A tiny dot called Port St.Joe

Yes, Florida is still on my mind, and I keep my promises.  Today I’ll share the names of a few of  Florida’s out-of-the way locations.  My favorite is a tiny dot on the map called Port St. Joe.  It’s also called home.  I haven’t lived there in more years than I care to recall, but it will always be home.  There are no space shuttles cutting through the morning sky, no high rises, no Hemingways or Flaglers.  A small, unassuming place on Florida’s Gulf Coast, I know of at least three books--and there are more-- that have been written about this coastal community.  In 1947 Rubylea Hall penned The Great Tide, Louise M. Porter wrote The Lives of St. Joesph in 1975, and in 1988 The Chinaberry Album was published, my own tribute to Port St. Joe, AKA Bay Harbor in the novel.  

            Port St. Joe is a quiet place, a panhandle town nestled between Apalachicola and Panama City.  Its sugar-sand beaches are unparalleled, and its proximity to other resorts makes it doubly appealing.  Panama City, another lovely beach community, is less than 40 miles distance, and Apalachicola, a fishing village turned chic bed and breakfast resort, is a mere 23 miles.  Nearer to home are Indian Pass and Cape San Blas where beachfront homes can be rented or purchased.  A state park offers swimming, sand dunes and water birds. 

Moonlight strolls on St. Joe and Mexico beaches are a given, the only sound the breaking of the surf.  No glass high-rises mar the view.  No celebrity sightings.  Just the moon, the stars, and you.   Write about what you know, and I know those moonlight strolls and still cherish the memories of the boyfriends who shared them with me.

But more about Port St. Joe another day.  I’d like to dwell on the memory of those moonlight strolls a bit longer.