I told that @$%# pruner, just a little off the top!

 

Once upon a Tide

This is a love story that began upon the banks of the St Mark's River in Wakulla County in the summer of 1985. My old running friend and photography companion Robert "Bob" Jones and I had traveled up to Crawfordville on a Friday afternoon. Our plan was to spend the night at my fathers old cracker house on Aaron Road that evening then run the Blue Crab Festival 5k in Panacea the following Saturday morning.
We ran the hot 5K along the dirt and shell roads through the little fishing village, known in the past for the sulphur springs where Northerners would bathe for their health. The race was little remembered, I did not even scroll it in my running log book I kept. I think this was one of those local fiasco's like the race in Live Oak where we met at the finish line in opposite directions, one bunch from the North, one bunch from the South, all wondering who took the wrong turn. We were there for the running but our real interest lie photographing wherever we ventured.
We made our way over to the old Spanish Fort at St Marks, the Castille de San Marcos at the confluences of the Wakulla and St.Marks Rivers. It was low tide and we poked along the banks of the St Marks, stopping here and there to plant the tripod among the black muck and oyster bars. In one of these particular plantings, I noticed as the fiddler crab ran for cover under the overhanging bank, a corked Lancer's wine bottle. I retrieved the bottle and noticed there was a note enclosed. Inside was a note written by  Bob and Carolyn White from Tallahassee. They had spent their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary in St Marks and had written the note, wishing that whoever found this bottle would find the same happiness and companionship they had found together.
Well, I had ole Bob and I did not dare tell him he was a great photographer and traveling pal, but, like that emptiness Augustine spoke of that could only be filled by God, that emptiness to me could be only filled by a companion like Carolyn White.
I went home to my little garage apartment in Lake City and put the note and bottle up on the shelf and resumed my life as a lonely bachelor runner and photographer. Several weeks passed and I decided to compose my own note and return to St Marks, thinking if I returned this bottle, I would find that special person. So I took one of my fathers syrup bottles and on a unicorn postcard, composed my little lost in a bottle note. I traveled back to Crawfordville for the Wakulla Library 5k then over to St.Marks, where I tossed the bottle in the same location I found the Lancer at low tide. I watched awhile as the bottle floated out towards the Gulf and my spirit soared then sank, as did the bottle.
When I returned that evening to the Camp Street garage apartment, something told me to check the little mailbox on the post under the stairwell. I had a post office box so I never received mail in the box.
But this time, to my heart leaping surprise, there was a letter addressed to me from Williston,Florida.
It was from Melanie Eatman, a nurse at Shands. I remembered her being my niece Jessica's nurse a year earlier. I had tried to ask her out to the Fanfare and Fireworks July 4th in Gainesville but she turned me down. She had a doctor boyfriend. I gave up on her having an interest in a struggling artist.
Her letter went on to say that she had recently purchased a "Cannon" camera and did not know how to use it. She remembered the zoo pictures I had put in Jessica's room, and would I come and teach her photography.
I was beside myself. Immediately I began making lesson plans on photography. We arranged for the day and I nervously drove the 60 miles to my old hometown of Williston. Arriving, we went to the living room where I started into f stops, shutters and ASA's, she with quite a blank look. I was failing! We gave up on the photography lesson and went for a drive toward Wacahoota for a field trip. That too did not pan out.
We came back to her house and on her kitchen counter wrote things about ourselves, to see what we had in common. Not much matched. I was about to gather my stuff and make a sad trip back to my little apartment when her mother asked if I would go with the family to a Wesley Smith Concert in Romeo out from Dunnellon. As we made our way toward Romeo, with my Juliette separated from me by Grandma Carter, the photography lesson was a long gone memory.
The rest was a wonderful history. I never received a reply from the bottle and then again, I did.