It started snowing the minute we unpacked the van and my dad drove away
Goodbye Florida, hello home

The cats ran to greet us, proving they actually do care about us
Goodbye Florida, hello home

The dog went berzerk to see us again and then snuggled up
Goodbye Florida, hello home

School again tomorrow, but there’s still time to read my book, or maybe nap on the couch
Goodbye Florida, hello home

The fridge is still empty, aside from the chili my mom dropped off, and a bag of oranges
Goodbye Florida, hello home

I’m so cold, so H put on the fire and said, “How ’bout I make some chocolate chip cookies?”
Goodbye Florida, hello home

We are all sitting on the beach, reacquainting ourselves, wondering why the last time we saw each other was my Grandma’s funeral, and laughing that we live in the same state, but had to travel over a thousand miles to happen to be at the same beach.

“There must be a way to see each other more often,” we all say.

“Remember when we had big family picnics?”

Someone gets up to snap a group photo, and I am instantly in a time warp, remembering a faded picture in one of my parents’ photo albums. I was about 7, I’d guess. Sitting on a lake beach somewhere near my hometown. Some of the same people were there, but also other aunts and uncles, and different cousins, since these cousins weren’t born yet.

“So weird,” I reflect, as I ask my dad if he remembers that picture.

“One day this will be a faded picture,” I shudder.

“Mom,” I hear, “don’t worry. This will never be a faded picture. Pictures don’t fade anymore – they’re digital.”

We talk with my dad and uncle, getting a few stories of their childhood. Marveling that my dad is the second oldest sibling, the oldest boy; my uncle is the youngest. They are 11 years apart. 10 kids in 12 years!

We ask age old questions like, “How did you get to the beach with 10 kids every summer? You didn’t go in one car, right?”

“A station wagon,” my dad says and he and my uncle try to explain how some sat in the way back, there were no seatbelts, and they just piled in.

“No, no, no,” my uncle says shaking his head. “There were 2 cars. There were 2 cars for traveling.”

A game of bocce ball starts, but I sit out to chat some more with some cousins, and we watch the game as we have a heart to heart.

“It’s just so great to see them all over there!” my cousin says. I am reminded that my cousins love family just like I do. They leave the beach first, off to get ready for a night out: A girls night I am invited to, but can’t attend. More hugs are given all around and they walk away.

After they leave, my kids need a refresher on my cousins since there are so many. They want to know who is the child of which sibling.

“It’s so weird,” they say. “We haven’t seen them for years and everyone just starts talking and talking like you see each other all the time.”

“Yep,” I say, “that’s because we are cousins!”

Airboats are loud so we have cotton balls stuck in our ears. I think if you book a private tour, they give you a headset instead. Before getting in the boat we were ushered to a “show.” We came to scout for gators, but didn’t know we’d see them in captivity first.

“This is so sad,” my kids said to me and we walked over to look at the turtles, who were swimming in a dirty plastic pond, surrounded by a fence.

“At least they have each other,” I tried to offer as a consolation to my kids because I see them growing more upset in a “why are we even here giving money to this place?” kind of way.

Luckily the show was short. We met a baby alligator and a boa constrictor. The boys pet each and I took pictures. We learned a few facts about alligators and the strength of their jaws before we headed to the dock.

There were so many people, and my 15 year old was desperate to get a front row seat. It seemed disorganized, and slow. But the tour guide was finally there and he organized us in groups to see how we would get in the boat. I wondered if he ever thought of being a teacher, and soon we were on the boat, cotton balls in our ears, waiting for him to untie the ropes holding the boat to the dock.

“I’m on Florida time,” he says. “I’m on my time. That way I don’t get stressed.”

Right away there is an alligator in front of us, and the boat stops so we can all get a look. “Look now,” the guide says, “that way I won’t feel bad if this is the only gator we see the whole tour.” I hope it isn’t the only one we see, since my 12 year old dreams of seeing as many as possible.

We learn that the Everglades is the slowest moving river in the world, and I think about how the swamp feels almost exactly how I expected it to feel. Is it because the books I’ve read are so good at describing this quiet slow humidity, or am I just experiencing this through the lens of having read books that take places in swamps? Also, have I read an abundance of books that take place in swamps? I don’t think so.

We see a few more alligators, and laugh at our tour guide’s jokes.

Later we will drive through the everglades, and spot so many alligators off to the side of the road in the canal. We will stop at Big Cypress National Preserve and see even more alligators from the safety of a boardwalk. A volunteer will stop by and we will learn that gators need to rest in the sun to digest their food. Otherwise it rots in their stomach.

When we get back on the road and see more aligators as we drive by, my 12 year old will say, “I’ve seen so many alligators now, they’re just like squirrels to me.”