came to the water was to shout at me “How’s the water?” but before I’d answer, they’d laugh and say something like “Cold enough for you?” and walk away. Weird. Get the feeling I look like a tourist.

Day Four: High 63 degrees

Hmmm. Getting a complex. The guy on the fishing boat came right up to me and said, “You’re not from around here, are you.” I was cool with that until I realized he wasn’t asking a question.  At the time, I was merely riding in the front of the boat. Okay, so I was the only one in a tee shirt, and yes, I was probably also grinning like a fool — pulling my Labrador-out-the-car-window pose — as we bounced over the windy chop, but come on! The sun was shining! It was over 60 degrees!  Life is grand in Snowbirdland! 

Point if you love Snowbirds!

Day Five: High 71 degrees

We cooked up our catch last night. Surprisingly delicious for fish called “grunts.” Told someone “grunts are good eating,” which I thought sounded very local. But the response was they only ate BIG fish like grouper and snapper. Lah tee dah. So much for fitting in.

Another beautiful day. More ocean swimming. Snowbird plumage transitioning from pasty to peeling.

Day ????: Highs in the 70s to 80s

Losing track of days and time. Deliriously happy. Brains frying in the coco-buttered sun. Drinking beer in the daytime. Napping now and again. Speaking (and writing) in shorter phrases. Words don’t do justice to this wondrous place of warmth every day. It can’t possibly be February! This place is under some kind of enchanted fairyland spell.

Brain dead beach fun

Day ?????: Highs in the 80’s

Relaxed. My face is relaxed. Grunts are more than dinner; it’s a way of life. We have sun. We catch fish. We eat fish. We are happy. We must never leave.

Day Nine: Highs in the 70

Crap. We’re leaving. Smashing my snorkel gear into a suitcase. Frowning into my mojito. Scanning the classified ads in the local newspaper. Am I too old to start a rewarding career in airbrushed tee shirts? Considering a real estate investment.

Cocktail hour getting earlier by the day

Day Ten: 31 Degrees

This time it was groans that greeted the news from the flight deck: we would arrive to 31 degrees in Detroit with a chance of snow.

“Great. Already the S-word and we haven’t even landed,” gripes a passenger.

The S-word awaits us at touchdown in sad, clumpy piles. The passengers also look sad and clumpy. Even the loud Hawaiian shirts are quiet. One soul asks the flight attendant if the captain could take off again and return us to Florida. Those still in their sandals feel the strange sensation of their toes retracting back into their feet when the blast of cold air hits them in the jet way. Once the teeth start chattering, the complaints aren’t far behind about the weather, the wind, and the luggage taking too long on the conveyor belt. The jaws start clacking and I get the feeling like we never left.

back to Michigan ice

(Counter Reset) Day one: 27 degrees

A beautiful sunny day. Crunchy snow underfoot.  My brain appears to be ramping up again — like my clacking jaws, it is trying to stay warm in the cold weather.  A girl comments on my healthy (red) glow, asking jealously “have you been somewhere?”  I know what she means: somewhere warm and lovely, somewhere not here. But all snowbirds must return to its nest, winter plumage of wool slowly returning. So is the smile. It’s good to be home.