Important Things

Hello, hungry people.

I stepped outside the other morning for an early walk and there was smoke in the air. Not a lot of it, just a bit of haze and a slight campfire aroma, making me think of marshmallows.

Those forest fires in Canada. They’ve made their presence known all the way down here in Florida.

Which, as I walked, got me thinking about fire. And what if my home were suddenly ablaze?

Yeah, that’s jumping to the extreme. But what would I scoop up and take with me?

Not a hard decision. Assuming that my lovely wife and our dog, Marcus, were already safely out the door, I’d grab:

Those are the sculpted heads of our sons, Dash (left) and Bo, which sit by our front door. They were created by our friend, the late Elizabeth Barr, who had a studio at her home in New Smyrna Beach.

Over the course of a couple-three weekends, Bo and Dash sat for hours while Elizabeth carved and shaped and captured their likenesses in clay. Do you know how hard it is to get a nine and ten year old to sit still for something like that? They squirmed and complained and, being brothers, tormented each other endlessly.

When the sculpting was finally done, Elizabeth put the heads into a kiln.

And they exploded!

Meaning, the whole process had to be repeated. More squirming. More tormenting.

But it was worth it. Bo and Dash are in their 40s now. These sculptures froze them in time, just before the onset of hormones and puberty and them not being little boys any more. When our grandchildren drop by, they say hello to their dads’ heads.

And if the house was on fire, these would be the first things I grabbed.

***

This photo hangs on our living room wall. We call it “Lost in the Everglades,” although it was really shot in Yalaha, Florida. That’s where my great grandparents, John and Ellen James (that’s them sitting in the midde) moved to in 1886 from Dover, England.

The rest of the James gang (from top left, clockwise): Great-aunt Daisy; great-uncle Ray; my grandmother, May; and great-uncles Roland and Stanley.

They left England on a steamship, landed in Jacksonville, took a steamboat up the St. Johns River to Oklawaha, hung out there for a bit, then took another boat up the Oklawaha River, across Lake Griffin, up the Dead River, across Lake Harris, up Helena Run to Lake Denham and to the end of the steamboat line in Okahumpka, where they lived for a short time before moving a few miles east to Yalaha. That’s where I grew up and where my brother Danny still lives.

Most folks don’t know where Yalaha is, even those who live around here. I tell them it’s halfway between Okahumpka and Astatula. Doesn’t help much. I’m kinda proud of being from someplace in Florida that few people have ever heard of.

None of my forebears look very happy in that photo. I’m guessing it was hot and buggy. But I thank them for all the effort it took to get here, and I’d grab them on my way out the door.

What you’re looking at there is the work of my lovely wife. It’s a bulletin board that occupies a wall in our guest bedroom which doubles as Debbie’s office. And it’s an ever-growing collage that’s filled with more memories that I can count.

Friends and family, some no longer with us, some growing up faster than I can keep track of, kids’ drawings, stickers and mementos from favorite places, an old newspaper story by outdoor writer Byron Stout about Debbie catching a big tarpon in Boca Grande Pass.

You can’t just tuck this kinda stuff away on the cloud or in a scrapbook. You want it where you can see it every day.

And if the flames were threatening to burn down our place, I’d snatch it on the way out.

***
Sadly, what I’d have to leave behind.

My rum bar.

Most of the bottles I’ve collected from travels. Others have been gifted me by friends. Caribbean rum mostly, but also from Vietnam, Thailand, Tahiti, the Seychelles, Australia and a particularly vile version from Nova Scotia that I bought because it had a Kraken on the label.

Those first three things — the heads that didn’t explode, “Lost in the Everglades,” Debbie’s wonderfully curated collage — are irreplaceable. It would gut me to lose them.

I can always buy more rum.

While I’m not particularly worried about our place going up in blazes, I was a good scout. I like to be prepared. And I am working diligently to drain those bottles so that nothing gets wasted. Except, on rare occasion, me.

****

Thanks for dropping by. See you back here soon.