A bicycle ride yesterday reminded me that I am not the only migrant looking for a nicer place to spend the season. Tucked behind a communications tower I find an abandoned boat half-filled with water. On the port bow is written ‘protegida’, which means protected. On the starboard side, ‘por dios’ is written, which means by God.
Inside the white fishing boat with light blue trim and tattered bumpers are discarded cans and broken board seats. It is hard to imagine the journey that its inhabitants made or their conditions that led them to take such a journey.
Even without such sightings, things are different here than in prior years. A lot near Marathon holds other abandoned boats similar in condition and decay. Helicopters fly up and down the coast constantly. One was buzzing overhead, swooping down and swirling about our Key yesterday like a persistent insect looking for something amiss. At the Marathon Airport, two large CH-47 chinook helicopters sit, awaiting to take off as a smaller one approaches to land.
All of this reminds me how lucky we, my children and grandchildren are to live as we do in prosperity and good health. I never take it for granted.
