Of Picnics and Sonnets

A short stack by the bay kicked off an especially gorgeous day.

Although we'd had breakfast on our deck overlooking the ocean, in a bakery, at the mid-point between Miami and Key West and at a classic diner, we'd yet to eat the most important meal of the day on the bay side.

We fixed that with a walk to Lorelei's Cabana Bar - the same Lorelei's that had provided our first sunset views - and seats on the deck with the sun on our backs.

I was almost through the second half of my pancakes (the half smothered in strawberry jam as opposed to the half swimming in Mrs. Butterworth's) and Mr. Wright was polishing off his bagel with lox and capers when we overheard the couple at the table next to us saying they'd been at Lazy Days the night before, coincidentally, the same place we'd dined oceanside.

A quick glance over at them and I immediately recognized the guy's back because they'd not only been at Lazy Days, but at the table right next to us. When he gets up to head to the water's edge, the wife catches my eye and has the same realization. "I recognize you from last night!" she says in a decided accent. "I told my husband at dinner last night that you look like my friend Terri."

Because this is 2019, she pulls out her phone so she can find a photo of Terri on Facebook to show us to prove it, but alas, she's not especially Facebook-savvy. "I'll wait till my husband gets back and have him find it for me," she explains looking a bit embarrassed. He returns and locates the picture, passing the phone to us for consideration.

Lots of hair, big smile, middle aged. Yup, that could be me.

Then the husband turns around and introduces himself, saying he's from Wisconsin in that distinctive Wisconsin/Minnesota way of speaking. All four of us are a little amazed that we could end up sitting at adjacent tables at different restaurants 12 hours apart.

When they share that they only have one more night in Islamorada before heading to Key West for a a few days, we entertain them with our Key West adventures. Their itinerary is far more rigid, with a ghost tour, a sunset cruise and tarpon feeding, among other activities, plus a reservation at a dessert cafe.

Clearly we weren't the only ones with a whole helluva lot to see and do in Key West.

When we get up to leave, they joke about running into us that evening (they're headed to Robbie's, which their server has informed them is "Lorelei's south with lots of souvenir and tchotchke huts"), we know it's the last time we'll ever see them.

We wish the Green Bay fans the best and head out.

Our plan for the afternoon involves nothing more than a picnic at Founders Park, mainly because of its beach, which Mr. Wright has discovered while out cycling one morning. Interestingly enough, for being surrounded everywhere by water on this narrow island, there are surprisingly few public beaches.

Walking from the parking lot to the park, we pass a trio of people measuring an opening in the trees for one of two stages that will be erected for the bluegrass festival taking place on Sunday. Ever the local cheerleaders, they insist we come back to hear the 13 bands. "And tonight's our Dancing in the Streets event, so you need to come square dance with us first!" they insist, big smiles on their tanned faces.

If only we didn't already have plans, you know we'd be there.

One thing is obvious the moment we arrive and it's that this is a beach frequented by locals, not tourists, perhaps because locals don't have to pay to come in and everyone else does. Scattered around the sandy beach are people sunning themselves, having brought their own lounge and beach chairs, and snorkeling or wading in the amazingly clear bay water.

The husband of an older woman wading out to thigh-high level must want to get her attention because he begins tossing pebbles so that they land just behind her, splashing the back of her legs. She ignores the splashes, wading further out, but he persists.

"Ancient mating ritual in the Keys," Mr. Wright observes.

We set up camp under the picnic pavilion and enjoy lunch before hitting the water, and by hitting, I mean wading in the warm water while admiring all the marine life on full display below the crystal clear surface. We've got no idea what most of these blob-like creatures are, but watching them inhale and exhale as schools of tiny pale green fish dart by is pretty fascinating.

A string of buoy markers delineates the part of the bay for people to enjoy, although several snorkelers, including one in a full wet suit with a small kayak (both of which seem like overkill), slip under the line and further out where boats are anchored or jetting by.

One sunken-chested, heavily tattooed guy, cigarette in his mouth, repeatedly sticks his camera phone underwater to take pictures of various things, although I can't hep but think that his falling ashes add nothing to the water quality for the underwater population.

But seriously, you couldn't finish that cig before you go in the water, buddy?

It's a gloriously stunning day weather-wise - warm, deep blue sky and little breeze - and, as we've learned, that's saying something down here because we've yet to have a bad weather day. A couple of times, there's been a bit of rain during the middle of the night, but it's always gone before sunrise. And when the sky is this brilliantly blue, it makes the various shades of green in the palm trees even more striking.

By late afternoon when we left, it was to head back to the house, not to get gussied up to go square dancing (not that there's anything wrong with that because there's been plenty of dancing on this trip) but to put in motion our plans for a progressive dinner.

And not the kind where you move from house to house or restaurant to restaurant, but the Islamorada kind where you move from oceanfront deck table to deep, cushioned oceanfront chairs to bayside dining room table to oceanfront couch, enjoying a different course - the first was Mumm Napa Brut and fried chicken followed by Florida confectioner Anastasia's dark chocolate coconut patty, the third course was pesto pizza and Prosecco gifted to us by my thoughtful Key West amigo - at each spot.

Providing the soundtrack were Vince Mendoza and Miles Davis, so that kind of progressive dinner.

It didn't hurt that the evening temperature was as seductive as the afternoon's had been, warm with soft breezes and a near full moon so bright that it cast unbelievably deep shadows on the deck and beach.

Down here, they call that a marvelous night for a moondance.

A Time to Every Purpose

You could say we came 1,016 miles to hear a Rickenbacker guitar, but that might be overstating things just a bit.

As it happens, we did hear the distinctive sounds of a Rickenbacker last night, not because we set out to, but because we went to Lorelei's Restaurant and Cabana Bar, ostensibly to drink and watch the sun set over Florida Bay.

It seems to be a Keys rite of passage to settle in at a tiki bar to ogle the setting sun - to a person, everyone we've asked for eating recommendations has instructed us to catch a sunset, especially since we're staying on the ocean side - but Lorelei's had the added advantage of having tables directly on the sand.

That's immersion and we're all about the immersion.

Add in that the sunset doesn't happen until almost 6:00, nearly an hour later than in the Capital of the Confederacy, plus it was an easy walk and I was more than happy to give over three plus hours to lounging with tourists and locals.

The latter were especially easy to spot because, like the couple at the table next to us,  they asked their server questions like, "Do you still have smoked fish dip today?' a surefire clue that the dip must be good to run out of it regularly.

Not so sound smug, but fortunately for us, we'd already ordered ours. That it arrived with Captain's Wafers rather than basic Saltines would be my only critique, but then I'm partial to the old school ways.

Another way to spot locals was when one or the other of the two guys who made up Webb and Davidson, the duo performing at Lorelei's last night, spotted a local in the crowd and called out, "Hey, Pam and Saul! Nice to see that the snowbirds are coming back!"

Mr. Wright identified the duo's sound as pure Florida Keys and we found out how right he was when one said he'd been performing at Lorelei's for 29 years and for the other  guy, it had been 20 years.

Later, pointing to the pink glow on the water just after the sunset, he gestured and announced, "This is why we live here, folks. It never gets boring!"

Tiki bar pontoon boats floated by, music blaring, as we sat there sipping rum punches and taking it all in. On a trip to the loo, I spotted a pink Cadillac which had been converted to a sea-going vessel (and, naturally, was available for rental)  floating at the dock. Hanging from palm trees along the way were bird sculptures made of palm leaves, almost invisible in the greenery unless you were paying attention.

Webb and Davidson, with their years of playing experience, were just the right accompaniment to the late afternoon vibe. From the Beatles and the Marshall Tucker Band to songs like "Wooden Ships," they made their allegiance to the '60s and '70s clear with guitars and the occasional fiddle.

"This next song is the reason I bought this $2,000 Rickenbacker guitar," one of the guys said. "When I first heard that guitar, it sounded like god to me. It's the guitar Roger McGuinn of the Byrds and Tom Petty played."

Even a non-musician like me knew what he meant as they launched into "Turn, Turn, Turn." One of the first albums I ever asked my parents for at Christmas was "The Byrds Greatest Hits" and it was because when I heard that guitar, it sounded like, well, not god because I'm a  heathen, but certainly it resonated on an emotional level I responded to.

And hearing a Rickenbacker live? Yes, please.

After the mass selfie and photo-taking explosion that happened with the sunset was over, many people around us headed for the doors. Not us. Sensing the potential for a fish fiesta, we stayed on to sup and sip more rum drinks, as befits the best kind of post-sunset tiki evening.

While you can bring your catch to Lorelei's for cooking, we'd been too busy exploring the island to fish (ha! as if), so we went with menu offerings instead. The piece of fish on my grilled mahi mahi sandwich was almost twice the size of the bun, while Mr. Wright's mahi tacos were obscenely fat because of all the local fish stuffed in them. It's looking like we're both good candidates for island cuisine.

Not to mention that hearing that gorgeous Rickenbacker tone on a beach with my main squeeze while watching the sun slide behind mangroves made it plain why the locals had insisted we do the requisite sunset visit.

 And if that's the rum punches talking, we'll take another round.