As my wife and I drove home this evening, we saw lightning flashing off to the east of us. We crave any rain we can get here in the desert of Arizona.
Growing up in Florida, I never remember rain being something one had to wait for. It seemed to come fast, furious and regularly. Many say you can set your watch by the afternoon rains there during the summer. Probably one of my favorite remembrances is that of watching the Florida sky turn to a steel blue/black. That dark backdrop made the colors of everything else pop in your vision. The pastures or sawgrass or celery fields flashed brilliant green. The grey trunks of the oak trees would sway in the oncoming wind, shaking their gray, bearded spanish moss against the deep green of their leaves.
But what soars through my memories most is the flight of the snowy egrets as they seek shelter from the approaching storm. To this day, I can still see these graceful birds with their flowing white feathers as they rise in a smooth arc circling the pond and heading for the sanctuary of the stands of cypress trees along the river.
I remember, too, some rainy days in my old Sarasota neighborhood. My mother taught me well not to walk in the street where the cars may not see me. I obeyed. . .to a fault. As I walked home from school, a deluge insued. Not to worry, Mom had a bright yellow plastic raincoat--you know, the heavy ones that lasted much longer than your current height or sleeve length would. I donned my raingear, tucked my books inside and trudged toward my house. Mom would be so proud of me, walking knee-deep in the gutter so as "not to get in the street or traffic."
In my high school years my siblings and I would spend many summer days in our little sailboat (see "Christmas" post.) We would sail up and down Sarasota Bay, soaking up the healing powers of the salt, air and sun. We would sing, tell embarassing stories, swim, fish occasionally, and just be boys, friends, pals! More than once we would see the skies begin to darken and, just as we were taught by my father, we got to a safe place and got our mast down so as not to attract lightning. There was a small spoil island at the mouth of Hudson Bayou that was a favorite place for us to put in. We pulled the boat up on the white sandy beach, near the mangroves, on the south side of the little 20' by 60' atoll. Rapidly we took the sail down and flipped the boat up on its side. We leaned the boat rail against the centerboard and then spread the sail over to complete our shelter in the storm. We continued our telling of tales and laughing. Every sizzle and crack of the lightning and boom of thunder made us jump. Rain pounded so hard on the boat and sail that we really could not hear ourselves talk. Finally the rain would slack off, the wind soften, and we would scurry from the lean-to and prepare the rigging for the last leg back to the house. This was just a quiet time of reflecting on the day and listening to water lap against the hull of the "Snowflake." As we rounded the point, we could see our port, our house. . .we were home!
Please take a moment to share your rememberances of a summer rain or growing up in Florida.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Homemade is Best - Thoughts of Christmas' Past
I gave a speech last week at Toastmasters about "Thoughts of Christmas' Past". I shared a few of my favorite memories of Christmas growing up on the gulf coast. I used an old Irish Proverb that stated "If you seek a thing, you find something different." In the speech I talked about a few traditions like our annual Christmas concert at the foot of the stairs or in front of the Christmas tree. It included songs and playing instruments for a crowd of two, my parents.
I shared how my parents sometimes made gifts that were more special than anything store bought. A couple of those bigger than life gifts were a push car and a sailboat. The push car was made from the canopy of a WWII fighter aircraft. My dad attached it to a plywood base, put two wheels in the back and a joystick steering handle in the front. It was painted bright sunshine yellow and had two seats and tin can jet engines painted black with red exhaust inside. We took it down by the Municpal Auditorium, on a street (8th St. I think, by the Players Theater) that had a small hill where we could ride at the speed of sound (the sound of GLEE that is). Back on our street the neighbor kids lined up for weeks anytime we brought the car out just to push it up and down Temple St. for a chance to get in and steer it themselves.
The sailboat, was "the thing that we sought but found something different". I think it was the year I was in 6th grade. We had finished opening presents which with 5 kids leaves a living room looking like a christmas wrapping explosion. My Dad asked the question "Is that everything?" which immediately clued us in to the fact that there must be something else. But like the proverb stated, we were looking for "something" only to find something else. We were looking for something in the wrapping paper choice of that year. Instead we found something unwrapped but very revealing. There,tucked away behind the christmas tree and slightly covered by the living room drapes was a rudder. Now my brothers and I were in a sailing squadron and knew what it was immediately. But why was a rudder in our living room? That took longer to sink in. My Dad asked us what it was and we told him, however the game went on. "Why is that in here?" he asked with that Bob McLeod grin. "We don't know" was our response, as wonderment captured our thoughts. "Well", he said, "what does go to? "A sailboat" we quickly answered. "Well do you see one in here?" he replied? "No Sir", we answered back. "Well you better look around then". Of course by now we knew the only place a boat could be was outside. We ran to the front door and as we threw it open, there stood the "Snowflake" in all her majesty. My dad had rigged it and put the sail up as it sat in the front yard. I remembered we jumped up and down with sheer delight. the boat While not made completely by my Dad, was painted and rigged by him. It was painted white and had the name painted in ice blue lettering on the prow and the square bow had a beautiful geometric snowflake design. we sailed that thing up and down Sarasota Bay for 7 or 8 years. And I don't remember now what finally became of the boat. But was it ever fun!
Homemade was special to me. It really does show that someone took the time and made the effort to give a one of a kind gift. We all appreciate someone working hard to make a decent paycheck to buy us nice things, but when they make something, design something, craft it just for you...well, that is special!
What special Christmas memories do you care to share?
I shared how my parents sometimes made gifts that were more special than anything store bought. A couple of those bigger than life gifts were a push car and a sailboat. The push car was made from the canopy of a WWII fighter aircraft. My dad attached it to a plywood base, put two wheels in the back and a joystick steering handle in the front. It was painted bright sunshine yellow and had two seats and tin can jet engines painted black with red exhaust inside. We took it down by the Municpal Auditorium, on a street (8th St. I think, by the Players Theater) that had a small hill where we could ride at the speed of sound (the sound of GLEE that is). Back on our street the neighbor kids lined up for weeks anytime we brought the car out just to push it up and down Temple St. for a chance to get in and steer it themselves.
The sailboat, was "the thing that we sought but found something different". I think it was the year I was in 6th grade. We had finished opening presents which with 5 kids leaves a living room looking like a christmas wrapping explosion. My Dad asked the question "Is that everything?" which immediately clued us in to the fact that there must be something else. But like the proverb stated, we were looking for "something" only to find something else. We were looking for something in the wrapping paper choice of that year. Instead we found something unwrapped but very revealing. There,tucked away behind the christmas tree and slightly covered by the living room drapes was a rudder. Now my brothers and I were in a sailing squadron and knew what it was immediately. But why was a rudder in our living room? That took longer to sink in. My Dad asked us what it was and we told him, however the game went on. "Why is that in here?" he asked with that Bob McLeod grin. "We don't know" was our response, as wonderment captured our thoughts. "Well", he said, "what does go to? "A sailboat" we quickly answered. "Well do you see one in here?" he replied? "No Sir", we answered back. "Well you better look around then". Of course by now we knew the only place a boat could be was outside. We ran to the front door and as we threw it open, there stood the "Snowflake" in all her majesty. My dad had rigged it and put the sail up as it sat in the front yard. I remembered we jumped up and down with sheer delight. the boat While not made completely by my Dad, was painted and rigged by him. It was painted white and had the name painted in ice blue lettering on the prow and the square bow had a beautiful geometric snowflake design. we sailed that thing up and down Sarasota Bay for 7 or 8 years. And I don't remember now what finally became of the boat. But was it ever fun!
Homemade was special to me. It really does show that someone took the time and made the effort to give a one of a kind gift. We all appreciate someone working hard to make a decent paycheck to buy us nice things, but when they make something, design something, craft it just for you...well, that is special!
What special Christmas memories do you care to share?
Monday, December 13, 2010
Oranges ...
I saw a sitcom last week that made a big deal about how they grew up getting an Orange in their stocking every Christmas. It was becasue their Grandma told the story of that being such a special treat when she was child duriing the depression.
Well, we to received an orange or, if were real lucky, a tangerine in our stocking almost every year. But somehow it was just something you kind of expected growing up in the land of "milk & citrus". Everyone we knew had citrus trees or lived in or next to a citrus grove. So our vitamin "C" levels were through the roof from Dec. through Mar. I actually think my mom just gave us oranges so she would have them for the fruit salad at Christams dinner.
I live outside the state now but still in the "Sun Belt", and believe me there is nothing like Florida citrus. What you get out here in the Southwest is a thick skinned, pithy, no-flavored version of oranges or tangerines. Although I grew some tangerines in my backyard in the Phoenix area that rivaled the best I've had. I think it was the "cracker" care and maintenance that did the trick.
What do you remember of the citrus when you lived in Florida? Maybe like my father and great grandfather, you worked in the groves. Share something with us!
Rob
Well, we to received an orange or, if were real lucky, a tangerine in our stocking almost every year. But somehow it was just something you kind of expected growing up in the land of "milk & citrus". Everyone we knew had citrus trees or lived in or next to a citrus grove. So our vitamin "C" levels were through the roof from Dec. through Mar. I actually think my mom just gave us oranges so she would have them for the fruit salad at Christams dinner.
I live outside the state now but still in the "Sun Belt", and believe me there is nothing like Florida citrus. What you get out here in the Southwest is a thick skinned, pithy, no-flavored version of oranges or tangerines. Although I grew some tangerines in my backyard in the Phoenix area that rivaled the best I've had. I think it was the "cracker" care and maintenance that did the trick.
What do you remember of the citrus when you lived in Florida? Maybe like my father and great grandfather, you worked in the groves. Share something with us!
Rob
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Chilly Out Tonight
We had a brief (two days) cold snap here in the Arizona desert. But while I wrapped up my citrus trees against sub freezing temps, I was reminded of one of my earlier December chills growing up in Sarasota.
We had recently moved into a huge old two-story house down near the bay in Sarasota. It was so awesome compared to our track home in the Loma Linda subdivision we moved from. However, all was not "merry & bright". With my dad being a firefighter for the city, the first thing to go in the old place on Orange Ave. was the antique gas heaters and all those leaking gas lines under the house.
No gas heat meant that, until we got a fuel oil heater some time later, we were going to heat the house with the fireplace. My dad took us everywhere in the old '56 Ford pickup to get wood. Anyone who cut down a tree would see us there cleaning the place up for the wood we could carry off.
Then there were the infamous "telephone poles." I forget where my dad got these, but there were several of them and they all seemed to be 30 feet long (probably more like 14-16 ft. anyway.) Part of the chores for my two brothers and I for several days was to come home from school and, using a three foot bow saw, cut these poles to fireplace length. My dad made us a jig to make sure the cut sections would fit in the firebox. It's too bad we were only ten to fourteen years old then or we would have bought a round of drinks the day we sawed that last pole. The neighbors toasted, I'm sure, the day we burned the last of those creosote laden gems, too. Boy did they stink. But I think the smell drove the mosquitoes all the way down to Port Charlotte.
One other memory of that first cold winter happened a few days before Christmas. That year the temperature dropped to 19 degrees. My dad left the sprinklers on to help protect the bushes from getting frozen. We woke up to a real winter wonderland. Icicles hung from the branches and ice coated the ground. It is another one of those pictures etched in my memory, seeing the sun shining on that frigid scene and the steam rising as the sun warmed the side yard. I guess it was that cold this past winter or even colder according to my family & friends.
What are your chilliest memories of Florida?
We had recently moved into a huge old two-story house down near the bay in Sarasota. It was so awesome compared to our track home in the Loma Linda subdivision we moved from. However, all was not "merry & bright". With my dad being a firefighter for the city, the first thing to go in the old place on Orange Ave. was the antique gas heaters and all those leaking gas lines under the house.
No gas heat meant that, until we got a fuel oil heater some time later, we were going to heat the house with the fireplace. My dad took us everywhere in the old '56 Ford pickup to get wood. Anyone who cut down a tree would see us there cleaning the place up for the wood we could carry off.
Then there were the infamous "telephone poles." I forget where my dad got these, but there were several of them and they all seemed to be 30 feet long (probably more like 14-16 ft. anyway.) Part of the chores for my two brothers and I for several days was to come home from school and, using a three foot bow saw, cut these poles to fireplace length. My dad made us a jig to make sure the cut sections would fit in the firebox. It's too bad we were only ten to fourteen years old then or we would have bought a round of drinks the day we sawed that last pole. The neighbors toasted, I'm sure, the day we burned the last of those creosote laden gems, too. Boy did they stink. But I think the smell drove the mosquitoes all the way down to Port Charlotte.
One other memory of that first cold winter happened a few days before Christmas. That year the temperature dropped to 19 degrees. My dad left the sprinklers on to help protect the bushes from getting frozen. We woke up to a real winter wonderland. Icicles hung from the branches and ice coated the ground. It is another one of those pictures etched in my memory, seeing the sun shining on that frigid scene and the steam rising as the sun warmed the side yard. I guess it was that cold this past winter or even colder according to my family & friends.
What are your chilliest memories of Florida?
Friday, November 26, 2010
Thanksgiving Day
I was reminded Thanksgiving day of a 14 year tradition we celebrated every Thanksgiving when my son was born.
My son, Robert Lee McLeod IV, had just had his first birthday. We were planning to have Thanksgiving dinner at my parents home in McClellan Park area of Sarasota, not far from where the first post office was.
As is still common along the Gulf Coast, the newspapers carry photos and articles of generations who come together for the holidays. But just as common is the fact that many are celebrating the family having moved here "way back " in the 1950's or 60's. Prior to that, their families lived in Ohio, New York or Michigan, to name a few.
So I had the idea that our family history was just as interesting. After all, my third great grandfather had moved his mother, wife, four children and a few other relatives from Camden, South Carolina, in 1828 to homestead the area in north Florida called the Euchee Valley (near DeFuniak Sprngs).
My great great grandfather left the homestead after the Civil War and moved to the Bradenton area in 1868. My great grandfather was born there, on the banks of the Manatee River in 1892. W.C. & his wife Agnes (Big Momma) had an only child, Robert L. McLeod Sr. My dad, Robert Jr., was born in Sarasota in 1932. I was Robert the third, born there in 1953, and my son was born in 1981. So we started the tradition of taking a picture at Thanksgiving of the four Robert L.'s. Sometimes we were out in the piney woods on my granddad's property near Cooper Creek. Most of the time it was at my parents home.
So without remorse I contacted the Sarasota Herald Tribune to see if they wanted an article for the social section. A photographer came to the house Thanksgiving day about mid-morning, took a few pictures, listened to some family stories and wrote a very pleasant article about some "real" Sarasota history.
Our last picture was when my son turned 14. My granddad had not been doing extremely well since my Granny passed away a couple of years before. But we all got together on the driveway under the huge live oak at my Dad's and snapped the picture. Eleven months later the last of my grandparents was gone, an entire generation, GONE. I remember that being a wake up call to me that we have to preserve this rich heritage for the generations to come. A character like my grandpa had too rich and wild a life not to chronicle.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Rob
My son, Robert Lee McLeod IV, had just had his first birthday. We were planning to have Thanksgiving dinner at my parents home in McClellan Park area of Sarasota, not far from where the first post office was.
As is still common along the Gulf Coast, the newspapers carry photos and articles of generations who come together for the holidays. But just as common is the fact that many are celebrating the family having moved here "way back " in the 1950's or 60's. Prior to that, their families lived in Ohio, New York or Michigan, to name a few.
So I had the idea that our family history was just as interesting. After all, my third great grandfather had moved his mother, wife, four children and a few other relatives from Camden, South Carolina, in 1828 to homestead the area in north Florida called the Euchee Valley (near DeFuniak Sprngs).
My great great grandfather left the homestead after the Civil War and moved to the Bradenton area in 1868. My great grandfather was born there, on the banks of the Manatee River in 1892. W.C. & his wife Agnes (Big Momma) had an only child, Robert L. McLeod Sr. My dad, Robert Jr., was born in Sarasota in 1932. I was Robert the third, born there in 1953, and my son was born in 1981. So we started the tradition of taking a picture at Thanksgiving of the four Robert L.'s. Sometimes we were out in the piney woods on my granddad's property near Cooper Creek. Most of the time it was at my parents home.
So without remorse I contacted the Sarasota Herald Tribune to see if they wanted an article for the social section. A photographer came to the house Thanksgiving day about mid-morning, took a few pictures, listened to some family stories and wrote a very pleasant article about some "real" Sarasota history.
Our last picture was when my son turned 14. My granddad had not been doing extremely well since my Granny passed away a couple of years before. But we all got together on the driveway under the huge live oak at my Dad's and snapped the picture. Eleven months later the last of my grandparents was gone, an entire generation, GONE. I remember that being a wake up call to me that we have to preserve this rich heritage for the generations to come. A character like my grandpa had too rich and wild a life not to chronicle.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Rob
Monday, November 22, 2010
When Do You Realize You're A "Cracker?"
I don't know for sure when it happened, when I first realized I was a Cracker. Mostly because it has always been a part of me. I have never had to find my Cracker self - it's who I am!
I mean that for some who are drawn into a realization of just how unique things really were, they come to a point where they think, "Wow, they were really different in pioneer Florida." For me, that realization was ingrained into our family members through stories, jokes, tales, and recollections to the point that we always knew we were the fabric that made up Florida Crackers.
We knew we were part of a larger culture that was our family, friends, kinfolk, and locals that were not those who moved here from Chicago, New York, or even Atlanta. My daddy knew their daddy and our great grandparents went to school together just a few miles from where I and my children would go to school.
I learned this when my wife and I were renting our first home from a family I had attended school with from first grade through high school. We met the great grandmother of this friend, "Biggie" (who by the way was 90lbs. soaking wet). She told me she went to school with my great grandfather. She continued to say that he was pretty much a rascal that made all the kids laugh. Mrs. McClelland's family had moved down from Alabama in the mid-1800's due to her mother's asthma. She still had a cowhide stool that was brought down in the covered wagon.
This is the kind of thing that has made me realize the uniqueness of Florida Cracker culture. Please share any stories that have been handed down through your families.
Thanks a bunch!
Rob
I mean that for some who are drawn into a realization of just how unique things really were, they come to a point where they think, "Wow, they were really different in pioneer Florida." For me, that realization was ingrained into our family members through stories, jokes, tales, and recollections to the point that we always knew we were the fabric that made up Florida Crackers.
We knew we were part of a larger culture that was our family, friends, kinfolk, and locals that were not those who moved here from Chicago, New York, or even Atlanta. My daddy knew their daddy and our great grandparents went to school together just a few miles from where I and my children would go to school.
I learned this when my wife and I were renting our first home from a family I had attended school with from first grade through high school. We met the great grandmother of this friend, "Biggie" (who by the way was 90lbs. soaking wet). She told me she went to school with my great grandfather. She continued to say that he was pretty much a rascal that made all the kids laugh. Mrs. McClelland's family had moved down from Alabama in the mid-1800's due to her mother's asthma. She still had a cowhide stool that was brought down in the covered wagon.
This is the kind of thing that has made me realize the uniqueness of Florida Cracker culture. Please share any stories that have been handed down through your families.
Thanks a bunch!
Rob
Saturday, November 20, 2010
What Is This?
I have a desire to leave a record for my children, grandchildren and those who will come after us. A record of where our ancestors and relations have come from. What their lives were like. I want to leave an explanation for the dash between "Born" and "Died".
I want people who come to this site thinking it is about country bumpkins, yayhoos or rednecks to be educated as to a wonderful, unique culture that has existed for hundreds of years in the swamps and praries, hammocks and bayheads, and the beaches and piney woods of Florida.
I dedicate this to to my great great great grandfather, William McLeod, who moved his family to north Florida from South Carolina in 1828. This is for my family and any others who connect here to share their heritage, their "Cracker" heritage.
What this IS NOT: this is not a forum to attack, tear down or in anyway belittle any individuals or groups. Please keep this site positive, historical, and honoring. I will!
I want people who come to this site thinking it is about country bumpkins, yayhoos or rednecks to be educated as to a wonderful, unique culture that has existed for hundreds of years in the swamps and praries, hammocks and bayheads, and the beaches and piney woods of Florida.
I dedicate this to to my great great great grandfather, William McLeod, who moved his family to north Florida from South Carolina in 1828. This is for my family and any others who connect here to share their heritage, their "Cracker" heritage.
What this IS NOT: this is not a forum to attack, tear down or in anyway belittle any individuals or groups. Please keep this site positive, historical, and honoring. I will!
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