At the Dayton, Ohio airport Mardelle and I boarded an airplane bound for Miami to visit our friends, Harold and Marti Kay. We were long time friends with the Kays. Marti was probably Mardelle’s best friend in Lima. Harold had been in the sales department at Westinghouse when layoffs occurred and he got a job with Pan American Airline in Miami. During our flight we were surprised to discover Lima friends, Bill and Fran Frichie as fellow passengers aiming to spend Thanksgiving with their daughter.

The reunion with the Kays was both pleasant and welcome. We spent many hours catching up on the happenings in our lives since last we were together. Mardelle was particularly interested to learn about their daughter Sandra who had contracted rheumatoid arthritis at an early age. I’m sure, that among other things, the commonality of Sandra’s disease and Mardelle’s provided a strong tie between Mardelle and Marti.

The Kays were excellent hosts, much better than I’d have been. One day Marti packed a picnic basket and treated her landlocked guests to lunch at the beach. It was a gorgeous day with a gentle ocean breeze singing quietly in the tall palms that overlooked the white sandy beach. It was a rare pleasure to spend a late November day with each other in such enticing surroundings. The lunch was good, too.

Another day Harold handed me his car keys and invited me to drive down across the keys. It was an all day trip from Maimi to Key West and back. What we saw was not particularly spectacular but it was a very enjoyable ride as we drove along bridge after bridge from island to island. Across the long bridges it was almost like cruising in a little ship. The islands were as short respites from the constant over-water scene. I don’t recall much about our walk around Key West except that we had a good time exploring it.

Thanksgiving Day promised to be mild and calm in sunny Florida.

“Mardelle and I will fix us a nice dinner for this evening,” Marti said, “What are you guys going to do today?”

“ I thought we would take the boat over to the everglades and try one of the trails. You need any help before we go?” said Harold.

“We can manage OK,” said Marti.

Harold had been a sports car enthusiast in Ohio. He had a little MG that was almost impossible for me to get into. He took it on sports car rallies where he traced a predetermined route. Each driver in the rally was required to drive the route passing all check points and return in a set time span. I tried it once and got hopelessly lost.

Harold had evidently given up sports cars in favor of a sailboat. He removed the sail so the boat could be paddled through shallow water. He sought out a loop trail that meandered through the mangrove trees of the everglades. These trees were short, reaching maybe ten feet above the water in which the tree grew. Each tree had many roots extending out from the plant and descending at right angles into the water, reminding me of giant insect legs.

We entered the trail paddling slowly, anticipating the sighting of swamp wildlife. It was a kind of strange feeling, sitting in a boat surrounded by a strange looking forest. The trail had many twists and turns relieved by an occasional short straight stretch. With each bend in the trail we were alert for some form of animal wildlife, an alligator, a bird or perhaps a snake. But it was all in vain. We traveled the trail for an hour and a half and what we saw was the same as what we saw when we entered the trail. So we hitched up the boat to the car to make ready for the trip back to the Kay’s for a Thanksgiving dinner.

“Before we go,” said Harold, “let’s take a walk around the boardwalk trail.”

“Suits me.” I said, and we started our walk and were soon over the water of the wetland. After only a short walk we came across a well-fed alligator out of the water, lolling in the sun to warm his blood. He was a beautiful animal, as alligators go. From the boardwalk we could see much of the flora surrounding us, the green mangrove forest we had just exited and in another direction, a sea of grass gently rippling in the breeze. Farther on down the trail I noticed a strange sight, a couple of feather dusters hanging just above the water from a woody plant. Proceeding on the trail, we drew closer and I could see that what I’d seen was really a big bird hung out to dry. His wings were spread so they could get maximum sunshine. He was a fishing bird with no oil on his feathers to shed water. Evidently he could stay under water with less effort, lacking the buoyancy of air trapped in his feathers by oil.

We arrived back at the Kay household with good appetites and looking forward to a big meal. I followed Harold in, sniffing the air expecting to get a whiff of the goodies the women had cooked up. Hmm, it smelled as we left this morning. Odd.

“Surprise,” said Marti, “Our friends invited us to their house for dinner. We need to be there in two hours.