I have written often that my husband and I love museums of all kinds.  We have been fortunate enough to visit places from the Louvre in Paris to a tiny little museum in Skagway, Alaska.  We did a little research and discovered a gem of a museum in Naples, Florida that is part of four Collier County Museums.  We could not believe it was free and the five acres was full of interesting Floridian relics, both inside and out.  As someone with a strong American Indian heritage, I often have a difficult time seeing archives of the “development” of places, as it certainly meant destruction for those Native peoples.  This museum did a nice job though of showing what Native American life was like and the various ways they implemented shells:  from their currency to regalia to shoring up their living quarters to protect it from water.  They even went as far back as prehistoric times and we were all able to marvel at some fascinating remains of indigenous animals who once roamed the area.  Exhibit A is this picture of a Saber-toothed cat.  I never mind studying animals when I know they died a natural death; it’s the hunted ones that sicken me.  We were stunned to discover there was once a giant beaver during the last Ice Age that grew to eight feet!  Roaming about freely, we were able to learn about all sorts of things at our leisure.  The American author Melody Beattie said, “Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.”  It was a lovely way to spend our last day in Florida and we were grateful.  We delighted in the present, looked forward to returning, and took time to learn a little about pieces of the past.

Not having gotten to go to a beach until I was an adult (and even then it was because I was in the Miss Texas U.S.A. pageant, so I was really there to work) there are tons of things about which I still do not know — like sandbars.  I was astounded that way out past where my feet could no longer touch there were people who were clearly standing.  I will never forget the first time we took the baby in and my husband, who had been fortunate enough to have spent his early childhood in the Caribbean, casually said, “Just watch out for the undertow.”  I was already petrified of stinging jellyfish, pinching crabs, and whatever other sort of creatures inhabited the waters.  Once in a lake at church camp when I was in high school I freaked out because some type of long fish brushed against my leg.  I didn’t scream; I was just silently, completely, and thoroughly unnerved.  I love animals — all of them; but unless the water is very clear one does not really know what to expect.  I decided this would be the year I conquered my secret fear and I swam confidently out to the sandbar that stretched its way parallel to the shoreline, dividing the water from a lighter greenish color to a deep, dark, mysterious blue.  I could see the line of white sand, which proved to be far wider than I had first thought, and at last I was able to touch down.  Immediately I felt a dreaded strange something underneath my feet.  Trying not to recoil, I just wanted to make sure I had not hurt whatever it was.  My husband was with me and he dove down to try and uncover it.  In the meantime, I felt another one of the strange somethings and I bravely decided to scoop it up with my feet by going underneath it in the sand and putting it on the top of my foot.  At the same time, my husband and I emerged triumphantly with sand dollars!  They were scratchy and brown and I had only ever seen them smooth, somewhat brittle, and white.  I quickly realized they would die without the sea and I was not going to be among those horrible people who allowed them to suffer a tortuous death just so they could bring them home as souvenirs.  Luckily, I had my shelling bag with me and we carefully placed them inside to swim back in closer with our little girl so I could capture this sweet picture.  Of course after that we promptly swam back out and gently placed them where we’d found them.  We all noticed then that our fingers and palms had turned yellow after holding them.  It turns out they produce a harmless substance called echinochrome.  I was so relieved they were back where they belonged!  One of the women whom I admire the most is the American oceanographer Sylvia Earle, who said:

“On a sea floor that looks like a sandy mud bottom, that at first glance might appear to be sand and mud, when you look closely and sit there as I do for a while and just wait, all sorts of creatures show themselves, with little heads popping out of the sand.  It is a metropolis.”

For just a few moments, we got to connect with a part of the ocean’s ecosystem.  Briefly holding all those sand dollars definitely made us feel rich.

This day would prove to be an interesting one.  My child of the sea did NOT want to leave the beach!  Finally, I saw the guys taking up all the umbrellas and the chairs early and asked why.  They explained it was because it was sea turtle nesting season and they did not want to disturb them.  My little darling pitched a fit, still clutching furiously to her alligator raft from the waves, when I said we had to go.  “I DON’T WANT TO!” she wailed.  Finally I hollered, “THE BEACH IS CLOSED!!!” and pointed to all the cabana boys who were taking everything up.  “Why?!” my little one demanded as she drug Mr. Chompers to shore.  When I explained to her it was because the mama turtles needed to come and lay their eggs and that we shared the ocean with them she willingly left.  “I do not want to hurt the ‘tuttles’ Mama,” she proclaimed in her still baby voice.  What’s funny is that all the other moms used me as the bad guy, pointing as I hollered to my little one that the beach was closed.  Once we took the tram through the mangroves back to our hotel we discovered that all the power was out.  And we had 17 floors to climb.  Abruptly, our then three year old proclaimed she could not possibly walk.  God bless this young man, who — in his full hotel uniform — offered to give our little one a piggy back ride.  “Yea!” she squealed as I shook my head furiously.  “It’s OK,” the young man said.  I got this picture of them that I think captures my little one’s unbridled glee and this poor guy’s exhaustion.  God bless him.  The Danish Baroness Karen Christenze von Blixen-Finecke, who often wrote under the pen name Isak Dinesen, said, “The cure for anything is salt water:  sweat, tears or the sea.”  I can truthfully say we had all three that day:  salt from the sea, tears for having to leave it, and sweat from this darling man who was kind enough to schlepp a little girl up 17 flights of steps.  By all accounts we had it covered:  the cure for anything.

It was our first full day of our third trip to Naples and we were ready to hit the beach.  Swimsuits:  check.  Sunscreen:  check.  Cover ups:  check.  Sun hats: check.  Sunglasses:  check.  Basically anything that can block out the beautiful, golden rays of the sun:  check.  Arm floaties:  check.  Mr. Chompers, our alligator, raft:  check.  Cold bottled water:  check.  By the time we were prepared to go, the sun was starting to rise higher and I wanted to get out early.  My husband complained about the sunscreen.  My little one complained about the sunscreen.  My husband proclaimed it greasy; my little girl proclaimed it too cold.  As someone who was once incredibly tanned for the Miss Texas U.S.A. pageant, I have since had several pre-cancer surgeries.  I did not want them to have a back that was carved up like mine.  My little one and I love to find rocks that are heat-shaped and we began leaving them at the foot of our big St. Francis statue who presides over our koi pond.  I hope that we will always share our hearts.  I believe in this picture my little one had discovered what she thought to be a heat-shaped shell.  The American author H. Jackson Brown, Jr. said, “Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye.”  Maybe this shell wasn’t precisely a heart, but she painted one for me upon our return that does resembles one.  I keep it on our coffee table in the den as a reminder of our family time on the beach.  She is my greatest love, and I know for certain that she will always have my heart.

This was our third visit to Florida.  We had a night flight and landed at an ungodly hour with our then three year old.  But the unmitigated Hell was in trying to install the car seat into our rental car.  I sweltered for an entire hour with sweat trickling down my body while my husband languished with the baby inside the air conditioning.  Finally, a big, burly cop came zipping up riding a Segway and asked if I needed help.  Now sporting an actual sweat mustache, I told him yes; there was about to be a murder — my husband’s — for not assisting.  Since we were literally the only ones still at the airport at half past one in the morning my spouse was easily spotted, looking cool and relaxed and reading his iPhone.  The police officer laughed hard and said, “Just wait until you get out of the airport to do it!”  He was one of the good guys.  I finally realized perhaps I could Google an installation manual online.  Of course I knew how to put in our old car seat, but our little one had outgrown it and this was a new one complete with cup holders, which made her feel very grown up.  At LAST the two of us working together got it and I didn’t feel quite so dumb when the officer pronounced it was the most complicated car seat he had ever seen.  Sir Philip Sidney, a prominent figure in the Elizabethan Age, once said this:  “It is the nature of the strong heart, that like the palm tree it strives ever upwards when it is most burdened.”  I resolve to be more like the palm tree when faced with a trying situation, striving ever upward.  Before leaving to make the one hour drive to our hotel, I captured this picture of my little one.  I love the look on her face as she stared up in awe — palms up!