A Disappearing Way of Life

Tried not to write about the oil spill again, but what can one do? For most of us it simply means seafood will cost more at the grocery store, but for the people of the Gulf it is potentially the end of a way of life. A disaster made worse because of our country’s seeming lack of a coordinated effort to help the Gulf states out.

I’ve watched Mike Huckabee so much lately I’m beginning to sound like an Arkansas hick, but he’s had a lot on his show about different ways to clean the mess up — once it’s stopped.

What’s frustrating is there seems to be no one saying, “Yes, that’s what we need to do, so let’s do it!” It’s beginning to look like we have finally gotten into something we can’t fix, no matter how many lawyers are involved.

Oh sure, we can throw money at the folks at the beach, but they’re going to want their lives back and I just don’t have a lot of confidence that’s going to happen.

I grew up in Panama City, lived in “The Cove” near Watson Bayou, and for many of you, that would be akin to living on the lake in these parts. It is a way of life for young and old.

At 12 I was fishing with bacon bait off the docks in the bayou. I always had to take my younger brother along because he wasn’t afraid to take the fish off the hook. We enjoyed fishing with bacon because every kind of fish in the bayou ate it, and you never knew what was going to be on the other end of the line until it came out of the water. Besides, I didn’t want to chop up the fish we’d caught and use them, they’d already had a bad day.

At 12 we experimented with all sorts of water sports in the bay. I remember rigging a bedspread for a sail and hoisting it on a raft made by Ernie Mahaffey, who was smart enough to know better, then floating out in the bay for a good 30 seconds before sinking. We were the Wright Brothers on water.

Ernie played the trombone two doors down the street and back in the days before air conditioning he would serenade the neighborhood until somebody hollered long and loud. His mom would then abruptly end practice.

He’s so rich today he has to give his money away, but I know for a fact that he couldn’t play the trombone or sail more than 30 seconds with a bedspread. We didn’t have much sense at that age.

When we got older and could use the boats, we’d always find Pam Ward sunbathing on her dock in the bayou. Ol’ Mike Walker never missed a chance to spray her as we pulled him near the dock. We were crazy at 15, but the bayou showed us something new each time we visited her.

Sometimes it would be one of those huge manta rays swimming along the bottom by the dock or a blow fish or blue crab daring you to stick your hand deep enough to rile them up.

Once in a while, when swimming, you’d get a friendly reminder that you couldn’t breathe under water. There’s grass down there, you know, reeds and such, with all manner of wildlife hiding and waiting patiently for something edible to swim by.

Sunfish reflect the sun from beneath the water in a ballet of sorts as they swim in the shallows. I suppose one of the things I learned from the bayou was that a lot of those creatures just want to be left alone and hang out with other things that look like them and wait for food. In that way, I guess they’re a lot like us with the exception of we’re not on each others’ food chain. Or are we? Yes, a way of life seems to be leaking away and I’ll sure miss it.