While admiring this entrance to Florida, the town of Mark Twain’s birth, a pickup truck stopped across the road. A man wearing jeans and a seed company hat asked if we wanted him to take our picture. I said that was mighty nice of him to stop and come all the way across the road to do that. He said, “Awh, I don’t have anything else to do. I just put my sister-in-law’s boat in the water for her, and I was on my way to the winery to have a beer.” (There are two things in Florida – a very small winery and a marker showing where the house of Mark Twain’s birth was moved from.) I had three thoughts: It’s odd to go to a winery to have a beer; people sure are nice around here; and I’d like to go and have a beer with this man.
Tidbit: The two-room cabin where Samuel Clements was born now stands about one-half mile down the road. In 1959, the state built a building around it and created a museum.
Tom tricked me into this.
At first, I was wondering how in the world you got to Florida. ggg
Robert the way you write you should publish your travels under a pen name. You look good with that paintbrush in your hand.