After visiting the Naval Aviation Museum, we get on the road towards the library, so I can have some time to work. On route, Dan sees a sign for Perdido Kids’ Park, and he decides to make the turn. We’re happy we did.
The place is so big, I’m not entirely sure I know how to find the way out—or how to reunite with my kids and husband after a trip to the washroom. But I just follow the children’s squeals, and I find them again.
The canons stand ominously on the brick walls of the fort, a reminder of the ugliness of human nature. The canons were for protection, yet stand on walls of brick built by those whose protection and rights were nonexistent.
After our disappointing experience in New Jersey, I’m weary when Dan shows me a picture of a nice campground in Florida. It looks nice on the screen, but I have an inkling it won’t be as nice in person. Dan seems really excited about the place, so I don’t say anything.
By Florida standards, it’s getting chilly out there, so an indoor destination is just the thing. And while we’ll never argue against library visits, we think you can still fit in an outdoor swim, even in the “cold” Florida autumn.
In Daytona Beach, we celebrate as we eat delicious food and take in a Christmas lights display. And in Ocala, art of a different kind awaits.
The snow birds are right. Migrating to Florida is nice.
While it’s been a little chilly in Florida by Southern standards, I can tell you one thing: I don’t miss snow. At all. The fall here in Florida in these past few days have been very similar to the winters I grew up with in the Southeast of Brazil: pretty cold, but not cold enough to warrant a parka and tuque (though some Floridians would beg to differ—both about the need for these items, as well as about what the latter should be called).