Port Salerno

So today I’m at a Seafood Festival. We’re in Port Salerno. It’s a sleepy retirement community on the Atlantic side of Florida. Everything here is tired and old, not much really happens. However, today there are thousands and thousands of people at the festival. I haven’t seen many people since I came to Florida and find myself wondering, where all these people have been hiding. The economy is very bad, Madoff’s tricks have taken so much from so many that live here. However today, all of the masses have come to this little port to feed on fresh shucked oysters, fried shark bits, shrimp kabobs, crab cakes, conch strips and hush puppies.


It’s the first time I’ve seen young people since I’ve been here. And by young people, I mean people who are in their forties. But just as the Bainbridge forty something moms carry their babes in slings to one side, the women here shepherd their flock of children to horse rides, funny clown balloon makers, bouncy houses, and watch as their youngest lean over docks in hopes of catching fish.

I’m sitting on a pier under a long white canopy. I’m at a table clothed in white. I’ve got my legs up on a chair as I wait for Hilda, and her husband Dick and a friend to make their way through the throngs of people to return with their catch. Near me, elderly Italian gentlemen converse in their native tongue. Their hands wave in front of their faces as I catch pieces of their conversation – ma famila is repeated over and over. They sip their wine slowly while their words flow by me like music to my ears.

A soft salty wind whispers across my face as I watch the people mill by. The bright sun warms me and I think of my own “famila” and long to share this warm moment with them.