A Letter from Estero, Florida 7/10/25

Letter From Estero, Florida – Thurs. July 10, 2025

         We had a massive electrical storm sweep over our area last night. The acoustic and visual display, of nature’s power, was impressive. Two inches of rain also pounded on the cement tiles of our roof, in a rhythmic melody of moisture that was pleasant to the ears. I always enjoy watching the silvery sheets of rain slide down the window panes.

         Sitting in a darkened lanai, I watched the bolts of lightning light up the area like it was mid-day. When an accompanying blast of thunder was synched with the bolts, it rattled the windows.

         As the lightning seemed to be striking further away, I counted like we did in childhood. One, one thousand, two, one thousand etc. It told me how many miles the center of the storm had blown eastward, towards the pepper and tomato fields of Immokalee.

        Predictably, the next morning, the golf course was open for use by cart paths only, in order to protect the newly laid grass. It was no matter, there would be other opportunities to challenge the course and annoy oneself in the future.

        The course itself is beautiful. In the early mornings, the glistening dew well reflects the deep emerald hew of the carefully tended fairways. The hissing background shushing, of the erupting aerating fountains, much enhances the scene. The newly aerated greens are slow in  putting pace for a change. Usually, it feels like rolling marbles across a cement floor in their rapid pace.

         Yesterday, the Florida Golf Association held a regional qualifier at Spring Run. Mary and I , sipping good coffee at the Turn. From there we could watch players coming in on hole number nine and going out on number one hole. The elegance of their swing mechanics, propelled by an easy, liquid tempo, was a pleasure to watch. These lads could rocket their surlyn-covered missiles down the fairway to lengths I had never imagined possible. Their approach shots, usually employing wedges sailed high into the morning sky, in a parabolic arc, until they landed softly on the green and rolled only a few feet. Only the occasional three-putt shuffle reminded us that these young champions too faced  the same pressures that we duffers do. Late in the match several of the lads were at six under.

         The array of medical appointments, gym visits and golf dates fill our week. Lunch and dinner dates are extra. On some mornings, we just meander up to the Coconut Point Panera Bread facility. Drinking really excellent coffee and watching a gentle zephyr waft through the palm trees. It makes us appreciate how lovely mornings in Florida can be. Often, we run into other Spring Run residents here and exchange greetings and gossip. The pace is leisurely.

         A smiling young security guard waves to us, as she drive by in her golf cart. We are fixtures here now, after so many years. We have entered the pantheon of characters that sit here regularly. Some few feed the birds bread crumbs. Their avian friends show their gratitude by returning with flights of their pals. They sit atop the tables and chairs and leave bird crap all over them. Thanks guys for feeding them.

         It is the afternoons that can be a bear. Temperatures rocket up through the mid-nineties. The “feels like” temperature can break into triple digits. Today it reached 107 degrees.(Feels like) There used to be a historical saying that opined “only mad dogs and Englishmen” are about in these temperatures. We try to conduct our business before noon. Then, we retreat to our air-conditioned homes to read, write and enjoy some of the missed television series on Netflix.

         Mary and I are coming out with book number eight in a few weeks. “Vancouver- City of Adventurers,” details life in Vancouver during the roaring 1890’s.

          As we return to Spring Run, we note that the less than impressive gate fountain is gone. In its place, flowers, grass and a tree are planted. I think it is a distinct improvement.

         A stop at the Spring Run gym is warranted. We come here three times a week and try to undue all of the caloric damage that we have committed during the week. There are at least a dozen of us who come regularly during the mornings. Afterwards, we sit at the huge Springs bar and drink some really good La Vasa coffee. Josephina makes it strong, bless her. The view through the huge bowed window is bucolic. The practice area, the large pond and the sparkling fairways reflect an emerald tranquility that is restful. Several of the staff wander through, busy in their various duties. We exchange greetings and pleasantries with them, much enjoying their company. From chief bag room leader, Trevor Hill, we learn that his very talented sixth-grade daughter is appearing in a Broadway Palm’s Theater production of “Annie.” It isn’t her first professional gig. Maybe someday we will see her on stage or screen and  be able to say “I knew her father.” 

           The Hurricane season is now upon us. But, fortunately during all of June and now most of July, the oceans have been quiet. We know better though. We have made our preparations and are ready when one of those aquatic monsters comes calling, which we know in Florida is not “if” but “when.”

            About two dozen of us have just returned from a two-week swing through Spain and Portugal. I have written up details of most of our travels. You can follow our trek at :      https://www.abctales.com/user/jxmartin

              Like most of the nation, we watch the nightly news, aghast at the tragedies in Texas and New Mexico. We know what these are like. We can but pray for them and hope friends and relatives help them heal. It is enough to think about for a morning.

             We hope all of our northern friends are happy and well.

                                                   -30-

                                             (994 words)

                                           Joe & Mary Martin

                                               Estero, Florida