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Oh, the humidity!

One of my favorite lines from Brigadoon happens when Gene Kelly and Van Johnson meet in a crowded bar. Kelly says, “It’s hot in here,” and Johnson replies, “It’s not the heat. It’s the humanity.” In times of covid and hyper politics, humanity is definitely the bane, but here in the Panhandle, it truly is the humidity that makes life nearly unbearable, at least for me. Starting in May or so, as the temperature rises, so does the level of humidity in the air. It doesn’t hit you when you first step out of the house, but it’s just enough to remind you of what’s coming in a month or so and for several months following. As summer begins to sizzle and then out-right boil, the humidity cranks up as well, so that your glasses steam the second they hit fresh air, everything outside is always wet, time seems to slow down so that even walking to the mailbox takes longer than it should, the dog hides under the chaise lounge, the snakes look for refuge in the pool, and the soul is sucked right out o
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Git Ya’ Some Shrimp ‘n’ Grits

I’m channeling my father when I speak in the dialect that includes phrases like “git ya’ some.” He usually used it when forcing fresh tomato slices in the summer. “Git ya some tomata,” he would say, and I would flinch because the notion of just eating a slice of tomato was not appealing. Still isn’t. But git ya’ some shrimp and grits for sure, especially if you live along the Gulf where shrimp are currently plentiful and presumably not contaminated.  Quite a few restaurants here offer this rustic and delicious dish, and I enjoy what they deliver to the table, but I also like making it at home. I pick up fresh shrimp at Goat Feathers on 30A and crack open my Ina Garten cookbook and get to work. Why would I use a recipe from a cook from the Hamptons and not one from Emeril Lagasse (a local, turns out) or Chef Paul Prudomme, you wonder? Because I want to, and because there is no one recipe that is considered standard. I have many cookbooks on the shelf from all of the above chefs (Ina is

Politics!

I’m not afraid to address this subject because I don’t intend to mention names of politicians. I’m simply addressing the nature of politics on the beloved 30A. Florida is a red state generally, although in the 2020 election, the vote was approximately 52%/48% on the side of the GOP, which means a large swath of the population voted for a democrat. The swath does not encompass Walton County, however, which went 75%/25% hoping for a GOP win. As is true in most places, politics does not come up in daily life. You can conduct all your personal business as a resident—buy groceries, pick up some material for a project around the house, stop for some pet food, etc. You can enjoy a nice walk or bike ride, spend some time at the beach, have dinner or lunch out, chat with the neighbors across the fence, and politics will never be mentioned. There is so much more to living. During the 2020 campaign, though, locals picked their teams and showed their colors out in the open. As you can imagine, the

Key Lime Pie

I mean, key lime pie. Who doesn’t love it? Locals and regular visitors can tell you exactly where to get it and who makes the best one. Why is it so prevalent here, you might wonder, given this is not a tropical location? I’m not exactly sure, but I suspect it’s because people come here wanting FLORIDA, with palm trees and lazy days and key lime pie, like all of Florida is south Florida. Photo by Jasper Nance We are not South Florida, more like Lower Alabama, but locals have figured out that planting palm trees in pine tree territory and selling key lime pie in pecan pie territory satisfies the desires of the visitors. I’ll confess, while I don’t care about palm trees, I do like a good key lime pie. My favorite comes from the freezer at Goat Feathers seafood market on 30A between Gulf Place and Blue Mountain. Funnily enough, that stuff comes from a pie maker in Georgia .  That said, what I make in my own kitchen isn’t bad, either. Most recipes are the same, although some will substitut

Why Are People So Mean Here?

If you’re asking why people on 30A are so mean, it’s likely because you encountered some unpleasant characters in a local Facebook group or a neighborhood app. That’s where the trolls live, under an Internet bridge where they can reek havoc without significant consequences. Also, a  lot of people on local social media groups are not actually locals. For example, recently someone responded to a tourist’s question inquiring if places were starting to close because of an increase of Covid cases. The woman replied that this is a red state where, if people die, it’s God’s will, and she was serious despite the fact a four-year-old just died in Florida because of Covid. This particular jackass lives in Georgia. The real residents of 30A, I have found, are very friendly and welcoming. Shop owners, restaurant workers, people taking a stroll on the beach—they are just plain nice. They are happy to greet neighbors, and they recognize visitors as people who contribute mightily to the financial str

Missing Culture

If you move from a metropolitan area—or even metropolitan adjacent—to a small town, you're going to miss something. You'll miss being able to "run over to" certain stores, as in, "I'm going to run over to Pet Smart for a few minutes," and it really does just take a few minutes. You'll miss recycling pick-up and reliable FedX deliveries with drivers who don't get stuck in traffic for an hour and a half. You'll miss assuming an Uber driver is just around the corner or that one will be available for you at the airport.  This list can go on and on depending on your stage of life and can include the quality of public schools or the accessibility of the post office or the basic assumption that the populace is educated enough to accept vaccinations as real science and not some Bill Gates plot to take over the world. One of the things I missed after moving to this small-town environment was the immediacy of culture. Where are the theaters? Where are

The Weather Is Anybody's Guess

One of the main reasons people move to Florida is the weather. People are tired of winters, or maybe they never liked winters to begin with. They want more sunshine than northern skies provide, and they want to walk on the beach without wearing a coat and scarf. Well, welcome, but don’t be fooled by the palm trees—January can be chilly. I get the attraction, although I only ever tired of winter when it dragged on past March. Otherwise, I appreciate the change of seasons. Yet, here I am living full-time in the Florida Panhandle. I have noticed on some social media pages mostly aimed at vacationers that people from other places will ask about the weather as they plan their visit here. First, let me say that in this grand time of the 21st century, if you can afford to come here for vacation, you probably have the same access to the Internet that those of us living here have.  Snark aside, predicting the weather here is tricky. I was warned about that before we moved here, but I didn't