OK, I’ll see you out there. 
Holler out, I’ll throw you a beer.
OK, but I have expensive tastes!
On second thought, I’ll holler out and you throw ME a beer.
Lift one for me, guys. Actually, my wife and I are thinking about taking our son down to the Gulf this weekend, to say goodbye, if nothing else. I know, at three months old, he’ll never remember it, but we can tell him that he had been there before it became uninhabitable.
It makes me want to cry, and I’ve never been within a thousand kilometres of the place.
Can we just start getting off oil now? Please?
I spent my entire childhood in the panhandle. My grandfather owned one of the first motels in Destin and I lived there during the summer. I live in Panama City right now; I moved back to the area because I love the beach and working with the tourists. My heart is absolutely breaking.
This tragic event is why, if you want to see/visit/experience something, go do it! Life is too short, and our world is all too prone to disasters like this. If you wait too long, the thing you wanted to see might not exist anymore.
I am honestly so full of rage over this whole thing that I don’t know what to do. Seeing this kind of beauty next week will both help and hurt.
I’m honestly not impressed with Gulf Coast beauty. But I still cried when I saw the first pictures of oil in the swamps.
Bwuh? Really? Why so?
My families annual trip to Destin is cancelled until further notice. I wonder if B.P. will help us pick a new location. The Basterds! I can actually smell the mess from my home in new orleans, when the wind pushes it at us. It’s pretty horrid.
The last time we were on the Coast was a while back: two weeks before Katrina. It was one of the most memorable family vacations we’ve ever had. We stayed in Mobile, drove down to Dauphin Island and spent time on the beach there, took the ferry to Fort Morgan, drove to Foley and had dinner at Lamberts, then back to Mobile to spend the night. The kids still talk about the ferry ride: we were on the top part of the ferry, sailing along with the seagulls right beside us. Hubby was at the bottom turning 15 shades of green.
We may need to make an inpromptu trip this month to Gulfport. I pray it won’t be this bad, Ogre, but I’m so afraid of the worst.
Long story short, de gustibus. Longer story, I grew up in New York State and so am more used to hills and waterfalls than standing water, which reminds me of the sticky hotness and lack of deciduous smells of the south.
Yeah, it’s awful.
I remember vacationing in Biloxi and Gulf Shores as a kid. I saw Star Wars in the theater in Biloxi after a day on the beach when we were on vacation, I was seven. Then a hurricane (I think) came close and there were big clouds and rain and the ocean was so WILD. It was awesome.
Even in college we’d do a four hour road trip from Jackson to the beach at the drop of a hat.
Sugar sand is what I remember, and my dad and my godfather fishing. The sea grass and the fresh shrimp and the salt water dried on your skin were just…kid stuff, I guess, along with crab fishing with a big string and some questionable chicken tied to the end of it.
Pimento cheese sandwiches and RC Cola and Moon Pies. Visiting Jefferson Davis’s house (gone in Katrina, I think). Making sand castles on the beach. Playing with kids you never saw before and would never see again, but having an awesome time anyway. Going out into the water just up to your chest and NO DEEPER or your mom would yell.
My son wouldn’t have known it anyway, we don’t live in the US and I have no intention of returning to the South even if we do come back, which I doubt. But yeah, that’s a huge bit of my childhood just gone, and I’m sad no other kids will get to have it, because it was so, so awesome.
I’m honestly not sure what you mean by “lack of deciduous smells”. Most of the South is solidly deciduous in nature, and smells that way. Or did you mean something else?
De gustibus, etc., sure, but isn’t it possible to appreciate beauty for what it is, rather than what you’re used to? For example, I wouldn’t live anywhere in New England if you paid me double salary for it, but New Hampshire in winter is awfully pretty.
My sister lives on the beach in Gulf Shores and says today for the first time she began smelling the oil, not constantly yet but occasionally. She’s quite understandably terrified.
My father still refuses to cancel our reservations for the end of July/beginning of August. I think part of it is his trying to do what he can to keep pumping money into the local economy, but it’s really just a drop against the ocean. But hey, if it makes him feel better…
I just hope we don’t get sick from the fumes or the cleanup or any of the other wonderful things going along with this colossal cluster fuck.
I dunno, I see very little about the American southwest that draws me in, but some people think it’s the most beautiful place on earth. Very much a to each their own thing, I think.
(And the woods in the northeast do smell decidedly different from those down here. I can’t explain it, but I think I know what he means.)
And to complete the circle, I wouldn’t want to live in the Southwest because it’s not what I grew up with, but I find it quite beautiful. Gulf coast is too flat to ping my aesthetic meter.