La Rue Bijou - Florida--Bracing for the Freeze

 

  

It’s that time of year when cold weather arrives, transforming our lush vegetation into the likes of collard greens. Then, there's always the problem of falling iguanas. . . .

Tourists are impacted—in South Beach, many hotels aren’t prepared. Radiators and blankets?  Whatever for! 

Even though freezes do occur, here on the East Coast of Central Florida, local residents are rarely prepared. Panic sets in—similar to that feeling in hurricane season. When we see a post on the FaceBook weather pages, we race to cover plants, and we stock up on food and beverages as well as library books. We often cancel plans. 

 Even in Florida, a freeze can lead to power outages, downed tree limbs and sinkholes, which come from over-pumping water from the aquifer to protect crops. Many of our plants are not native and hence are more susceptible to freeze.

 Citrus, native to Southeast Asia, came to Florida with Spanish explorers in the late 15^th century and has grown into an important crop. Since the 19^th century, freezes (the “great freeze” of 1894-1895, and more recently the freezes of the mid 1980s), have wiped out groves. Many of us remember passing those hillsides of orange trees in Central Florida. We've stopped at roadside stands. After the freeze, hundreds of acres of dead trees were replaced with pines and housing developments.

 Native to Florida, more than 8,000 manatees live along the coastal areas. In winter,  when water temperatures drop below 68 degrees Fahrenheit, they seek shelter in fresh water springs or canals where water temperatures hover around 72 degrees. Despite their corpulent profile, they don’t have blubber to protect them from hypothermia.

 

I joined several people yesterday at Desoto Canal Park in Satellite Beach. We had come to welcome the manatees. Not a single manatee to be found here. But recent photos of the springs in Central and North Central Florida show numerous manatees, congregating in those warmer waters. I should have returned today with the arrival of the cold front. But we have other things on our minds. 

 Grocery stores are filled with shoppers. A good day for Brunswick stew or chili. . . . Apparently,  thrift shops are filled with people looking for sheets to cover plants and blankets for feral cats. Warming shelters, operated by non-profit organizations and volunteers, are gearing up to open on these nights when temperatures drop below 45 degrees. 

We complain about our freezes. But friends in Virginia and the northern states continue to endure endless days sub-zero temperatures and black ice.  We may be a bit colder than South Florida, at least we we have radiators and blankets and won't have the risk of falling iguanas. 

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Not a good time for mailboxes

Thankfully, Zappos packages are delivered to my front door because anything heavier than a 1- ounce envelope will topple my mailbox with its rusted post.

My problem with mailboxes goes back a few weeks. I am sure I backed my moving truck into my neighbor’s mailbox, which began to tilt. My handyman repaired it quickly. It’s upright and looks like new. But now, I have another mailbox problem. Salt air on the Florida coast has rusted my mailbox post, and it’s tilting precariously. I have called my handyman several times in the past two weeks, but he’s not returning my calls. I’ve resorted to duct tape to hold the box onto the post.

House repair departments have mailbox kits that target homeowners like me. Little assembly required or needs no cement to anchor the posts. One type of box requires strength (and a level and hammer), and the other seems to have a very large screw that goes into the ground (again, a level and biceps), with prices ranging from $39-$79.

My handyman’s voicemail is now full. My options are to purchase the post and locate my tools or order Florida kitsch, which would probably be delivered and installed. For a price! But I am not sure I am ready for kitsch. And moreover, even kitsch is costly!

Life is good. . . .for the cats

Imagine a typical Florida September day. Pushing 100 degrees and 99.9 percent humidity. Given the choice, my cats will lie on the back porch, soaking up the sun.

“Don’t you realize black fur absorbs heat,” I am tempted to say.

They give me that look when I bring them inside. But after a few minutes of a cool tile floor, they seek the warmest places—on top of my clothes in my closet, under my bed or on my duvet, which still needs to be stored.

Our cats develop specific tastes
My cats are connoisseurs. Each day I have to use a specific treat to get them to come back inside from the back screened porch. Of course, I can only live in place that provides a screened porch.

Our cats train us
A friend reported on FB that her cat had gotten stuck on a roof, and she had to use an extension ladder to get him down. Except for my fear of heights, I would have done the same. But as one reader commented, the cat probably laughed about it with all of his friends.

I made an appointment for two cats with the vet the other day. But I arrived with only one. Impossible to get Porsche in the carrier, and my friends, known as the “cat whisperers,” now live in Charlottesville.

Cats at play

They have a sense of humor.

They miss me (or do they?)
I worry they will miss me when I travel. I make sure I have their favorite pet sitter.

I know they miss me when I leave for work. They know the routine--I give them treats and talk to them. I pick up my bags, lock the door. The car pulls out, and the garage door closes.

But the other day when I returned for my coffee, the cats were already on the couch. The remote between them and the TV on. I could have sworn I had turned it off.

How do your cats manage?

Those Plastic Bags by Jane Tolbert

What do socks in the dryer, lazy Sunday afternoons and recyclable shopping bags have in common? They disappear.

Each time I go to France, I stock up on heavy plastic or canvas bags. My kids are perplexed. Why would I continue to buy bags! Am I becoming a “bag lady” as I age? Suitcases filled with recyclable bags may raise alarm. But it really needs no explanation. If I lend someone books or carry food to a party, I usually forget to recover the bag.

These bags are sold in all supermarkets for a couple of Euros. They bear environmental mottos like, “Act for the environment” or, “In acting together, we truly act.” They carry the logos of Carrefour, Casino or Champion, some of the larger supermarket chains. Increasingly, in the States, more of these bags have become available in hopes that they will replace the fluttery plastic bags that clog the environment.

A Wall Street Journal article (Jeffrey Bell, “Paper or Plastic?” 6-12-09) points out that these little plastic grocery bags, introduced approximately 30 years ago as the next big thing because of their durability and inexpensive costs, have an adverse environmental impact. It is not as much the problem of bags in the landfill but rather the untethered bags that float through the ecosystem, choking waterways and animals.

Although in recent years, French grocery stores have sold the small plastic bags to the unprepared customer, generally shoppers always carry their own shopping bags or a small string net. The reusable sturdy bags are in the trunks of cars and accumulate under kitchen sinks. The French also bag their own groceries. Back in the States, however, I often forget my bags in the trunk of my car and stand by as an employee fills countless plastic bags with my purchases.

As of Jan. 1, 2010, only biodegradable bags can be sold in French grocery stores. Stateside, San Francisco has led the way as the first U.S. city to ban plastic bags (2007). No legislation has been passed in Florida, but customers are starting to bring their own bags, and stores insist they have recycling efforts in place. But probably more individuals will follow this example if I continue to leave reusable bags with friends and acquaintances.
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A few interesting things can be created from plastic bags. Visit Joshua Allen Harris’ inflatable polar bear that springs to life when attached to subway grates. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L-a607j2dOo

When the GPS and I parted company by Jane Tolbert

In the 17th century, natural philosophers (or scientists) worked to solve the problem of determining terrestrial longitude. They made observations of the eclipses of the satellites of Jupiter or the Moon from Paris, Aix-en-Provence, Tunis, Rome and other cities. The difference in times of the eclipse at various locations equaled the difference in terrestrial longitude.

These observers had numerous challenges to overcome—inaccurate time pieces and maps, poor quality instruments and the absence of a standardized procedure, and no prime meridian. Months in advance they began preparations for endeavors that could be fraught with problems like a cloud cover. Sometimes they counted the seconds to the midpoint of the eclipse by using their pulse or reciting the Ave Maria. Nevertheless, they made quality observations. What marvels would they have accomplished with a GPS.

I have always been fascinated by navigation especially since I have a poor sense of orientation myself. Friends and family hesitate to ride with me because we never know when or if we will arrive at our destination. Living on a coastline offers certain advantages—when I hit water, I know I am either on the Atlantic or the Mediterranean. But once I have to drive inland, I become disoriented. In terms of geographical coordinates, I am challenged. A GPS seemed to offer an obvious solution.

The GPS had a large map displayed on a screen attached to my windshield and a voice (either male or female) that issued verbal directions or recalculated the itinerary if I missed a turn. It could indicate not only destinations and “home” but also parking lots or service stations. What more could I want!

The first trial use took place in Orlando, a city where I have spent many hours lost on beltways wandering somewhere in the urban blend of communities. To test the GPS, we plugged in the coordinates of the IKEA store near the Millenia Mall, a route which was fairly simple (even for someone like me). But, oh misère. The GPS did not take us along the most logical route, but it led us through back roads and inner city neighborhoods before it deposited us in the vicinity of IKEA, which we found only because of the large size of the store. We had arrived at our destination but only after a circuitous route. I felt betrayed by my GPS.

We tested the GPS a second time on a trip this week to Coconut Grove and South Beach (Miami), which is basically a straight shoot south from our hometown. We drove along I-95, took the turnpike at Jupiter, and then passed the exit for Palm Beach. At Fort Lauderdale, the GPS insisted we had missed our turn. I ignored the frequent recommendations to exit. Was it my imagination or had my GPS become more insistent. Each time, it added an additional 10 minutes to our itinerary and announced, “Recalculating,” or directed us to make a U-turn. Did it know something we didn’t? Were there new roads or shortcuts? Or had someone reprogrammed the GPS . . . . Given that walls of construction in that part of Florida blocked my view of the coastline, I questioned my ability to navigate even these highways. . . .

To avoid hearing the GPS add an additional 10-minute leg to our journey, I exited in an area of abject poverty in North Miami. No road signs indicated how to return to the Interstate, and the GPS remained strangely silent. No option existed for a “get me out of here” or an “SOS” call. Instead, we asked directions at a service station. A Hispanic clerk who did not speak English explained we could continue south because there was no traffic, or we could return to the Interstate via a series of right and left turns. On the remainder of our trip, the GPS gave advice, which ranged from accurate to erroneous. This experience indicated to me that technology needed to be supplemented with a map or competent driver. Or, as my daughter suggested, get a chauffeur.

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Florida Storms by Jane Tolbert

In the late spring, the media go into “storm mode,” the countdown for the six-month hurricane season that begins June 1. Most Floridians would rather avoid the reminder. After all, the four hits in 2004 are still fresh in our minds even though most of the blue tarps covering damaged roofs have disappeared.

As we move into the summer, grocery stores issue storm-tracking maps printed on the sides of the brown paper bags. The bank provides hurricane survival lists. Weather forecasters show images of a storm forming off the coast of Africa. Day-after-day they track its development, predicting it will gain strength, become more organized and then intensify. Once the storm arrives in our proximity, reporters in nylon parkas appear on the scene, braving winds and rain against the backdrop of blowing palm trees. With our safety foremost in their minds, they promise to continue live broadcasts. Stay tuned.

Our garages provide a constant reminder of hurricane preparedness. Since many homes do not have permanent storm shutters, corrugated aluminum sheets or wooden planks remain stacked against the walls, some still bearing captions like, “Good away, Charlie” or “We’re ready, Ivan.”



Our cupboards contain jars of peanut butter and cans of beans with a long-past expiration date. The batteries stored on a closet shelf can no longer bring a flashlight to life. Our three-day supply of bottled water has gone the way of the gym. The emergency cash in the kitchen drawer has long since been used for more pressing purchases. Since that last storm when all the cell phones either died or the towers jammed, we have planned to buy the traditional cord phone. Our cars should contain a full tank of gas for an evacuation.

We had two hurricanes in rapid succession target the Melbourne area in 2004. We evacuated the barrier islands for Hurricane Frances along with 70 percent of the inhabitants. One neighbor loaded family heirlooms in a rental truck. Others felt a storm might be a way to get rid of unwanted belongings. We filled our Mustang with laptops, pets, a surfboard, a box of CheeseIts and our homeowner’s insurance policy. We headed up the coast then inland through the Ocala National Forest, following a stream of cars and horse trailers. Once with family in Gainesville, we waited for the storm to make landfall. There, most of the damage came from pine trees that snapped in high winds. Cleanup crews and utility trucks spent days clearing debris from the main roads. We joined neighbors armed with chain saws, ropes and pickup trucks to clear residential streets. We headed back to the Melbourne area, this time following utility trucks. Fragments of street lights, advertising signs and political campaign memorabilia littered the beachside roads and blocked storm sewers. Service stations had lost their awnings and covers. Grocery stores had no frozen or fresh products. Few canned goods remained. Beachfront hotels appeared gutted, the facades damaged or missing and plate glass shattered. Parking lots and Dumpsters now overflowed with water-logged mattresses. It looked like a war zone. On our street, tree limbs, shingles and planks created an obstacle course. The branches of my stately Norfork Island Pine now clogged a neighbor’s swimming pool. But our roof remained intact. A week or so after our electricity came on, Hurricane Jeanne targeted our area. But this time, 70 percent of the residents remained. And once again, our communities were plunged into darkness.

The media had provided blow-by-blow coverage of the hurricanes, but after several days of reporting on the financial cost, they moved on, often missing the poignant stories, a juxtaposition of good and bad. The firemen willing to help but the numerous blue tarps that remained for more than a year. The absentee insurance adjusters, the shyster roofers or tree cutters, or the shelters that closed, leaving many area inhabitants and their pets homeless. In some cases, families took in friends, and neighbors organized candle-lit dinners. Surprisingly, many things did not blow away--the mermaid figurehead on what was then the Pineda Inn on US 1, Mrs. Mango’s small house, known for its herbs and teas and for the county teachers, all those student essays that still needed to be graded.
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