The family postcard
Aug. 21st, 2003 03:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vaneramosMy candid pictures of strangers bring to mind something that happened to me and my parents when I was little.
My family used to drive to Florida every other year on the March Break. Fortunately, my birthdays usually fell during that week, so I managed to celebrate several of them with a warm holiday. My parents shunned hot sun and crowded beaches, so we only visited the coast once as a family, primarily to see some old forts. We spent most of our time at Ocala National Forest, in the north central part of the state.
We had a couple of favourite spots. One of them was Alexander Springs, which had a pleasant beach and a canoe route through a marsh where small alligators lurked and limpkins waded in the weeds. The water itself was beautiful and clear. I was a weak swimmer as a child, but I can remember floating near the surface and looking down, seeing scuba divers in the azure shining depths below. I had my third birthday cake on a picnic table at Alexander Springs, and got bitten by a squirrel.
Our favourite spot, however, was Juniper Springs. I can't remember why we liked it so much, because the spring itself was not very large and always crowded. It was nice swimming though. The water flowed past a wooden millwheel and into a stream through the woods.
It had a decent campground. One year we met Aunt Carol's family there for a few days. One afternoon, while the rest of us were swimming, for some reason my father and cousin John made a campfire. The next day their entire bodies were covered with a red rash and blisters. They had put poison sumac in the fire and its smoke carried the toxic oil.
My brothers were already in their teens, so Mom and Dad would let them hang out and flirt with the drawling southern girls while we did family things. I had a straw hat and the geekiest sunglasses in the world, orange with black tiger stripes. We would rent a canoe and paddle along the stream, exploring the woods.
One day when I was five we saw a photographer standing by the bank. We stopped and talked to him. He said he was photographing wildlife.
My favourite spot at Juniper Springs was the concession stand and gift shop. I sure liked candy, but more than that I liked Mrs. Robinson who worked there. She taught me to hold peanuts on my palm and call "Peter peter peter!" Her friend, a tufted titmouse, would fly down and land on my hand and take the nuts.
The year I turned seven, we arrived at Juniper Springs and my parents started to set up camp. I was anxious to see Mrs. Robinson, so Mom let me go running to the store.
"I have something to show you," she said.
She went and got a postcard from the rack.
"There's a family in this picture that looks just like yours."
It showed the stream running through the woods, with a family paddling a canoe. There was a mother and a father, and in the middle, a little boy in a straw hat and tiger sunglasses.
"It is us, Mrs. Robinson!" I exclaimed.
She seemed surprised.
"Look, that's me."
"Here, you can have one to go and show your parents," she said.
I went running back to the campsite shouting, "Mom! Dad!"
Mom bought a pile of those postcards and mailed them to our friends. She saved one somewhere. I'm sure it will turn up someday.
My father remembered the photographer we had seen on the stream bank two years earlier. It never occurred to us to take offence or feel he had invaded our privacy. We were too pleased to appear on the front of a postcard. Of course that was 1971. Those were kinder and friendlier days.
My family used to drive to Florida every other year on the March Break. Fortunately, my birthdays usually fell during that week, so I managed to celebrate several of them with a warm holiday. My parents shunned hot sun and crowded beaches, so we only visited the coast once as a family, primarily to see some old forts. We spent most of our time at Ocala National Forest, in the north central part of the state.
We had a couple of favourite spots. One of them was Alexander Springs, which had a pleasant beach and a canoe route through a marsh where small alligators lurked and limpkins waded in the weeds. The water itself was beautiful and clear. I was a weak swimmer as a child, but I can remember floating near the surface and looking down, seeing scuba divers in the azure shining depths below. I had my third birthday cake on a picnic table at Alexander Springs, and got bitten by a squirrel.
Our favourite spot, however, was Juniper Springs. I can't remember why we liked it so much, because the spring itself was not very large and always crowded. It was nice swimming though. The water flowed past a wooden millwheel and into a stream through the woods.
It had a decent campground. One year we met Aunt Carol's family there for a few days. One afternoon, while the rest of us were swimming, for some reason my father and cousin John made a campfire. The next day their entire bodies were covered with a red rash and blisters. They had put poison sumac in the fire and its smoke carried the toxic oil.
My brothers were already in their teens, so Mom and Dad would let them hang out and flirt with the drawling southern girls while we did family things. I had a straw hat and the geekiest sunglasses in the world, orange with black tiger stripes. We would rent a canoe and paddle along the stream, exploring the woods.
One day when I was five we saw a photographer standing by the bank. We stopped and talked to him. He said he was photographing wildlife.
My favourite spot at Juniper Springs was the concession stand and gift shop. I sure liked candy, but more than that I liked Mrs. Robinson who worked there. She taught me to hold peanuts on my palm and call "Peter peter peter!" Her friend, a tufted titmouse, would fly down and land on my hand and take the nuts.
The year I turned seven, we arrived at Juniper Springs and my parents started to set up camp. I was anxious to see Mrs. Robinson, so Mom let me go running to the store.
"I have something to show you," she said.
She went and got a postcard from the rack.
"There's a family in this picture that looks just like yours."
It showed the stream running through the woods, with a family paddling a canoe. There was a mother and a father, and in the middle, a little boy in a straw hat and tiger sunglasses.
"It is us, Mrs. Robinson!" I exclaimed.
She seemed surprised.
"Look, that's me."
"Here, you can have one to go and show your parents," she said.
I went running back to the campsite shouting, "Mom! Dad!"
Mom bought a pile of those postcards and mailed them to our friends. She saved one somewhere. I'm sure it will turn up someday.
My father remembered the photographer we had seen on the stream bank two years earlier. It never occurred to us to take offence or feel he had invaded our privacy. We were too pleased to appear on the front of a postcard. Of course that was 1971. Those were kinder and friendlier days.
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no subject
Date: 2003-08-21 12:37 pm (UTC)You may enjoying reading this book: Jim The Boy, by Tony Earley (I did.).
no subject
Date: 2003-08-21 12:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-08-21 01:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-08-21 02:05 pm (UTC)Those were, indeed, good days.
no subject
Date: 2003-08-21 02:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-08-21 02:59 pm (UTC)Isn't amazing how the smallest coincidences in life can yield some of the coolest results?
no subject
Date: 2003-08-21 04:56 pm (UTC)