I especially like the scene when Clarence, a want to be angel, is sent back to earth to save George Bailey.
Through his diligence and understanding of human nature, Clarence redirects George Bailey to reclaim his life. With this success, Clarence finally earns his angel wings.
On the morning of Thursday, August 28, 2025 at 6:29, I came upon a sign that showed me two angels had graced our home on Sweetbriar Road.
A gardenia bush on the west side of our yard had a singular open bloom at the top.
The August 28 gardenia bloom (Photo Bill Pike)
This gardenia had previously been full of blooms earlier during the summer. While I’m no expert on gardenias, I think it is rare for a gardenia to offer up a singular bloom after its traditional full summer blossoming.
This gardenia is a special shrub. It originally came from a cutting from my parents yard in Burlington, North Carolina.
I took this cutting and planted in the yard of our first home in Richmond.
I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to do this, but when we sold that house, I dug up that gardenia and transplanted it in our yard on Sweetbriar.
Despite some challenging winters and uncomfortable summers, the gardenia has thrived.
The gardenia was a favorite flower of my parents. I believe my father really loved the sweet fragrance from its white bloom.
I’ve written about this before, but I never forget the last week of August. On August 31, 1992, we lost my mother. Ten years later on September 1, 2002, we lost my father.
For some reason, on the day of my mother’s funeral, a singular gardenia bloom blossomed on the large shrub by the front door of the home of my sister, Lisa, and her husband, Eric, on Parkview Drive in Burlington.
On August 28, when I came across that singular gardenia bloom in our yard, I immediately thought of my parents. Perhaps, a horticulturist could explain why that perfect bloom appeared.
While there might be a perfectly logical science based answer, I have my own reasoning—two angels, Louise and Bill.
I still struggle to comprehend how my parents tolerated me. At times, I was a worthless disappointment.
Fortunately, I sense some of their better qualities did rub off on me.
Part of me believes that at 72, I’m still around because they continue to keep an eye out for me.
My old brain believes the appearance of that singular gardenia bloom on August 28 was their way of reminding me that despite the heartburn and the sleep deprivation I caused for them—they still love me.
As they glide around in that blue yonder, I still cherish and love all they did for me.
And yes, my old heart continues to cherish and love them.
I was up early on the morning of Tuesday, May 13. My old body told me I needed to go for a run.
I followed this internal self-talk. I ran from the hotel to Otter Point in Pacific Grove. This is a part of the Monterey Bay Coastal Trail.
The trail had been dampened by some pre-dawn rain showers. That didn’t slow me or the other walkers, joggers, and bike riders who too were up early.
No matter where my eyes scanned, I had pretty views of the neighborhood and the bay. This run is not likely to leave my memory. The setting is too special. If I had the endurance and the time, I could have stayed on this trail all day. But another trail was calling me.
After breakfast, the Commander had us scheduled to start our exploration of the Seventeen Mile Drive. As much as I had liked the views from my run, the views for the remainder of the day would only become more incredible.
Much has been written about The Seventeen Mile Drive, I doubt I can add much to these praises. Let’s leave like this, if you are given the opportunity to make the drive, don’t turn it down.
I did not focus on the opulence of the homes or the famous golf courses. No, I focused on the determination of the Pacific Ocean, and the rugged coastline the ocean rolls into every minute of the day and night.
The Restless Sea (Photo Bill Pike)
Marker 4 on the drive is titled The Restless Sea, and here is the commentary about this section: “The Restless Sea earns its name as one of the most turbulent sections of coastline in Pebble Beach. Waves are constantly converging and crashing into each other, likely caused by submerged rocks.”
Each marker has a story to tell and a point to make. Perhaps the most famous is The Lone Cypress.
According to one marker, the Monterey cypress almost became extinct along the coast. Fortunately, it didn’t as the trees grow naturally here. The popular trees can reach heights up to seventy feet and can live up to three hundred years.
Yes, there is something special about The Lone Cypress. I admire its loyalty. No matter what nature has tossed at the tree, the cypress has remained loyal to its solitary perch.
The Lone Cypress (Photo Betsy Pike)
We made a short stop at the Pebble Beach Visitor Center. Next, we started working our way further south toward Point Lobos State Natural Reserve.
I’ll put this in the same category as The Seventeen Mile Drive—if you have the opportunity to visit Point Lobos, don’t turn the invitation down. Yes, you will walk more at Point Lobos, but those steps will reveal to you spectacular coastal scenery.
When we arrived at Point Lobos, the parking lot was full and closed. This meant we had to park along the shoulder of the highway that parallels the park.
We walked back to the entrance, took some advice from park personnel, and started our exploration. In truth, what happened was we were so enthralled by the beauty that we kept pushing ourselves further and further into the available trails.
One of many pretty sights at Point Lobos (Photo Bill Pike)
Eventually, we worked our way to a stopping point and the walk back to our car, but neither of us regrets taking the time to explore. What we saw was nature at her best.
The ocean, the rocky shoreline, the wildflowers, an occasional appearance of wildlife, and the knowledge of park personnel added to the pleasure of the hike. Neither of us will forget this visit.
Point Lobos: rocks, surf, flowers (Photo Bill Pike)
Back out on the highway, we made a stop in the parking lot of Monastery Beach and enjoyed our Pebble Beach sandwich in the car.
From there we drove back into Carmel By Sea for more exploring. The focus here was to locate some of the Storybook Houses.
Unfortunately, our interpretation of local maps was being challenged. Luckily, a patient, local resident sensed this, and he redirected our steps guiding us to our first Storybook House.
Carmel By The Sea Storybook House (Photo Betsy Pike)
We strolled through the shopping district and made our way down to see the famous beach. Even though it was May, a few beach worshippers were present on this pleasant sunny afternoon. In a few weeks, I imagine this beach will be packed.
Our walk back to the car revealed more about the character of the town.
A plaque on a fence featured these words in bold print: LIV DE LIFE with this Emerson quote behind it: “The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it.”
Another creative sign featured precisely cut letters from assorted license plates to form this colorful expression: Happy Go Lucky.
Colorful sign (Photo Bill Pike)
From Carmel By The Sea, we re-entered The Seventeen Mile Drive from the land side. We worked our way to The Inn at Spanish Bay.
The Commander navigated us to a sunlit, stone patio where she ordered a glass of wine and I had glass of beer.
(Photo Betsy Pike)
We sat in comfort admiring the view.
Gradually, we inched our way back to the hotel.
After a respite, we walked back down to Cannery Row, and had dinner with a view of Monterey Bay at Louie Linguini.
Tonight, this trip was coming to an end.
Early tomorrow morning, we would say goodbye to this stunning California coastline and drive back to the San Francisco airport.
Thankfully, we survived the drive to the airport and the drop off of the rental car.
Inside our gate area, I stumbled upon a church friend, Susan King, who had been in San Francisco visiting a friend. Later she would get a good laugh watching me stuffing an over stuffed suitcase into an overhead bin.
Before we took off, the Captain of the plane for Breeze Airways gave what was maybe the best welcome aboard and here’s what to expect speech I’ve ever heard from a pilot.
Remnants of thundershowers were around the Richmond area as we descended into the landing pattern, but our landing was smooth.
We grabbed our bags and worked our way to the shuttle van to return us to our parked car.
The only downer of our trip unfolded between the driver of the van and an airline employee who admitted she had a lousy day.
These two individuals grumbled over where the airline employee wanted to be dropped off. The tenseness between them was disappointing.
This tiny confrontation brought me back to reality. That magnificent California coastline was far away on the other side of America.
I wonder if the personalities of the van driver and the airline employee could have been soothed by a single pretty California vista?
That’s hard to know, but I know that my old brain and soul will forever cherish what California shared with me and the Commander, the best trip planner in the world.
It might be hard to see it at times, and often we do our best to destroy it, but we still live in a beautiful world.
For that I am grateful, and I must constantly remind myself to do my part to take care of this world.
Another pretty vista from Point Lobos (Photo Bill Pike)
We wasted no time after breakfast to start our morning.
Our walk to the Monterey Bay Aquarium took us by an assortment of homes, shops, and other businesses.
Making a visit to this unique aquarium had been a goal for a long time. This is a special place. A place where imagination and ingenuity have created an environment for capturing the stories about the Pacific Ocean and its impact on these California coastal communities. And at the heart of those stories are people.
Immediately, the displays draw visitors to people.
The ‘generosity and vision’ of David and Lucile Packard sparked the development of the aquarium. Mr. Packard once said that “the ocean is the most important frontier we have.” Clearly, the aquarium gives life to his words.
Through his fiction and nonfiction writing, American author, John Steinbeck, brought to life Monterey and Cannery Row. Steinbeck wrote about the people who breathed life into economy of harvesting the bounty of the sea.
Another important person was Ed Ricketts, who is described as “an ecologist before his time.” Mr. Ricketts helped people to learn about and understand the relationships of the Pacific’s sea life and its links to the region. His early studies helped to lay the foundation for future research. Also, Mr. Ricketts was the fictional character ‘Doc’ in Steinbeck’s Cannery Row and Sweet Thursday.
Without question, visitors learn about Cannery Row. The impact of harvesting fish and bringing the catch to the cannery for processing is told from the perspective of the workers.
Here is a quote that describes what it was like: “We used to dread getting up in the morning because we worked so hard. It was cold and wet with water running under your feet the whole time—Can you imagine squeezing the guts out of fish at three or four in morning?”
Early in our visit, we learned about sea kelp and its impact on the life of this region of the Pacific.
Critical sea kelp for these California coastal waters (Photo Bill Pike)
The entire aquarium is user friendly. Displays attract all age groups, but there is a special emphasis for children.
From the brilliance of the wave machine, the interior and exterior displays of sea life, the outside vistas, the friendly and knowledgeable docents, and the use of video to present information make the aquarium uniquely qualified to help us all learn.
Stunning jellyfish (Photo Betsy Pike)
This quote from Loren Eiseley caught my attention: “If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.”
From our first display until our last view from an outside vista, we felt the “magic of the water” at the Monterey Bay Aquarium.
An exterior view from the aquarium (Photo Betsy Pike)
After our visit to the aquarium, we regrouped at the hotel.
We continued to explore. Our goal was to visit the Point Pinos Lighthouse.
As we drove and walked along, the blue sky, beds of flowers, combined with a shoreline of scraggy rocks worn by a relentless Pacific, made for unforgettable postcard images.
Pretty path along the Pacific (Photo Bill Pike)
Occasionally, we came across a colony of at type of burrowing ground squirrel. Clearly looking for a handout from kindhearted tourists, these creatures did not rate highly with residents of Monterey.
Unfortunately, the lighthouse was closed. But again, the rocky shoreline, the hues of the ocean’s water, the crashing waves, the glide of pelicans, and the steady progress of fishing boats heading into port made for a remarkable afternoon.
In the background the Point Pinos Lighthouse (Photo Bill Pike)
We drove back to the hotel, then took a short walk to a local dive—Sly McFly for dinner.
On our after dinner walk back to the hotel, we purchased some chocolate.
Then, we made a decision to drive back out to Asilomar State Beach with the hope of seeing the sun recline into the Pacific.
We found a good spot for watching the sun sink, but partly cloudy conditions and a light rain shower limited seeing the sun.
A slowly sinking sun (Photo Bill Pike)
Our drive back to the hotel wove us through the pretty coastal town, Pacific Grove.
Another non-stop day with lots of steps had us ready for rest.
The Monterey Bay Aquarium still swirled in my mind.
I thought again about how this magnificent facility for teaching and learning came together.
And my old brain has this reoccurring question—why can we collectively come together to create such a facility, and yet, we appear to be unable or unwilling to truly solve our ongoing challenges related to homelessness, health care, mental health needs, and food instability across America?
I wonder if we will ever fully see that contrast and commit to solving it?
After breakfast, we quickly gathered our belongings and headed toward checking out.
In the parking lot, the Commander Supreme made her final checks, and our journey to the Point Reyes National Seashore started.
We traveled the back roads of California toward the visitor’s center. Wisps of low clouds, lots of twists and turns, rolling hills with pretty land, and massive redwoods greeted us. Occasionally, we encountered brave bicycle riders on these narrow roads that offered very few straight sections for easy peddling.
Upon our arrival at the Bear Valley Visitor Center in the Point Reyes National Seashore, we were greeted by a few quietly grazing deer in the rolling pastures around the building.
(Photo Bill Pike)
The visitor center has extremely helpful national park employees. No matter your questions, these knowledgeable and patient staff have the answers.
The center also has a nice layout of effective displays giving visitors a glimpse of what they might encounter during their visit.
From the visitor center, our goal was to visit the historical Point Reyes Lighthouse. The ride to the lighthouse was remarkable.
I’m sure I will repeat myself, but no matter where our eyes took us, we were greeted with striking scenery.
I didn’t expect to see beef and dairy cattle grazing on this magnificent land. But occasionally, we’d come across a weather battered farmhouse with barns and out buildings scattered around. I wondered about the loneliness that might brew in this isolated beauty.
Some of the pastures on the way to Point Reyes (Photo Bill Pike)
If you travel this road, you will come across the historic KPH Radio building. Set off the road, you will walk a straight path lined on both sides with magnificent Monterey cypress trees. This tree-lined walk toward the building will never leave your memory.
The walk toward the KPH building. (Photo Bill Pike)
It’s not long before we reach the parking area for the lighthouse.
According to the National Park Service, the Point Reyes Headlands ‘jut ten miles out to sea.’ This probe out into the Pacific Ocean creates a potential nautical challenge for ships venturing north of San Francisco.
In 1870, this lighthouse was constructed to serve as a warning to ship captains and their crews. In 1975, the United States Coast Guard put to rest the first light. A new automated light was installed adjacent to the original lighthouse.
To truly encounter this magnificent lighthouse, visitors must descend 313 steps. This requires an alert patience in going down and coming back up, but the challenge of the walk is worth it. You will not want to stop taking pictures.
The walk down. (Photo Bill Pike)
Additionally, park rangers are on site to answer questions and guide you. It is worth a chat alone to hear about the extreme weather conditions that impact Point Reyes.
Fog to the south (Photo Bill Pike)
On the steps back to the parking lot, we paused a couple of times, caught our breath, and admired the view.
(Photo Bill Pike)
We regrouped in the parking lot, and from there we made stops at Chimney Rock, South Beach, and briefly explored a trail that were an ideal habitat for elk. And in each of those treks, wildflowers greeted us.
From a trail looking toward the Pacific. (Photo Bill Pike)
Again, I reminded myself of the people who had the vision and the will to preserve this priceless national park.
Land worth preserving. (Photo Bill Pike)
As we worked our way out of the national park, we stopped at the Tavern X Market for a sandwich. After lunch, I noticed the sign ‘Happy Trails’ hanging over the parking lot exit. Hopefully, the traffic gods would grant us ‘happy trails’ during the remainder of our afternoon driving toward Monterey.
Now following an interstate route, we skirted past Oakland. From a distance, we could see its attempts to re-invent itself, though graffiti was still a dominant nuisance in some stretches.
Occasionally, the traffic snarled with slow downs, but we kept moving.
The closer to Monterey, the more frequently we began to see the impact of farming on the outskirts of the Salinas Valley. But when we left the interstate, the farming communities really came into focus. Sure there was equipment, but I was more drawn to the richness of soil.
That soil reminded me of deep shades of chocolate and roasted coffee beans contrasted with healthy rows of green. Those fields were a tribute to the artistry of the farmers and their farmhands who year after year grow our nutrition.
Approaching the city limits of Monterey, the waters of the Pacific changed the backdrop.
It was Sunday afternoon, Mother’s Day, Monterey was still restless.
Our hotel on a side street in the city came into view.
We checked in.
Friendly staff at the front desk, guided our footsteps toward the Alvarado Street Brewery for dinner.
The walk back in the cool coastal air prepped us for our collapse and sleep.
TRUSTED BY LOCALS AND LOVED BY VISITORS SINCE 1915
Memorable trip Dear Editor,
In early May, my wife and I had the privilege of exploring California from Point Reyes to Point Lobos. No matter where our plans took us, we enjoyed our journey.
The enjoyment of our visit was grounded in the vision and will of Californians to preserve such precious land.
No matter the vistas in the seaside parklands or along the 17 Mile Drive, we cherished the restless Pacific, its stone masonry on the shoreline, and the pretty blooming flowers along many trails.
Our lives have been enriched by graceful redwoods, the backstories found in Alcatraz and Angel islands, the coffee-colored soil in farmland near Watsonville, and the magnificent Monterey Bay Aquarium.
Additionally, we were impressed by the patience and wisdom of employees in the state and national parks, appreciated the knowledgeable waitstaffs in every restaurant, and were thankful for an understanding man, a transplant from Austin, who sensed we were lost in locating the famous Fairytale Cottages in Carmel-By-The- Sea. This stranger might have saved our almost fifty years of marriage.
In Robinson Jeffers’ poem “The Beaks of Eagles,” he writes about the life of a mother eagle. The author notes: “The world has changed in her time,” and despite these challenging changes, the mother eagle continues to find the way to survive.
Like the mother eagle, it is my hope that California with stubborn persistence will repel any wacky Washington attempts to dismantle these priceless plots of unparalleled beauty.
Our aging hearts will hold this trip forever, thank you.
Bill Pike,
Richmond, Va.
Author’s note: Today, I was honored to have this letter to the editor published in the Carmel Pine Cone, a weekly newspaper in Carmel-By-The-Sea, California.
Coastline, Point Lobos, California (Photo Bill Pike)
During Holy Week at our church, for some unknown reason, termites decided to erupt out of the wooden baseboard in the Forest Avenue foyer of the Sanctuary.
Our head building caretaker had been spiffing up the old black and white tile floor when he noticed my new best friends.
Sure enough, the termites had staged quite an invasion. They were curiously crawling around and inspecting these unfamiliar surfaces.
Maybe they were communicating to themselves, “Hey, where did the soft wood go, how did we end up here, we’re usually crunching wood in the dark, where did this light come from, who is this old guy holding a spay bottle?
Down on my knees, I probed deeper. Sometimes when we probe deeper into the outer layers more challenges are revealed. As I gently pried off the first piece of stained wood, I quickly saw that the next piece of trim work had been decimated by the termites.
No telling how long they had been silently chomping on the wood.
With a touch of agitation, I grabbed the spray bottle of Windex with ammonia in it. I started spraying. A long time ago, an exterminator told me that Windex with ammonia can temporarily help in eliminating creatures that show up at the wrong time.
I made the call to the company who has our termite contract. One of their technicians would stop by early on Thursday morning.
Not long after that encounter, a church member told me she forgot to tell me that ants had been sighted by one of the windows in the nursery on Sunday.
Sure enough, the ants were all over the window ledge and the HVAC register.
Once again, the ants met Windex.
Maybe in their defense, the ants were responding to the disruption they had experienced during our summer of 2024 building renovation project. That extensive project had peeled back all layers in one section of our building. I’m sure we intruded into the ants’ space.
Perhaps, the ants were seeking revenge. My guess is they were on a secret mission. The ants were working their way to the office of our Kids Director, Jen Williams, and her stash of Peeps. The ants were planning to disrupt Easter.
Again, I made a call to our pest control company, and our reliable technician was scheduled to visit the ants on Friday.
In the interim, I spent time cleaning up the ant massacre. I’d learn from past encounters its about eliminating access. I found no evidence of intrusion from the outside, so I concentrated on caulking up any openings and seams around the window trim and the HVAC unit.
Early on Thursday morning, I met the termite technician. He confirmed that the visitors were termites, not flying ants. For a few minutes, he share his options for treating the damaged area. For sure, he would treat the visible wood, but he also wanted to get inside the plaster wall above the trim work.
With this, we agreed on him drilling three small holes into the plaster. This gave access for treating the inside of the wall area. In turn, I agreed to patch the three holes.
Later on Thursday afternoon, I was able to get the damaged baseboard presentable for Easter.
Over in the nursery, the caulk work from Wednesday afternoon worked. No ants were scurrying around the window or the HVAC unit.
Easter Sunday was a pretty, warm day in Richmond. We had made the switch over to the summer season with the HVAC systems in the older sections of the building. Initially, these chillers with their compressors, pumps, and air handlers fired up properly.
While that initial start up had gone well on Thursday afternoon, that wasn’t the case on Sunday morning. The chiller for the Trinity Hall wing of the building was a bad bunny. The chiller despite prompting would not fire up.
Luckily, no one croaked from heat stroke in that section of the building on Sunday. However, the news wasn’t good when the unit was checked out by our HVAC service company the following week. One of the compressors for that chiller decided—“I’m done, I’m not working another Richmond summer, find another compressor to battle that heat and humidity.”
Now, our Trustees are reviewing a quote for replacing the uncooperative compressor. The cost is not pretty.
On Friday, May 2, the call came on my cell phone at 9:28 a.m.
Our youngest daughter, Elizabeth, had started her drive to Richmond from Raleigh. She was coming to attend a dance recital for two of our granddaughters on Saturday afternoon.
But this call wasn’t about how much napping I would do during the recital. No there was a sense of urgency. I could hear concern in Elizabeth’s voice.
She explained there was a noise coming from the dashboard of her car. The noise reminded her of the type of the scratching sounds that an agitated squirrel or mouse make when they are trapped inside the wall of a house.
Elizabeth was convinced that some crazed furry creature was going to explode through the dashboard or floorboard of the car as she sped up the interstate.
When I finally was able to settle her down, we walked through a series of unscientific tests. No creature exploded out from under the hood, nor from the dashboard.
At the gas station where Elizabeth had pulled over, a nice man noticed the raised hood. Clearly, he saw this young lady going through a sequence of unusual maneuvers while holding a cell phone. Possibly, he thought she was about to lose one or all of her marbles by the actions he saw.
He decide to investigate. With me listening in on the phone, he asked if she needed help?
Calmly, Elizabeth told him about the noise and what she was attempting to do.
Upon hearing her concerns, this kind stranger suggested that leaf debris might be in her ventilation system. He talked about the “squirrel cage” for this system and how debris can become trapped and blown around.
For now, that explanation made sense.
Elizabeth thanked him for his willingness to help. She continued her drive toward Richmond.
Later on Friday afternoon, we had a father-daughter bonding session.
First, we removed all tree debris from the windshield wiper area of the car and under the hood too.
Then, per the advice of the helpful stranger, we went inside the glove box of the car to remove the air filter for the car’s HVAC system. Yes, the filter for the HVAC system is located behind the glove box.
Despite watching helpful Youtube videos on how to access the filter, this work was not profanity free.
But inside the filter and the surrounding area, we did find leaf debris particles that could have been the noisy culprit.
During this endeavor, I did as all fathers are supposed to do. I put my hand into the cylinder for the vent, and I let out a scream. A scream that conveyed a furry creature had my hand.
Of course, this tactic worked. Elizabeth’s was initially quite startled, but not impressed with her immature father.
Elizabeth led the way in getting the filter and glove box back into the proper positions. Remarkably, we didn’t break anything.
Usually, situations with ants, termites, compressors, and car creatures can be remedied. However, that is not always the case for human beings.
Right now, despite fighting with all of their strength, and the best efforts of oncologists, someone within this hour is going to lose their battle with cancer.
Today, a darkness so deep and desperate will push a person to die by suicide.
With the end of another school year in sight, a single parent with three elementary age children wonders how they will survive the summer. Her concerns are based on the gutting of funding from leaders in Washington who have no clue about the reality of real American life.
Easter is over.
For me, Easter, despite its resurrection ending, is a difficult story.
Life is a difficult story too. Disruptive challenges are always, always part of that difficulty.
But with Easter, I always come back to Thomas. That’s right Thomas.
I identify with Thomas because he is honest. Like me he doubts. He doubted that Jesus had appeared before the disciples after his death.
Thomas wanted proof.
He wanted to see the wounds Jesus had suffered during his crucifixion.
How do we confront our doubts during life’s challenging moments?
Maybe, the key is to always hold on to hope.
Even when we doubt, and our faith is fading, we must not let go of hope.
And here’s why— Romans Chapter Five verses three and four: “because we know that suffering produces perseverance; 4 perseverance, character; and character, hope.”
Remember in the post Easter story, someone you encounter needs your perseverance, your character, and your hope.
Doesn’t matter if this person is confronting ants, compressors, car critters, termites, or the true reality of real life— someone needs hope.
On those bad days in an old church building when I’m convinced that God is out to get me, maybe he’s simply reminding me, “Hey knucklehead, someone you encounter today needs to hear that hope from Romans. Don’t let them down.”
Our goal was to leave the condo by 6:30 a.m. That would give us time to make it to the marina by 7.
We made sure we had with us the required items. Our self-checking found us to be ready.
The only hiccup we had was the news out of Washington, D. C.
Overnight, a military helicopter collided with a commercial jet liner that was in its final approach into Reagan National. Sadly, there were no survivors.
At the marina, we parked. The row of boats we saw on Wednesday afternoon were still silent. But one boat, Size Matters, is where I located Captain Chuck. He was busily preparing the boat for our trip.
Captain Chuck asked us to give him a few minutes before we boarded.
We didn’t wait long before he welcomed us aboard. The first duty was spraying down our shoes with water. Keep the deck clean.
Once this ritual was completed, we introduced ourselves. Captain Chuck gave us a quick orientation about the boat. That included where we were heading toward and what we might expect.
The chatter continued as we learned about Captain Chuck, and we shared a bit about ourselves.
We had what my Richmond friend, Jack Berry, calls a “chamber of commerce day”—perfectly pretty.
Soon, Captain Chuck had the boat emerging from its berth at the dock. We were quietly heading out of this inlet and into a broader one.
During this trip to the Keys, we had been overly focused on sunsets. This morning, we would be properly positioned to see the sun rise, and rise it did.
Sun rising Marathon Key (Photo Bill Pike)
At some point, we cleared the no wake zones, and Captain Chuck opened up the engines. Within seconds, we were scooting atop the calm surface. I wondered what the sea life below the surface thought about this roaring wakeup call.
We had one important stop to make before heading beyond the mainland—“the bait guy.”
The bait guy (Photo Bill Pike)
Anchored in a small harbor, we slowly approach his location. There are two, maybe more bait wells that capture a variety of live minnows. Charter captains arrive each morning asking for their favorite live bait.
If the bait guy can meet the captain’s request, he takes his dip net, goes into the bait well, scoops out the minnows, and transfers them into the captain’s boat well.
Cash is exchanged, the bait guy wishes the captain luck, and his attention turns to the next charter captain.
Captain Chuck makes his request. The bait is handed off to him in the dip net. He stows the bait, and the bait guy hopes we have a good morning. Next Captain Chuck positions the boat to make our run out to the Gulf of Mexico.
We cross under a bridge that handles traffic on the Over Seas highway. From Miami to Key West, I’ve read there are 42 bridges.
One of the 42 bridges in the Keys (Photo Bill Pike)
Heading out to the Gulf we are able to see multiple beautiful homes on either side of the water. Within minutes, we are out in the open Gulf.
Based upon his experience, Captain Chuck knows when we arrive in good area for catching fish. He throttles back the engines, the forward motion of the boat slows. Captain Chuck begins aligning the boat over one of his favorite spots. At the precise moment, he drops the anchor.
Then, he explains the technique to use. Next, he is baiting the hooks, and preparing to hand the rods over to us.
Dan surveying the scene (Photo Bill Pike)
On the back of the boat, attached to the exterior surface, and placed just below the waterline is a rectangular shaped cage. Designed for easy access this cage holds, a “chum block.”
A chum block is a block of frozen fish pieces. As it slowly melts, fish are attracted to this ‘gourmet’ fare.
Butch ready to start (Photo Bill Pike)
With our rods properly baited, Captain Chuck turns us loose.
I honestly don’t remember who hooked the first fish. There was a flurry of activity with each of us having our lines becoming taut. It seems as soon as Captain Chuck had removed the fish from the hook, measured its size, placed the fish in the cooler, and re-baited the hook, we had another fish on the line.
Then just as soon as this chaos started, it stopped.
Captain Chuck in the middle (Photo Bill Pike)
We pulled in the lines, and Captain Chuck repositioned the boat.
Again, Captain Chuck worked to prep our lines, and soon, we were catching fish again.
Our main catch was the Mangrove Snapper. We did manage to catch two different type of mackerel, and a couple of times the fish we caught were below the size limit, or the fish were not suitable for eating.
Captain Chuck was like an ichthyologist professor in a college lab identifying fish. No matter the fish on the end of line, Captain Chuck knew the fish on a first name basis.
Additionally, he knew if a fish posed any danger. One fish I caught, he quickly told me not to touch it. Captain Chuck told me an encounter with the fish’s fins would ruin my day.
The action slowed in this spot, and Captain Chuck pulled the anchor. He motored us quickly and skillfully to the site of an old houseboat wreck.
Once we arrived, Captain Chuck set the anchor, and baited our lines. He also coached us about how to work the wreck.
Turns out this was Dan’s lucky day. Over the wreck, Dan hooked a good size black grouper.
Dan’s grouper (Photo courtesy Butch Sherrill)
Unfortunately, grouper season starts in May. So, this pretty fish was gently put back into the Gulf of Mexico by Captain Chuck. We made a few more casts, but no nibbles.
We had a good morning. Our limit had been caught. Added to that excitement, Captain Chuck shared a wide range of stories from his experiences on the water.
With the anchor up, we started back toward Marathon Key. We made one quick stop at a bait trap that Captain Chuck maintains. With interest, we watched him pull up the trap, and carefully harvest the bait for his next charter.
The ride back to the inlet was just as pretty as the ride out to the Gulf of Mexico. Out on the water, we could see waterfront homes that might go undetected on a leisurely drive through a neighborhood.
Once the boat was snug in its berth, Captain Chuck gathered the fish from the cooler. He displayed them for photos, and then Captain Chuck put his filet knife to good use.
Our catch (Photo Bill Pike)
As we watched him work his magic, another boat owner appeared. This guy was a talker.
We heard about his experiences as a commercial pilot, and his tales as a dedicated fisherman. He talked with Captain Chuck about an upcoming fishing trip. I sensed we were listening with a grain of salt.
The brown pelicans had been keeping an expectant eye on Captain Chuck. I’m sure the pellies were having the same internal, self-talk— ‘I hope this Captain will share some of those non-filet scraps with us.’
Hopeful pellies (Photo Bill Pike)
The pellies were lucky. Captain Chuck made sure all the scraps hit the water. There was quite a pelican scrum in jockeying for those pieces.
Soon, the filets were ready. Captain Chuck iced them down, and we paid him for the trip and the memories.
We wished him luck with the remaining snowbird months and the upcoming grouper season. Captain Chuck told us when the grouper season is completed, he heads to Alaska to Captain fishing trips in that stunning environment.
On the drive back to Tranquility Bay, we chatted about this chapter of our trip.
Once inside the condo, we proudly showed our bosses the bag of filets caught from our morning of grueling work out in a harsh and hostile environment. These are smart ladies. They didn’t buy any of that fish baloney.
Butch took the lead in figuring out how many filets he would prepare for our dinner that night.
With the remaining filets, we opted to give them to Tranquility Bay’s support staff. I walked the bag over to the office, explained our intent, and the filets were graciously accepted.
Nothing like fresh fish for dinner. Butch seasoned and cooked the filets to perfection. The side dishes were a hit too.
Before dinner, I started my sad prep for Friday. On Friday, we would be working our way back to the Miami airport. There we would board our flights to return us to our homes and the reality of more winter.
If you have been reading this blog for the last ten days, you know I’m at best a mediocre fisherman.
Do I want to catch fish? Yes.
But, I have concluded, it is more about the opportunity to be outside in an environment that is different from home.
An environment where the solitude of the morning will overtake me in its beauty, a beauty that is different with the breaking of each new dawn.
That beauty can be seen in the shades of color as the morning rises up out of an eastern sky.
Its about the timing of the right moment to see a line of pelicans as they gracefully skim inches above the crest of a wave.
And it is appreciating stillness as a shorebird in the shallows silently stalks for minnows.
And, it is the wonder of the backlog of stories that give me the opportunity to daydream like a child staring off into the sparkling soul of seawater.
Maybe, it isn’t about the fish that are never caught.
Maybe, it is about appreciating the beauty of a weary and worn world that still has its heartbeat. A heartbeat that needs us to see it, hear it, feel it, protect it, and love it.
With my out of state fishing license expired, I didn’t go fishing this morning. My chances of being caught by a game warden from the state of Florida were probably slim. But why should I add to the glee of the fish? In my seven days of casting, I’m sure the fish were proud of shutting me out.
Actually, I’m fine with the shutout.
I’m 1,052 driving miles away from Richmond, Virginia. It’s January. It’s winter. It’s cold.
Out the back door of the condo at Tranquility Bay, I can walk less than a hundred steps, and in a blink, I’m casting a line into an isolated bight of the shoreline fed by clear water from the Gulf of Mexico. Those early morning scenes will stay with me forever, and they will push me through the remaining winter when I get back home.
So, I opted to go for a run. When I departed the condo, the temperature was 63 degrees. Back home in Richmond, the thermometer was 33 degrees.
This morning I was running north on the left side facing traffic along the Overseas Highway. I hoped to run to Sombrero Beach.
Lots of traffic on both sides of the highway this morning.
I was clipping along well. I came to the cross walk for a right turn to head toward Sombrero Beach.
With one push of a button, I was able to stop traffic on both sides of the highway. I ran across staying within the lines of the crosswalk.
Safely on the the other side, I was getting ready to cross a side entrance that feeds into the Publix parking lot. A driver in a rush was approaching this crosswalk. I sensed the driver was not going to stop, so I stopped.
When the driver realized I had stopped, she stopped. With a touch of aggravation, I motioned for her to keep moving.
I’m reminded of Rodney Dangerfield—I tell you pedestrians get no respect. I don’t know if this is because drivers don’t know that pedestrians have the right away, or if drivers selfishly don’t care, and they keep moving.
Anyway, I noticed something nice the further my old body moved me away from the highway— it became quiet.
The roar of the wheels on the always burdened asphalt disappeared. I could hear birds chirping and singing. This was a very pleasant contrast to the hustle on the Overseas Highway.
As I moved along Sombrero Beach Road, I gradually came to a well designed public education complex for the middle and high schools in Marathon Keys.
These two campuses were about to come alive with the school day beginning.
At that point, my old body told my brain, we’re not taking Baloney Bill to Sombrero Beach this morning. With that internal memo, I ran just past the school complex. I turned around and headed back toward Tranquility Bay. When I arrived at the condo, I stopped my watch. It read 56:24.
Wednesday was to be a quiet day for us. No sightseeing, just an easy pace.
Later that morning Betsy, Butch, and I walked to the 1.5 mile spot on the Seven Mile Bridge. Lots of people were in motion in both directions. The water no matter where we looked was pretty.
I wish I had brought my binoculars with me to the bridge. Off the right side, we could seen a large sand bar. In the shallows of that bar was a boat with a fisherman on it. I wanted the binoculars to see how he was doing.
The sand bar. (Photo Bill Pike)
For lunch today, we opted to check out Tranquility Bay’s Tiki Bar. This pretty day was perfect for lunch under an umbrella. I enjoyed a delicious Caribbean Salad.
My salad (Photo courtesy of Betsy Pike)
Laziness ruled the afternoon. But at some point, Butch, Dan, and I decided to locate the marina where we would be meeting Captain Chuck for our fishing charter on Thursday morning.
Once off the Overseas Highway, it took us a few minutes to locate the side street where the marina was located.
Eventually, we found this finger like inlet of water. Tucked under a protected roofline that resemble a long shed was a row of silent boats.
Inside of me was a shiver of excitement. I was like a little kid anticipating Thursday morning and our half day fishing charter. Hopefully, the knowledge and skills of Captain Chuck would bring us better luck than I had fishing in the surf.
Before we knew it, we were heading out for dinner.
Tonight, we opted for the Island Fish Company. This sprawling water front restaurant was busy. We waited a bit to be seated, but the restaurant was a good choice.
After dinner, we played another challenging round of charades from the creative mind of Marian. She has a way of pushing our brain cells to be imaginative and inventive.
When charades had worn us down, we had some final chatter about the fishing charter, and there was also the dreaded yapping—preparing to fly back home on Friday.
But I did enjoy watching a wet blue heron land and shake his feathers.
A young father and his two sons stopped for a few minutes. Turns out this young man was a University of Richmond graduate. While its not an across the street walk, I told him we could walk to the university from our house in Richmond.
At the beach condo, breakfast was coming together as were our plans to visit Pigeon Key. We wanted to make sure our arrival allowed us to be on the first train to the key.
With our reservations confirmed, we were out the door around 9:30. It was a short drive to the staging area. We parked, made sure we had everything, checked in, and found seats on the train.
The engine that pulled us along the bridge (Photo Bill Pike)
Once everyone was seated, we received a brief orientation about our visit. There are multiple options for guests to chose from. We opted for a guided tour with time to explore the the five acre key with its eight buildings. This site is also on the National Register of Historic Places.
It is a two mile ride on the train to Pigeon Key. This was a $41 million project to repurpose and renovate the bridge for the public. This project had good results for walkers, runners, bike riders, and curious guest who want to learn more about Pigeon Key. Plus the views from the bridge in any direction are pretty.
Bridge spans from Pigeon Key (Photo Bill Pike)
Our guide had given us some good insights on the ride to Pigeon Key. Once off the train, our guide organized us, and she started her historic script.
Essentially, Pigeon Key is all about Henry Flagler and his efforts to build The Florida East Coast Railway. This determined, persuasive, and successful businessman had the vision and resources to pursue this goal.
Pigeon Key was the work camp for the men who hired on to build the railway. Our guide was very knowledgeable, maybe too knowledgeable. Her wealth of information cut into our self-guided exploration.
Still we enjoyed learning about the design of the original dormitory that is now used as an education center. It still showcases the use of Dade County pine throughout the facility.
Former dormitory, now an education center, note original hardwood flooring (Photo Bill Pike)
The buildings and grounds are well-maintained. Moving around the plot isn’t difficult. No matter where your feet take you the views are very pleasant, and we enjoyed the calm presence of two Great White Herons who are like family to the staff.
One of the herons. (Photo Bill Pike)
Our departure time came quickly, and once Pigeon Key personnel had accounted for everyone, we were ready for the two mile ride back to the mainland.
Judy opted not to go on the Pigeon Key excursion, so we drove back to Tranquility Bay and picked her up.
From there, we headed to Burdines for lunch. This restaurant had been recommended to Butch and Marian by a local shopkeeper. Earlier in the week, we attempted to eat at Burdines, but the unseasonably cool air and brisk wind pushed us away from this open air restaurant.
(Photo Bill Pike)
Today, we hoped to do better under a partly sunny sky. Initially, we were seated on the side of the restaurant where a brisk wind was coming off the water of Boot Key Harbor. Sensing this uncomfortable shaded coolness, Butch negotiated a seating location change for us with the hostess.
Off the main highway, Burdines is ideally located next to a marina. It serves diners who arrive by boat or car. There is nothing fancy about Burdines as is stated on their menu: “As we say in the islands, this ain’t no fast food joint, so relax mon!”
To get us started Betsy ordered hush puppies, and they were good. Burdines might not be a “fast food joint” but I was amazed at how quickly our food arrived. Our lunch orders filled us up, and none of us were interested in ordering a piece of fried Key Lime pie to go.
Back at Tranquility Bay, the abundant sunshine was an attraction to sit by the pool. At some point, Dan and I headed to the workout room to burn off Burdines. Football was on the agenda too, as it was NFL playoff time, and then we had to make decision about dinner.
I think Marian had a hankering for spaghetti. Butch, Dan, and I made a mad dash to Publix. Under Butch’s guidance, we picked up the items so that he could create a spaghetti dinner for us.
Upon our return, we all pitched in to help our master chef prepare his special sauce. The sauce was delicious and this pasta meal hit the spot. It would be the carbo load we needed for walking around Key West on Monday.
I was excited about our day trip to Key West, and I had also enjoyed our Sunday in Marathon Key.
Even though our tour guide put my brain on information overload, I heard enough from her about the ups and downs of Henry Flagler that I would like to learn more about him. Specifically, the back stories about the creation of the Florida East Coast Railway sound very interesting. I can only begin to imagine the economic, environmental, and logistical challenges of this project.
Maybe before I croak, I’ll get to Les Standiford’s book— Last Train to Paradise: Henry Flagler and the Spectacular Rise and Fall of the Railroad That Crossed an Ocean.
Rest up Key West, we’re checking you out tomorrow.
Author’s note: My teachers: kindergarten (Mrs. Simmons at Davis Street Methodist) and first grade (Mrs. Hughes at Elon Elementary) would be disappointed in my math skills related to blog post. Obviously, seven comes before eight. So, I had day seven ready, but I forgot that post was completed. In the future, I’ll work to improve my counting skills. Thanks patient readers.
On the morning of Tuesday, February 11, 2025, I went for a run.
I had to go because the weather forecasters had Richmond whipped into another winter storm frenzy. I wanted to get out before all that frozen precipitation covered the roads.
That winter storm hysteria came courtesy of local weather forecasters. I wonder if the meteorology degree curriculum has a required class: How to create craziness in snow starved communities with a winter storm forecast. If they do, it works in Richmond.
When I left the house, the temperature was 33 degrees. A northeast wind at 6 mph. created a wind chill of 27 degrees.
I was layered up for the run under a gray winter sky. Lately, I’ve been running the 5K course through our neighborhood. Years ago, our son, Andrew, created the route for a 5K sponsored by our church.
This morning, I’m running the course, but out of its usual sequence.
Maybe its my odd personality, but I enjoy a run on a cold, gray winter morning. I think it has to do with the starkness of the landscape.
I can really see how stately the trees are sculpted.Their bare branches and limbs stretch in all directions.
In some landscaped beds, the early green of anxious daffodils are popping up.
On the south retaining wall for the playground at our church, the bright yellow blooms of winter jasmine are showcased.
Even though not a single flake of snow has fallen, local school systems surrendered to the dire predictions and are closed for the day.
Out on the course, I come across people getting one last walk in with their dogs before this monster of a tempest arrives.
The storm is predicted to start as a heavy wet snow. Then conditions change in the upper levels of the atmosphere to create a switchover to sleet followed by a change to the super slick and dreaded freezing rain.
We have no affection for freezing rain in our tree laden neighborhood. That ice coating makes life miserable for trees, their limbs, and the utility lines under them.
Dominion Energy recently completed a massive project in the neighborhood by burying the power lines underground.
Because of its splendid mature trees, this neighborhood was one of the leaders in Virginia for losing power during inclement weather. While not a perfect solution to power outages, so far this winter we’ve been lucky.
I felt like an out of sync slug when I started my run. Eventually, this old sack of bones adjusted, and I felt better with each step.
When my feet arrived at the edge of our driveway, I stopped the timer on my watch. It read 35:30. Clearly, at my age, I’m no speed demon, but I truly cherish being able to go for a run.
I don’t remember the exact moment, but after breakfast the snowflakes started to fall. It was if someone had taken an ice pick and poked a hole in those full gray clouds. The flakes fell as if they had not a care in the world.
By midday, the snow retreated and sleet was pinging off hard surfaces. At one point in the afternoon, the snow returned, but to my disappointment the final switch over to freezing rain took place.
Between dinner and bedtime, we kept peeking out the windows. Our Thunder Cloud Plum near the end of our driveway was making me nervous. The ice coating its limbs kept weighing them down. I hoped that the tree could withstand the extra weight and not snap during the night.
Our weary Thunder Cloud Plum (Photo Bill Pike)
As I headed upstairs, one of the county’s snowplows came down our street. It pushed the mushy slush with no resistance.
I slept, but not through the night. At 3:30, I was awake. I tried to go back to sleep, but that didn’t work.
After 4, I gave up, and headed down to the kitchen. The freezing rain was lighter now, but the weight on the limbs kept increasing. As the sky began to lighten up in the east, I could see the icy glaze on cars, shrubs, and trees.
A little after 8, I was outside. I stepped carefully. I wanted to start our cars.
With the cars warming, I gathered my snow shovel and an old square point shovel. That aged shovel was perfect for breaking up the layer of ice on the driveway.
Soon the cars had warned enough that I could remove the thick layer of ice off the windows.
With our driveway and sidewalk cleared, I made the short walk across the street. For a few minutes, I cleared the driveway and sidewalk for our still spry, but aging neighbor.
I walked back to our house. Updated the commander supreme, grabbed my backpack, keys, and headed toward Trinity.
I turned around the car and drove down Stuart Hall Road. As I approached the intersection with Baldwin Road, I stopped quickly. An iced coated pine tree had fallen across the road.
I took out my phone and called the non-emergency number for the police department. An honest dispatcher answered. She stated they had calls all over the county for fallen limbs and trees blocking roadways.
She took the information, and as I was about to hangup, the fire truck for Station 8 pulled up on Baldwin. They were on the way back to their Patterson Avenue station from another storm related call— a downed power line.
Their truck is equipped with a small chainsaw. The firemen used this to get the pine cut into moveable sections and out of the roadway.
I told the firemen that I worked at Trinity. They reported to me that the section of Forest Avenue in front of the church was closed due to that downed power line.
Sure enough, when I parked at Trinity, police cars with their blue lights flashing had the street blocked.
For the next few minutes, I checked the grounds of the church. We had quite a few trees with snapped limbs. The trees were now scarred where the departing limbs broke away. Some trees looked like the wrong move would make a branch crack and fall at any moment.
Stressed and snapped limbs (Photo Bill Pike)
Once I was organized, I spent the remainder of my day outside. I was appreciative of our senior pastor, Brian Siegle, who earlier in the day had cleared a couple of key entry points.
Occasionally, in the distance, I could hear the unmistakable pop of a cracking limb accompanied by the violent swoosh of that limb crashing to the ground.
Numerous neighbors used our parking lot to move their vehicles out of harm’s way.
One neighbor from Francisco Road moved both of his cars to the lot. He reported that a big limb had crashed through the roof of his house. Luckily, no one was injured. But, this gentleman reported that he had had it up to here with the storm as he pointed to his neckline.
Not long after that encounter, I was working on the Stuart Hall Road side of the church. I heard the pop of a cracking pine limb. I looked up to see its impact as it crashed harmlessly on the hard road surface. Luckily, no humans or cars were in its path.
Fallen pine limb Stuart Hall Road (Photo Bill Pike)
Bob one of the neighbors on Stuart Hall came over with his shovel and helped me clear the big broken limb and its debris. I told Bob I owed him a beer for his kind heart. He laughed, stating these trees are part of the neighborhood, and walked back to his home.
By 3, the sidewalks and steps around the church were in good shape. Thanks to Slurry Pavers so were the parking lots.
The only troublesome spot was where the sidewalks to the playground and church office merged. All afternoon, melting ice pellets from a large pine tree had been building up on the sidewalks.
It seemed walking through this area was like trying to walk through an ice maker. I took a few minutes and shoveled the ice piles off the sidewalks.
Back in my office, I put together a brief email to our staff letting them know about the conditions of our grounds. That included what to expect the next morning. Next, I packed up and headed home.
Perhaps, you have been wondering why in the world has Bill been droning on and on about this winter storm.
The answer can be found in this scripture—Psalm 139 verse 23: “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.”
If God were to search my heart and test me with questions, he would know that my anxious thoughts push beyond a winter storm. God would know that since January 20, 2025, I have been uneasy about our country.
Truth be told, I become more apprehensive everyday. I’m no different than an ice coated pine tree in this most recent winter storm. My disgust for the decisions being made in Washington make me want to snap.
My unease is nothing compared to the people who are feeling the full impact of these reckless decisions.
No question, our country for many, many years has been fraught with internal and external challenges. No one can deny that whether a Democrat or Republican had been elected as our President, these unresolved challenges were bare for all to see.
Did we need to address these challenges? Yes.
Should we deal with these challenges in the manner in which our current administration is making illogical, heartless human decisions? No.
Is this the way America is supposed to be run with nonstop executive orders and non-qualified people making these decisions? No.
As these decision continue to go unchecked, we will find more Americans whose lives are going to be devastatingly snapped like a ice stressed pine tree? Yes.
The individuals making these decisions might have a beating heart, but their hearts have no humility, no dignity, nor compassion for anyone who is impacted by their disrespectful decisions.
When America was founded with all of its imperfections, our hearts spoke. Our hearts prevailed against the British rule.
Where are our hearts now?
Their silence is unacceptable.
That next snap you hear will not be from a stressed, ice coated pine tree limb.
No that stressful snap will come from a dedicated American public servant whose life and career have been destroyed.
Destroyed by a heartless President and his inhuman peeps who only care about their selfish lives and their insatiable appetite for abusing power.
God, you now know my heart.
I’m not the only anxious heart in America.
Now God, here is the tough question for you.
God, where are you in this United States of America that is no longer “one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all”?
God, I bared my heart, will you bare yours?
I remember these words from the movie, The Green Book: “It takes courage to change people’s hearts.”
Your son had a courageous heart.
God, help our hearts to find that courage.
Large pine down on Westham Parkway (Photo Bill Pike)
might be baloney 