Every year after Xmas we’ve headed down to Florida to visit Sharon’s Mom, Rosita. Tampa’s OK, but what about the rest of the Gulf Coast?

This year we decided to push our Floridian envelope.

A three hour drive south lies Sanibel Island. Nearly half of the island is a wildlife refuge- a preserved subtropical barrier island habitat and part of the largest undeveloped mangrove ecosystem in the country.

Sanibel also has world-class shelling, old florida charisma and kayak trails through the mangroves. Sounded good. Now could we get reservations?

My first choice was the SeaSide Inn- Ranked #1 of the 31 hotels on the island by TripAdvisor. I called the Inn in June, and nothing was available after Xmas and before the New Year, but on January 1, their only three bedroom suite could be ours.

I took it.

2009 seemed a long ways off at the time, but time has a way of passing. The original concept was one bedroom for Rosita and her boyfriend, one bedroom for Taavo and his girlfriend Meredith, and the last for Sharon and me.

Rosita fell and broke her hip in November. Given the chaos such eventualities precipitate, we flew off after Xmas not knowing what was possible. Taavo came with us from Cambridge. Meredith joined us from Kansas City on New Year’s Eve.

Fireworks are legal in Florida. This never meant much to me.

It does now.

Rosita lives in the heart of a very Latin neighborhood. Sharon and I drifted off to sleep a bit after ten on New Year’s Eve. We woke up just before midnight in the middle of the Revolutionary War.

My business partner JP took the picture to the right at a Fiesta in Mexico.

It could have been taken from Rosita’s backyard at midnight.

The smoke and smell of gunpowder was so thick I thought Rosita’s smoke alarms were going to go off any second. Sharon rolled out of bed and pulled back the curtains. I could hear the rockets whistling as multi-colored flashes lit up the bedroom. Sharon’s typically dry running commentary had to do with the quality, quantity and creativity of the display roaring throughout the neighborhood.

Rosita is 87 and 100% Latina.

One night 25 years or so into our relationship she turned to me and said something to the effect that for the longest time she thought I was just this stiff white guy, but she was pleased to find that I was OK and had a sense of humor.

Curiously I can relate to that.

Rosita didn’t feel up for the trip to Sanibel. To her credit she didn’t stand in the way of other’s fun. She sent us off on our way.

As we backed out of her driveway on New Year’s day, in her bright red Dodge muscle car, the neighborhood looked curiously innocent.

Before leaving Cambridge in preparation for our drive to Sanibel, I printed Google Map directions. I needn’t have. Both Taavo and Meredith brought iPhones which could tell us not only where we wanted to go, but also where we were at any time. Fun technology.

Sanibel is an island, but today you drive all the way- thanks to to a recently improved 3 mile causeway.

Sanibel is billed as a place to kick back and relax. No buildings are allowed higher than palm trees and there are no traffic lights.

That said, while there may be  no traffic lights, that doesn’t mean they couldn’t use them at times. The Sanibel alternative is the traffic cop standing in the center of the intersection directing traffic.

Suppose it’s more personal that way. To each their own.

In any case we didn’t have any problems with traffic. The key is to just avoid Periwinkle way. At least it worked for us.

The SeaSide Inn glam picture to the right, must have been taken by a pro hovering in a helicopter.

No matter, this is how it looked in my mind’s eye when we pulled up.

When we left Boston, it was below freezing and overcast. Here, palms were swaying gently in 80° breezes.

It took about 30 seconds to get used to.

Our first beach walk became a regular. The SeaSide Inn is on the west side of Sanibel looking out onto the Gulf of Mexico. Head to the beach and take a left and in a mile or so is the lighthouse. A most pleasant stroll along the wide white-sand beach. Lots of birds and lots of shells along the way.

On the first evening as Sharon and I reached the lighthouse (borrowed pic to the left) we noticed a water hawk almost motionless about 30 feet out over the water.

The next moment it plunged feet first into the rolling waves, emerging with a large fish in its talons. Without a moment’s pause it turned and flew off inland towards the lighthouse- both hawk and struggling fish silhouetted against the evening sky.

My favorite time for the lighthouse walk was just before dawn. As we’d reach the water’s edge, invariably a kindred soul would emerge out of the darkness. With one eye on the surf edge where the new shells glistened, we’d pass with nary a word. Not a chatty time. Not much to say.

As the sky lightened, the motley promenade would pick up– a curious combination of shellers, joggers, serious runners and other early risers out to pay their respects to the first rays of the day.

Another category anted up as well– the all-nighters. Not too hard to spot. The slacks, evening dresses and rings-under-the-eyes were all tell-tale give-aways.

Sand Sculpture was big. The fine white sand would hold a shape and the shells could add another layer of decoration.

In the darkness, Sharon cried out “Sea Turtles.” I spun around and headed back. It seemed the wrong season, but hey – what do I know.

Sure enough there they were-  headed down to the surf. On the large side too–about five feet across.

The wildlife refuge is closed on Fridays to give the birds a day off. So we headed off to Bowman’s beach for our first full day. More shells, sun, sand, birds and Gulf ambiance.

Most pleasant.

Here’s a pic of Meredith on the boardwalk to the beach.

I was thinking of including the swimming advisory/ shark sighting sign, but I’m going to skip that for now.

It was a small sign and apparently it was a small shark– and we all went swimming anyway.

But it did cross my mind as I waded out. Something about sharks is a bit unnerving.

“Ding” Darling National Wildlife Refuge is a birder’s paradise. The birds in my pictures were all either blurred or too far off to be recognizable.

So I borrowed this pic taken in the refuge as representative of the amazing species out and around on the day of our visit. This is a Roseate Spoonbill, or Espátula Rosada, for those like myself who do their birds in Spanish.

Three flew by about 40 feet from our observation platform. My pic shows three pink blurs.

They do look like dinosaurs. ¿No?

None of us had ever been kayaking. Sanibel and the wildlife refuge seemed like a great place to start. We signed up for the 1.5 hour naturalist-guided kayak trail tour through the red-mangrove forest.

During the orientation our slightly goofy naturalist Lewis pointed out across Tarpon Bay and said, “If for some reason you should tip over, remember to — Stand Up.

The water is less than 3 feet deep.”

At our second or third stop up the Commodore Creek water trail, Lewis stuck his hand down into the water and came up with a living starfish.

After a brief and loving description  of the starfish and its role in this delicate ecosystem, he lights up: “Anyone want to mess with him?”

Meredith on cue: “Yeah!” Without missing a beat, he side-arms Mr. Starfish at Meredith, who deftly plucks him from the water

Two stops later our guide was in the middle of another exposition  when he looks down at his watch and stops in mid-sentence.

“Oh no, I’m late for my boat tour.”

With that he pivots his kayak and paddles off. Shouting over his shoulder as he disappears around the bend,

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine– Just follow the signs.”

That was the last we saw of him.