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| There is still space available at the Tampa South RV Resort in Ruskin - but it probably won’t last long. After the holdiays are over, the empty sites next to my RV will be full. Mitch Traphagen Photo |
RUSKIN - Certainly the sunset was the most beautiful I had seen even after 14 years living on the coast in Ruskin. From my vantage point aboard my boat at the Little Harbor Resort marina, formerly known as Bahia Del Sol Marina, the deep orange and purple colors silhouetted the buildings on the beach. It was stunning and surreal and I felt as though I were living in a painting.
I am a visitor in what had until recently been my home. I thought I knew every street, every building, even every tree, but now I am seeing things from a new perspective. I think I’m seeing with the eyes of the millions of visitors who flock to Florida during the winter months. They may be commonly known as snowbirds but they are, in truth, children and parents and siblings and neighbors. Like everyone, they are simply looking for a place to call home.
For the most part, I am staying at the Tampa South RV Resort in Ruskin. Still early in tourist season, there is space available for the occasional RVs that show up in a small, but steady, trickle. By late next month, however, the place will almost certainly be full. Each day a handful of new RVs appear – a few end up staying a day or two and moving on, as if testing the waters. But it seems out of each handful one or two remain, slowly adding to the population of the park. The management is friendly and my fellow RV-owners are quick to smile and wave. Ironically, in this place of visitors is the very essence of what makes South Hillsborough a special place. Beneath the development and growth of the past few years, the heart of a small town is still beating. You can find it everywhere you go – from the post office to the hardware store – and in this RV resort by the river.
Moving our sailboat to storage was at the top of my to-do list for my visit back to Florida. For eight years my wife and I lived aboard our boat with most of that time spent at the quirky Bahia Del Sol Marina. During my visit I decided to take advantage of the opportunity by spending a few last days living aboard before moving the boat to land.
In another decade, another time, my wife and I arrived in Florida and set off on the greatest experience of our lives – and all from a backwater marina in Ruskin. We made the best friends we had ever known and every day was an adventure, with the promise of more adventure always around the corner. There were characters there, some colorful, some questionable, but everywhere there was life. More often than not, I fell asleep at night hoping I wouldn’t wake up to find it had all been a dream.
But as all things must eventually come to an end, so did our adventure in the marina. Today, there is little to suggest the life that once was there. In truth, it looks like a resort in paradise – something out of the dreams of those who suffer through winter ice and snow. But despite it’s beauty it is, by and large, empty. Where once lights glowed in boat cabins with liveaboards nestled inside, there is now darkness. No one lives in the marina any longer. No one yet lives in the condominiums that border the docks.
On my first night an uncomfortable emptiness took hold of me. On one hand, in the darkness, the vista was familiar – comforting, even. On the other, there was the stark realization that my friends were no longer there. There were no boats on which to knock, expecting a cheery invitation to, “Come aboard!”.
My memories are like ghosts walking the docks of this marina. My best friends are still in the area, living another life, hoping to return to at least something of the dream we all once lived. Other friends have let their sails fill and gone out with the wind – so many have passed through my life over the years. All I know now is they are not here. Life has changed, time has marched on, and some of the things I took for granted have been washed away with the tide.
The things that made up my childhood are gone – that I can accept, as I’m no longer a child. But changes in things that make up my adult memories are harder to face – in a sense, I guess, I’m facing my own mortality. If nothing had changed everything would be the same – including me… right? Well, in reality, probably not.
Late at night I walked along the docks of my former home – a place that had encompassed the best years of my life to date. Eventually I found myself at the slip at which we lived for so many years. It was empty. I tried to imagine our little boat docked there, the lights on and the warmth of the rich wood cabin. I tried to imagine my wife below reading a book and our friends in their boats at nearby docks. For a moment I could feel it - but only for a moment. Save for the dock and landscaping lights, it was just dark and I was alone. And alone, I returned to my boat.
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| From a temporary place in my formerly permanent home, I began to see South Hillsborough through the eyes of a visitor. Mitch Traphagen Photo |
Eight o’clock on a weekday morning and quiet enveloped the scene. The day was so perfect not even the Florida Tourism Board could possibly embellish it. Despite nature clearly hanging out a “This is paradise” sign, there were no happy, exuberant real estate agents extolling the wonders of the available condos. In fact, there was no one at all. The real estate market has taken a breather. No one was looking to buy that day.
By the third night, the ghosts were becoming restless, it seemed. The dark, the quiet, the memories came together for what felt like a psychological butt kicking. As the sun slipped into the Gulf of Mexico, I packed my bags and returned to my RV.
That night I realized I was experiencing what many people quietly go through every day in South Hillsborough. I was alone in paradise. But yet, I wasn’t alone in my feelings.
They are easy to see. They are in the lines at the grocery store checkout obviously robbing you of precious seconds of your valuable time while they ask the clerk about prices on some of their items or about buying postage stamps or about how the watermelon looked in the produce section.
They are the lonely people.
How they became that way is anyone’s guess. Most likely as a 50-something year-old couple beginning to plan for retirement, perhaps purchasing a home in Sun City Center or Riverview or Apollo Beach for “someday.” As the years went by “someday” was a day they increasingly looked forward to.
Perhaps “someday” had arrived, perhaps it arrived too late. But somehow one half of the couple passed away too soon. The surviving spouse, with what appeared at the time to be few options, decided to live out their dream in paradise. Except now he or she is alone.
While on the boat, I began to appreciate warm contact with my friends and neighbors. Back in the RV, I appreciated it all the more as I watched couples walk past hand in hand as dusk muted the brilliant colors of the clear autumn sky. Suddenly, all too clearly I knew what it felt like to be lonely.
Florida is indeed paradise – South Hillsborough even more so. Each year, tens of thousands of people – most of them older – flock to the area to enjoy the weather, water and atmosphere. There is much to attract people to this place and one of those things is you. The friendly people, the still-small-town feel and warmth helps those who visit feel as though they are at home.
Those visitors might commonly be known as snowbirds but in truth, they are your neighbors and could well be your friends. Perhaps a few simply could use a smile or a greeting while standing in line at the grocery store.
You’ll know who they are. They look like me - or maybe your grandmother - or perhaps your own father.
A smile. A greeting. It’s good to be home.
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