Primal urges compel us toward sun, sand of Florida

Because I Said So column for The Commercial Appeal

July 21, 2011

We’ve just returned from our annual trip to the Gulf Coast of Florida. It’s absolutely primitive, isn’t it? This switch that’s thrown somewhere deep in the spongy folds of our gray matter at this time every year, telling us to head farther south toward the equator, to put our feet into the familiar brine from which our ancestors first crawled. We use a calendar, sure, to coordinate days off work and the kids’ summer activities, but we’d know even without the months laid out in front of us, it’s one of the senses of summer.

It’s almost prehistoric, the way we caravan with friends like nomadic Bedouin beachcombers down highways 78, 331, 82, 52 and 98. Slowly, like primordial ooze, we pass stagnant tractors, backhoes and earthmovers like rusted-out brontosaurs standing vigil over farmers’ fields. Past the otherworldly sculptures of unchecked kudzu overtaking utility poles and water oaks, we creep as the kids cover their ears from Daddy singing along with Mick Jagger, just as their ancestors must have.

The long line of Mastodon SUVs with their humpbacks of swimsuits, flip-flops, sunscreen, pails and shovels, and beach towels crawls through towns as exotic as Luverne, Opp, Clanton, Jasper and Defuniak Springs to place names as familiar to Memphians as Mud Island and Overton Park.

Once there, we find oases such as Destin, Panama City and Fort Walton Beach. They’re the destinations we know from our own childhood and those we wish to show our own children.

The parking lots are dotted with Shelby County license plates. Beneath the blinding sunlight and on the patio of Hurricane Oyster Bar in Grayton Beach, we say hello to fellow Memphians and, farther down Scenic Highway 30-A, we meet a seasonal Memphian working behind the counter of Sundog Books in Seaside … (read more)