Last Saturday evening maybe 45 minutes before sunset I biked the mile of Olivia Street from Thomas to Florida. Nothing particularly unusual, except that about five minutes in it occurred to me that I’d been able to roll through the stop signs at Whitehead, Duval and Simonton with nary a car in sight and precious few folks on the sidewalks.
I saluted my friend at the corner of Center Street and made a mental note to text him for a lunch date. Nothing at Windsor and Olivia; even the corner grocery was bereft of its usual gaggle of locals smoking and swapping tales. A guy on a bike passed me at the cemetery, waved and pedaled on.
I slowed to a near stop at White Street, and only because I couldn’t tell if there was a car coming in that awful blind spot on the left. Nada. I kept rolling, sniffing like an exhilarated golden retriever at the breeze that shifted by the block from fried chicken to jasmine, from overripe trashcans and cat pee to marginally sweeter sargassum, and back to some mystery flower scent.
Not. A. Single. Car. Not ahead of me, not behind, not to either side. Just an easygoing, slightly downhill ride from one side of the island to the other. I can’t recall the last time that happened, though we all know those lazy, island-scented evenings are among the threads that weave through the Key West Mystique.
It’s harder these days to find those threads. Consider the once ubiquitous bougainvillea and hibiscus. Twenty years ago there was hardly a fence line without a riot of purple, red, orange or yellow. And darned if they don’t photograph well for postcards and advertising. The hibiscus succumbed to the iguanas, which devoured the bougainvilleas, which were relegated to back corners in an acknowledgement that they really aren’t that friendly, what with toxic sap, thorns, an invasive penchant for crowding out everything else and a demand for constant care and pruning.
Our sandy walking lanes have traded traded up (down?) for asphalt. The dive bar with that quiet corner where you could read away the afternoon is packed with drunken tourists. The shop with funky crafts and an owner ready to chat is a political-T-shirt store with dubious ownership and intent. Don’t let me forget the addition of those big red and white LED “don’t turn” signs at White and Truman. Talk about visual clutter for an already insane intersection.
What did you sign up for? Probably not this
Then there’s the latest assault: The 3-foot-by-5-foot, red-white-and-blue reflector sign installed Monday, Aug. 4, at Fort Zachary Taylor State Park. “Greetings from the GULF OF AMERICA,” it screams, pounded into the ground right next to the little tiki hut where tourists and locals head for sunset. Orders of our dear leader, Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis. Don’t blame the rangers, folks. This wasn’t their idea.
On July 3, Florida State Parks posted merrily on X (formerly Twitter): “New photo op alert! The first ‘Greetings from the Gulf of America’ sign is now up at Dr. Julian G. Bruce St. George Island State Park, just in time for Fourth of July! It’s the perfect selfie spot. Look for more signs coming soon to #FLStateParks along the coast.”
Now we’ve got our very own.
Between the “photo ops” with this truly offensive sign and the assault on our rainbow crosswalks — and the political messages they’re designed to trigger — I’m hard pressed to find the Key West I signed up for. That’s what made my bike ride last week so sweet.
The Key West Mystique hasn’t disappeared. It has, instead, become more elusive, less accessible to those who aren’t interested enough to look for it. But it’s here.
It’s here in the guy, who rather than speeding ahead when the light changed, motioned me to make my left-hand turn across traffic. It’s in the housing authority crew repairing a sidewalk who moved their tools so I could walk past. It’s in the tear-making laughter of Miss Julia’s comment Monday morning.
It’s in the season’s last mango to drop from our tree into the pool. All 2.5 pounds of perfectly island-ripened, golden sugar, unblemished by gnawing tree rats. It’s in the white-crowned pigeons that strip the red seed pods on the Jamaican caper in the backyard. It’s in the beautiful and endangered Atala butterflies whose caterpillars chew our coonties to brown stalks.
And it’s here in my ability to shift my chair just enough at sunset not to see that sign — ugly even if it said “Greetings from the Gulf of Mexico.”
I’m only an annual visitor to the lovely island but I agree with your sentiments. Thanks for writing it.
The sign is not offensive to me. Its part of the change. Change happens all of the time. The beautiful gulf is still there. So the president, who i can see you do not like, along with our governor calls it calls the gulf a new name. That gets your panties in a bunch. It does not change Key West. It only changes you, and similar small minded individuals.
Exactly how I feel, in fact, it is all of America that surrounds The Gulf. Did anyone get upset when it was changed from the Mayan name of Nahá ?
I visit KW every year in late October to early November, have done so for the last 25 years, the sign isn’t a big deal.
I like gulf of America remember key West people one human family.
We will continue to shine our light in Key West. Shake our heads at the infantile behavior of our supposed representatives.
Interesting that such a ugly sign has been planted at a Park where its famous for its beach facing the ATLANTIC OCEAN. Not The Gulf. The sign looks like a cheap for sale sign, not proper Park signage either. Waste of taxpayers money all across the state.