Crabbing on Tillamook Bay

[gallery link="file"] Let me just tell you that crabbing-- actually catching a crab, with a net-- is much, much harder than the friendly, helpful man in the sporting goods store in Tillamook made it out to be. He was so encouraging. He showed us were on the map on the wall we should go cast our crab catcher, gave us a little booklet with tide tables, and made recommendations about bait. (Chicken!) He even talked us into a clam shovel while we were there.

We paid our $87.50, and left the store with visions of a steaming table full of clam-bakes and succulent dungeness crab meat at every meal. I distinctly remember rationalizing to my husband about how we would totally break even after like, four crabs. We immediately drove to the pier. On the way I think I said something like, "You know, I bet leftover crab meat would be delicious on a salad. Or, maybe tomorrow night we could have crab-cakes!"

Four hours later, we drove back to the trailer in silence, stopping only long enough to pick up a frozen pizza at the corner grocery on the way back to the campground.

The next morning, full of coffee and optimism, we headed back for the harbor. On the way we strategized about the location, how long to leave the net "soaking" (already picking up the lingo from fellow empty-handed tourists on the public pier) and tide action.

Well about two hours in to day-two of "crab catching" I took Simon to the marina store to get some skittles and a change of scenery, and walked past two guys cleaning about fifty gigantic crabs on a table. I accused them of taking all the crabs in the bay and not leaving any for the rest of us. They snorted when I told them about the chicken, and directed me to a cooler full of plastic bags of the remnants of recently filleted fish.

This was the answer! With renewed enthusiasm we threw our hoops further out than ever. Sure enough, crabs! Little. Crabs. We measured across their backs with the handy measuring device (sold to us by the nice man at the sporting goods store) and nudged them off the edge of the dock back into the water. And again. Throw, hoist, measure, nudge. Repeat.

The kid had a nice snooze in his enclosed bike stroller, lashed to a fence to keep it from rolling away in the fierce wind. Matthew was diligently throwing and pulling. Sunburned, wind-chapped and medusa-haired I sat on a bench, figuring out how we could rent a boat to get to where the crabs were. Like Ahab, with his insane fixation on the white whale, I was fantasizing about how we could get up at the crack of dawn and follow the local fisherman out to their secret crab laden nooks at the far side of the bay. We could probably haul up dozens of two pounders with every pull. "We'll need more buckets" I muttered to myself. Just then my patient, yet rational husband said: "Maybe we could just buy some crabs."

We could just buy some crabs.

Ten minutes, a short walk down the pier to the fresh seafood stand that I had not noticed before, and sixteen bucks later I was holding a bag with shaved ice and two of the biggest crabs I'd ever seen. The crab-instanity was over. It had broken like a fever. We could go home now.

We ate them that night as the ocean wind whistled around the trailer and they were delicious. We earned them.

We don't talk about the "clamming experiment."

On the Road: Norge Village Laundromat

The original plan was to go from Utah to Idaho and kick around Boise for awhile as a stage-stop on the way to our ultimate goal of spending the summer in the North West. We set out from Provo and went past Park City to the Homestead Crater where we went swimming in a hot springs housed within the dome of a high crater underneath a hillside. The hot spring there is quite deep clear, and popular with scuba divers. It was a little weird to be floating around on the surface of the water and knowing that the bubbles tickling your legs were from scuba divers swimming around under you, but it was really fun. Simon loved it. We got back in the truck and started towing the trailer for Boise. After swimming we were starving and couldn’t find anything to eat until we got off the highway at Brigham, Utah. It was a small, quaint town. We found a Pizza Hut that seemed like a glowing oasis. It was packed with fourteen year-old girls in soccer uniforms and their mothers, in their uniforms of unfortunate Kate-Goslin-before-the-dancing hedgehog haircuts. The girls danced around the Pizza Hut jukebox and we let Simon dance around with them. The music was loud and to my horror I discovered that my husband can not just identify a Justin Bieber song, but actually sing along with some of the lyrics. I am still recovering.

On the way back out of Brigham heading towards the interstate, eagle-eye / Bieber-lover Mat spotted the Norge Village Laundromat and immediately pulled over, Airstream and all. I sat in the car with Simon attempting to de-toxify my ears and re-program my son’s musical tastes with some vintage Smiths while Mat took these photos.

Later that night as the sun was finally setting around TEN I was on the phone with my sister, and about a half hour after we hung up she went into labor. In the middle of the night little Kirin was born while we were sleeping in a rest area outside of Boise. We awoke to eighteen-wheelers rumbling to life next to our trailer, and the cascade of celebration texts from my family. We had breakfast in Boise but while eating decided that aside from having 4G internet it probably wasn’t very appealing to either of us to spend a lot of time there so we decided to keep going. On the spur of a moment our quick trip to Boise turned into a marathon drive to Portland, but we kept Simon happy with a quick stop to see Cars-2 on the way.

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Antelope Island

On our visit to Antelope Island, which is surrounded by the Great Salt Lake, we spent some time exploring the Fielding-Garr Ranch. The land was first owned and ranched by "the church" in the 1800s but by the turn of the century it was in private ownership. It was a working ranch (mostly sheep) until the 1980s when it became a state park. The buildings and much of the old equipment are still preserved there. In one or two of the photos that Mat took you can see Great Salt Lake in the background. --Lisa B[gallery link="file"]


At night in Utah Lake State Park just outside of Provo it was war with the mosquitos and we hid from the roving black swarms in our trailer. During the day however, the bugs were manageable and Simon and I spent a lot of time out and about. The parks there are very green and beautifully maintained. During the mornings when Simon and I would go to the playground. There were lots of kids, and lots of cheerful mommies with Capri jeans, modestly cut tee shirts and sensible shoes out there with them. I checked them out and practiced my Mormon-Radar (MorDar?) The Mormon culture is very prominent all around Utah. Driving down the highway from Provo to Salt Lake City there are billboards with references to Mormon things that we did not get at all and some we did. I was not aware that you could register (like for gifts) before you left to go on a mission, but I learned that from a billboard. Lots of plastic surgery billboards too, oddly enough. Not so many lawyer billboards though. Nothing like Florida which apparently has more lawyers than civilians, or at least one would guess from the number of billboards on the highways advertising their services.

Anyway. Utah. Right.

We spent a day in Salt Lake City and Simon and I went on a tour of the Mormon Temple complex while Mat worked nearby. We got through the gate and there was a sign offering guided tours, so inquired at the ticket office about when the next tour was going to be starting. The young girl at the counter said, “Oh, you can have a private tour!” and almost immediately there were two young women wearing calf length skirts and flowers in their hair introducing themselves as “Sister D---“ and “Sister H---“ ready to squire Simon and I around. We rolled through the tabernacle choir building, a replica of the temple (which is not open to the public), and two of their visitor centers, all very quickly as every time the stroller slowed down Simon started agitating to get out. So we had to keep moving and not linger around the displays. As we walked, predictably I suppose, one of our guides started asking about my religious beliefs and talking about Mormonism and what had inspired her to convert.

As we walked and talked I could really see why the religion appeals to so many people, because they are offering a lot of good stuff to their followers including promises of eternal family, community, connection, meaning, structure, and material support. They offer a connection with the past as well. There is actually a huge library with computers set up just for you to research your ancestors. The idea is once you find them, then you can request that they be baptized post houmously in the church. Who wouldn’t want all that? I could especially see people with the kind of personality who relish structure and ritual and routine absolutely loving this belief system—life is all planned out for you. Your path is defined, and all you have to do is walk along the road you are meant to. Getting married young, having lots of babies, having a happy family and a warm home, and having your church be the center of your life where you meet your friends and have your social life, recreation, activities, and meaning. If you want all that, I bet it’s a beautiful life and that it works out really well for many people.

Personally, I was extremely impressed with the welfare system that the LDS church has in place. In one section of their visitor center there was a big display showcasing all the services and goods that the church provides. Apparently they have “Bishop Stores” which are essentially grocery stores will all kinds of food and personal items that are made in factories and on farms staffed by volunteer members of the church. The stores are just like conventional grocery stores, except that they don’t have cash registers. Anyone can just walk in and get what they need, if they are in need. Sister D-- told me that the people are simply asked to volunteer in exchange for what they’re given. There are thrift stores with clothing and housewares that also operate this way. Likewise, people have access to healthcare, job assistance, housing, and counseling services through the church. The church also maintains store-houses of food and clothing that they can quickly ship to disaster areas. The church was clearly so well organized and so darn functional on so many levels. If our government could do half as well as the Mormons at inspiring people and getting things done we could have a hell of a county.

At the same time, I know that light is always balanced by dark, and I could see some cobwebs in the corners; the way that Sister D-- passionately defended the rationale behind the fact that there are no women or minorities in church leadership, and how she neatly evaded questions about the mystical-tablets-from-God that the founder Joseph Smith found in a field in New York state. There was a lot swirling through my mind as we whisked through the beautiful visitor center with the video displays of families around dinner tables, and happy blond children picking apples. I thought of the clients I’ve seen in therapy who decided to leave the church, or who came out to their families, and the anguish they suffered due to the absolute ostracism that was their consequence for doing so. I thought about what probably happened here to people who did not fit the conventional Mormon mold—Gay and Lesbian people, minorities, single or divorced parents, or really anyone that had a less conventional personality or set of dreams for their life than having a house in the suburbs and a life in the church. The social pressure to conform must be immense.

But I left Sister D-- alone. I did not ask about polygamy or the misogyny that spawns it. I did not ask about why the rates of anti-depressant use are so high in Utah. I did not ask about what happens to people who don’t fit in with the clean white vision. She was a sweet nineteen year old and clearly so happy with her hair-flower and her bible. She seemed so in love with what she was doing, being on her mission in the heart of the temple. I did not ask about the darkness. I finally had to set Simon free from thrashing around in his stroller and he made a beeline for the escalator (he loves riding escalators) and sweet Sister D-- actually rode up and down the escalator with us about six times. The seventh time she asked if she might send someone over to our house to talk more about the religion and answer more of our questions. I told her that we lived in an RV and were leaving town tomorrow, and that’s about when Sister D--- decided to get off the escalator. I really liked her. I genuinely hope that she stays as happy as she seemed that day in the temple compound, as her life unfolds down the path she has chosen.

The other thing that we did in Utah was go to Antelope Island, a large island that is now a state park on the eastern side of Great Salt Lake. We drove through the infinite suburbs of salt lake, past strip malls, gas stations, neighborhoods, factories all the way out over the causeway to the island. And all of a sudden it was like being in Iceland or something. The city was gone, lost in the hollows of the snow capped peaks to the East. We were instantly swept away into craggy green buffalo dotted hillsides that swept up from the white-blue lifeless water. Mat’s photos that you see are of the hills and views from Antelope Island.

--Lisa B

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Black Mesa

So this is a beautiful butte right near where we stayed in Espanola, NM: The heroin capitol of the United States. Just twenty minutes south of there is Santa Fe, in all it's adobe swankiness. I think I may have seen Stevie Nicks in the Plaza there. But WE stayed just outside Espanola, NM, the heroin capitol of the United States. Where president Obama made a point to go speak about the devistation of drug abuse. An absolutely fascinating place, with more blighted than habitable structures. Before we went there there were a few subtle warning signs, like my friend, familiar with the area, who said "Don't go to Espanola, it's evil." Or the other little clue, like while still in Roswell when I googled Espanola, and a bizarre news story came up about a man who had recently been arrested for bringing his friend to the hospital after she'd been dead for three days. Gruesome stuff. But of course, I figured it was just a fluke. So despite all this we went to Espanola. We wound up having the most wonderful experience in the absolutely coolest little inexpensive RV park we'd ever stayed in. Imagine: RV park at the bottom of the hill down the driveway. At the top of the hill a little collection of shops including: A yoga studio, an awesome little coffee shop with great wifi, an acupuncturist, a herbalist, a massage studio / day spa place, and a hair salon. I would go and work there every morning and on days when the yoga class was happening all of these sikh gentleman would float in in their caftans and turbans and beards. I kind of wanted to go to yoga but was totally intimidated by the sikhs-- they clearly took their practice so seriously and, while I can't imagine that I might actually get heckled by these nice sikhs in a yoga class, I could imagine some eye-rolling at my general spastic-ness. So, anyway. Check out Espanola. Try and overlook the bars on all the windows and the half burnt down houses, and look for the good parts-- they are there! And the surrounding area is well worth the trip too. Los Alamos, the cliff dwellings at Bandolier National Forest, and it's really just a short drive from Santa Fe. Plus, there is a great restaurant: El Paragua, which is housed in a historic old stable that has a huge live tree still growing in the center of it. Just don't buy a house there.

– Lisa B

Taking the Train to Albuquerque

We had the best time riding the rails between Santa Fe and Albuquerque, NM. The "Rail Runner" is a beautiful new-looking double-decker commuter train that is comfortable and VERY inexpensive. I think that we would have spent at least fifty bucks of gas in our big red truck to drive an hour plus each way between the towns, and it was fourteen bucks to take the train. Part of the way the train hugged the highway (passing the cars, excitingly) and then veered off through the countryside. A good chunk of the ride was through a Native American Indian Reservation, and the conductor came through and asked everyone on the train not to take photos during the trip through their land, at the request of the tribe. So, unfortunately Mat couldn't snap much of the journey, but it was fascinating to see the old little depots along the route. At one there was a shiny new van with a casino logo all over it, just idling at a stop ready to whisk away any train passengers who were feeling lucky. Simon, of course, is notorious amongst casino pit bosses for his mad card-counting skills and since the last time we got thrown out of the Bellagio on his account we've been a little skittish about going back. I think he might even have a warrant. So, we decided to go to the Albuquerque Zoo for the day instead, which is a lovely zoo in walking distance from the downtown train station. DO NOT go into the tropical monkey house (AKA Steaming Hot Monkey Poo-Vapor House) at the Albuquerque Zoo. DO go to the gift shop and get a giraffe-head-on-a-stick for hours and hours of entertainment. Simon went to sleep clutching it for days afterwords. – Lisa B

East of Roswell

We stayed for about a week just east of Roswell. The area is breathtaking-- really some of the most beautiful places I think we've been on this whole journey. Roswell is an interesting little town. I wasn't sure what to expect with the "Alien" reputation. The whole town appears to have embraced it in a playful way. The McDonalds has a big space-ship shaped play area, and of course there are lots of alien themed shops and restaurants. I have not bought any souveniers along this trip, largely because any available storage space in the trailer is stuffed with either toys or Mardi Gras crap that I can't bear to throw out. BUT I really wanted an alien-something. A coffee cup. A tee shirt. I wanted to buy little alien onesies for my friends that are pregnant so I left Mat and Simon idling at the curb and dashed into a souvinier place which was so disappointing. Like twenty bucks for a really, really lame cup with a dorky alien. Truly a missed opportunity for some alien awesomeness, in my opinion. If anyone out there has cool alien designs call up a print shop in Roswell. They need you. While I was wasting time getting sticker shock from alien ashtrays and flipping through racks of tee-shirts with aliens drinking beer, aliens lounging by the pool, aliens playing poker, Mat was out taking these photos of Roswell. Much better souvenier, in my opinion.....

– Lisa B

Dust Storm Near Roswell, NM

We drove up to Roswell from Carlsbad on Sunday. It was extremely windy, we had some tense moments as we were driving because the wind was so strong it was unfurling our small side awning as we were going down the road! At one point, a strong gust hit and there was a big thump-and-shudder of the Airstream and we pulled over because we thought we may have blown a tire. There was dirt blowing and dust devils swirling in the fields, and there was so much dust in the air it was unnaturally dark in the afternoon. The landscape looked dreamy— very unlike the usual stark bright New Mexico sunlight. Mat took these photos along the way and when we arrived to our destination, Bottomless Lakes State Park just outside of Roswell. That flat white disk in the sky is the sun as it looked after we got to our new campsite. The storm, or whatever it was, blew itself away that night and the remainder of our time there it was a completely different landscape. The ground was white with salt-sand and so going outside the sun was overpoweringly bright, and reflecting off the white ground it seemed to come from both above and below. Like so bright that it was unbearable to go outside with out a big floppy hat and sunglasses. I never really got the New Mexico "sun" symbol before, but I think I do now. The sun is such a present part of the landscape here. It is beautiful, and it feels very fresh and clean compared to the muggy grey stillness of the places that we've been the past few months. But what I have been learning along our travels is that it is all beautiful. Every place and every day has beauty. I am so glad that Mat captured the beauty of this dust-storm. It seems even more special looking back because it was so fleeting...- Lisa B

Carlsbad Caverns, NM

After leaving Austin, TX we drove across Texas to southern New Mexico and spent a day at Carlsbad Caverns. It was such a cool experience. We walked all the way in through is huge hole in the side of a mountain and down this twisty walkway, deeper and deeper into the caverns. The sunlight faded and we walked through a series of mindbogglingly huge chambers of rocks that have been carved by time. We were reminded by rangers repeatedly that the caverns were at "whisper zone" because of the way that sound carried, but Simon could not help himself from hooting and yelling just to hear himself, despite our frantic attempts to hush him. I was carrying him on my shoulders past a group of reverent, silent tourists taking photos of the stalagtites and Simon chose that moment to start making raspberry-farting noises. It was embarrassing, but also pretty funny. Nothing like a two year old for comic relief. [gallery size="grid_4" columns="2" link="file" include="1035,1037,1041,1039"]

We got to the bottom, and entered "The Big Room" which was this underground chamber that seemed to be the size of a stadium. There were the prettiest rock formations, and had been lit beautifully. You could see all the colors, and the detail of the stone.  It felt very much like being in a cathedral. Maybe you old-school Catholics out there can understand, walking in to an old cathedral, how the ceiling is neck-breakingly high, the space so vast and echoey, and it feels like God's house. In a cathedral all the walls are covered in ornate detail, and statues loom in cozy side-chambers. The caverns were very much like that. It simply felt very sacred, and very special to be there. I felt awed by the sheer amount of time that it took for the chambers to be carved out and for the eternity that these stones have been undisturbed, alone in the darkness, growing into the most wonderous forms. Hearing the  humble little "plinks" of water from the ceiling and then being dwarfed by the towering stalagmites that they formed, drip by drip over eons, made me think about how very long time is. The waving curtains of stone undulating from the ceiling have been melting for thousands and thousands of years-- before my ancestors had sod huts, let alone cathedrals. Being there gave me the feeling that I was entering something very sacred, and coming into contact with evidence of eternity. And then my kid burps in my ear and his screeches echo from the walls and my little insignificant blip of a life goes on. We did opt to take the elevator back up rather than walking all the way to the top. The last photo here at the bottom is Simon explaining to a group of strangers how elevators work, "You push button! And then... and then... Door opens!" - Lisa B

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St. Louis Cemetery No. 3

The cemeteries in New Orleans have such different vibes. Lafeyette is so cozy and green, while this one near City Park is austere and just magnificent. Apparently the place was totally under water in the floods five years ago. Most of the crypts are ok, but some have broken open (which accounts for New Orlean's well known homeless / panhandling vampire crisis). Here and there are grassy rectangles where a crypt used to be. I could not find the grave of Marie LaVeau, although supposedly she is in here somewhere. People have draped Mardi Gras Beads on certain graves and you see smashed bottles of booze on some, like folks have come by to include their dead in the party. These photos that Mat took the day we visited are some of my very favorites.- Lisa B

Layfette Cemetery No. 1

Cemeteries in the big easy are truly neighborhoods for dead people. Tidy little homes that almost certainly reflect the effort that these families put into their homes while alive. Gates, porches, flowers, a little Edwardian era of keeping-up-with-the-Joneses perhaps but it's all okay. Everybody's cracking and eroding away with time now. The hinges are broken and the plaster is crumbling into the most beautiful decay. The weeds are fresh and alive. They glow in the sunlight and make a lush home for the lizards that peer down over the tops of the tombs. Nothing gold can stay, Ponyboy, but people sure do keep trying... and will get bested by some humble clover every time.

French Quarter

We decided to extend our stay in New Orleans because this is such an interesting place, with lots to do. One of our favorite things since arriving here has been wandering around various neighborhoods in the city, and the French Quarter is particularly fascinating on so many levels. Before Mardi Gras and afterwords, it is actually fairly quiet. The elegant decay of the stately old stone buildings and homes pressed up to the street with their balconies, secret courtyards, floor to ceiling shuttered windows definitely feels different than any other city I've experienced in the US. I have unfortunately not spent much time in Europe but the French Quarter is sort of how I imagine an old European City might feel. Without the drunk people in costumes of course. The west end by Canal Street seems to be the more touristy section with neon-lit shops blasting Zydeco music and selling hot sauce, spangly jester-hats, and bead necklaces. They also sell voo-doo incense specialized for a variety of common concerns including health, wealth and putting a whammy on someone. I did almost buy some voo-doo incense but that's just because I really, really want to win the lottery. At the last minute I decided to invest in a plate full of hot biegnets instead. At least that's a sure thing.

Around the time of Mardi Gras the French Quarter got  zany. Crowds of people, cups in hand, milling around in the streets. Such a contrast to Denver where you would basically be tackled and thrown in a paddy wagon for sipping in the street. I'm pretty sure that what cops were around may have been giving breathalyzers in order to ensure public drunkenness. Like if you pass one they ask you to leave. We were down there the weekend before Mardi Gras and the scene was positively apocalyptic. The streets were covered in trash, beads and bottles, and there were thousands of people cramming the streets. Every once in awhile someone would scream and fall over. If the world ended in a party, that is what it would look like.

During Mardi Gras the streets were shut down and there were musicians and performers doing their thing every few yards, it seemed. Some of them were really, really good too. This band that Mat photographed seems to have a consistent presence in the French Quarter, and a crowd is always gathered around to hear their old-timey Americana songs.

Bead Fiend

During the few weeks that we have been in New Orleans, I have been to more parades than in the rest of my whole life combined. And, at least in the Big Easy, they are really, really fun. Hours before the krewes "roll" you'll see people camped out along the streets with their folding chairs and coolers. Adults drinking beer, and kids playing in the median. People are milling around in costumes. Parade tailgating, basically. Then....drums.... horns... here they come!! First come fourteen year old dance squad girls with their self conscious routines, and then the marching band. Then police on horseback. Then people on motorcycles wearing costumes and silly hats. Here comes people in costumes and on stilts! Then comes a float!!  Big, paper mache double decker rolling bead shooters. Everybody goes crazy for the beads and toys and stuff that the hooded and masked people on the floats throw. It is seriously a sport. It's hard not to get carried away. I found myself screaming and jumping around with my hands in the air like a crazy lady every time a float rolled past. Over the course of several parades we aquired: approximately 10 pounds of bead necklaces (My favorite one was a "Thoth" krewe throw that looks like something Mr. T would wear), a stuffed dolphin, dinosaur, duck, shiny fish and fluffy seahorse, coins, bouncy balls and a feathered spear. Now I just have to find a place for all this crap in the trailer.... After the parade-a-thon of Mardi Gras and then St. Patricks Day, along the streets of the parade routs is evidence of the celebration. Beads hanging everywhere, shining in the trees next to the spanish moss, dangling from power lines and stop lights. It's actually very pretty, and it makes the streets look like they've been decorated. The party is over, the day to day has returned, but the hints of the fun to be had lingers. It's like the city is winking at you.

Florida State Fair

Lisa here: We went to the Florida State Fair and it was so fun! I'd forgotten how fun fairs were, and how thrilling to go on the little rides as a kid. My mom is from the Jersey Shore (like the Frankie Valli era) and in the summers we would go to the beach and the boardwalk and it was so exciting. I loved the arcade games, and the rides. Then somewhere along the way I turned into a snarkey teenager  and the sparkly lights and happy sounds of the carnival were obscured by a black cloud of cynicism. Taking Simon to the fair and watching his joy as he rode the little motorcycle, motorcycle and car rides brought it all back. The kid was ecstatic. It was so cool and fun to watch. It felt pretty magical, to reconnect with happy memories about my own childhood that I'd forgotten entirely, and at the same time be able to  share the experience with our boy and make some magical memories for him.

Fancy Chickens

I (Lisa) never knew that there were so many exotic chicken "flavors" (as Mat puts it) out there. We spent a lovely afternoon at the fair communing with the animals, and enjoying the company of our new friends Lani, Chris and their baby girl Emerson. (Hi Lani!!) Simon fed the baby animals at the petting zoo but seemed a little freaked out when they licked the food off his hand. He liked the chickens but put his hands over his ears when ever they crowed. It was really sweet.  The other thing that was really sweet were the kids who were there showing off their prize chickens, rabbits, and other animals. They were SO proud of their animals. We met a couple of elementary school to Jr. high aged kids who were carrying their chickens around and introducing them to people as their "champion" chicken. It was pretty awesome. [gallery link="file" orderby="DESC"]

Cortez, FL

These are some photos from the Starfish Company, which is a dockside seafood place down an out-of-the way side street in Cortez, across the bridge from Anna Maria Island. I (Lisa) came here years ago with my sister when she lived in the area. The food is simple, cheap, and about as fresh as you can get. While you're waiting for your "order up" call from the counter, you can take in the harbor views and watch people on working fishing boats do their thing. [gallery link="file"]