The Reagan Era. Back in the 1980s, I spent my first week on the emerald shores of the Gulf Coast. It took residence in my heart from that day forward. Senior year spring break was spent in Fort Walton Beach. My best friend and I drove down by ourselves. We felt so liberated without adults around.
Shortly I became a Seminole, and I would leave FSU's campus on a sunny Friday afternoon to drive three hours to Seaside. It was just a baby back then, lol -- the Sundog Bookstore was a narrow trailer-like structure with screens for ventilation. The outdoor stage was just a dirt area.
Dozens of trips I took to little nooks and crannies beyond the tourist areas of the Gulf -- Port St Joe, Cape San Blas, St George Island, Mexico Beach. What a pristine, unadulterated place it was, and still is, compared to some other US beaches.
I remember the Oaks Restaurant near Panacea, a rural gulf coast fishing village. There I ate unshelled oysters served in a large bowl. Visual appeal was not a priority with world-class Appalachiacola oysters -- they sold themselves on the taste alone. I topped them with cocktail sauce, and it was well with my soul.
I could never afford to rent a condo or a beach house at SoWal. Even a hotel room is too much in high season. But I do have my own private room I can always afford: my tent at the Grayton Beach State Recreational Area. I can stay for a week for the price of two nights at a hotel. And I sleep under the stars with an ensemble of frogs, crickets, and waves singing me to sleep.