On Monday morning we drove to the Beth David Memorial Gardens so that he could pay his respects to his grandparents. It was my second visit. I'd been before with his father.
Audrey personalized her parents' niches on the top row with a crown and a harmonica. Simple, symmetrical and very cool. I spent several Thanksgivings at their apartment in Jackson Heights in the late 70s. David came with me once, too.
Zoltan shares my fascination with cemeteries so we wandered around for a bit afterward.
En route to the Hollywood Beach Broadwalk, 20 minutes due east, he told me how much he had disliked Disney World as a kid and his contempt for single adults who visit it. Walt struck back quickly.
Spring Break was in full swing so we skedaddled to the Stranahan House in Fort Lauderdale for a self-guided tour of a remarkably well-preserved, multi-use structure which has fronted the New River for more than a century.
Frank and his wife Ivy, a young school teacher, lived together upstairs until the early Florida real estate market collapsed and two powerful hurricanes devastated the area in the mid 1920s. Frank drowned himself in the river but Ivy turned the place into a boarding house, living in the attic when all the rooms were full. She remained on site until her death at the age of 90 in 1971 even after it became a popular restaurant under new ownership. The woman had pluck
. . . and a close female friend, a pharmacist, whose home she often visited. Hmmm. The tabebuia trees are in bloom now, too. That's how I know spring is imminent in Lake Worth Beach.
Frank, now considered the founding father of Fort Lauderdale was also its first postmaster. This oddly modern portrait was painted in 1929, the year of his death.
Florian and I had visited the post office almost two decades ago, when my beard was still dark. Time waits for no one.
We ended the afternoon at the Loxahatchee National Wildlife Preserve under a rainbow.
Snowy egrets, ibises, a roseate spoonbill, a snake and a mostly submerged alligator definitely made the quick stop worthwhile.
The next morning, gray skies and a deep dive in the temperature, accompanied by blustery winds, sent us to Jupiter, the "elbow" or eastern most point of Florida, instead of MacArthur Park where we had planned to kayak in the estuary. But first we stopped for a fascist photo-op on the Southern Bridge, soon to be re-named for you-know-who. PBI is about to become DJT, too (if you know, you know). Ugh!
Our tour of the Jupiter Lighthouse grounds included another of example of early white settler (a.k.a. "cracker") architecture in Florida.
Twelve people once inhabited the Tindall House, built in 1892 and re-located here for preservation purposes. Mom and Dad conceived ten kids in this bed.
Zoltan and I agreed that Randy, our pompadoured tour guide, aced his assignment with solid information delivered with a subtle soupçon of defensive liberalism. "There are times when I will be referring to the BLM," he said. It refers to the Bureau of Land Management, not Black Lives Matters." You definitely have to be careful what you say nowadays. Randy seemed most at home in the kitchen and dining room.
I've photographed the Jupiter Lighthouse on multiple occasions but had never been inside. Built in 1860, it was designed by George Meade, a young lieutenant in the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. By the time the Civil War broke out, he had risen to the rank of brigadier general and eventually defeated Robert E. Lee at the Battle of Gettysburg. His short temper earned him the nickname "Old Snapping Turtle."
An enormous ficus tree at the base of the lighthouse shades the brick deck.
The original lantern, an antique now worth nearly $10 million, can be seen from ships up to 25 miles out on the Atlantic. It has been lit continuously every night since the defeat of the Confederacy.
No place in Palm Beach County offers better views.
Arthritis notwithstanding, I climbed steadily to the top, 105 steps in all without taking advantage of any of the rest stops.
Going backwards down the spiral staircase definitely eased my descent.
We stopped at the Loggerhead Marine Life Center and the Manatee Lagoon before heading back to the Folly where Thom had prepared his traditional Erin go Bragh dinner for St. Patrick's Day. I hadn't noticed this prehistoric replica when I visited with Florian in December, but some of the turtles that had been given names from classical Greek mythology were still recuperating.
At 6'4," Zoltan measured up if the Manatee Lagoon did not. None were present.
On Wednesday morning, we indulged in some nostalgia: Zoltan still holds the Pines record for consuming the most pancakes flipped by me at breakfast. He now holds the Folly record as well.
After dropping him off to see the Rembrandt exhibit at the Norton Museum, I explored the waterfront in West Palm Beach for the first time since the pandemic.
The public has access to a promenade with views of the Royal Park Bridge which connects the Palm Beaches.
For as little as $7.5 million (or as much as $78!), residents can watch the draw bridge rise and lower with super yachts docked in the distance. In 2022, a woman fell to her death when a negligent tender raised the spans as she was crossing the fittingly named bridge with her bike.
You've got to wonder what the Apostle of Cuban Independence would have had to say about what's going on today in his beloved homeland. He's also memorialized in Ybor City and New York.
Zoltan enjoyed the Wakodahatchee Wetlands, our final stop, more than any other tourist attraction he's ever seen in Florida. It recycles millions of gallons of water on a daily basis and also serves as a wildlife sanctuary. Dagny beat her uncle here, too, although there's no chance she remembers it.
Zoltan reprimanded another visitor for petting this anhinga. "How would you like it if someone patted your ass?" he growled to a clueless teenager and his mother.
A marsh hare and a purple martin risked their lives to feed near the water.
According to another excited visitor, this alligator just missed lunching on a bird that strayed a little too close.
A pair of wood storks photobombed us!
