Alabama Snowbirds

Having crossed Florida seems like a big accomplishment until I look at the width of Texas.  I crossed into Alabama yesterday and will traverse a small section of its gulf coast before continuing through a small section of Mississippi.  The first thing that hit me after Pensacola was the abrupt change from rural Florida countryside to the lushly developed condominium coast of Alabama.  “Snowbirds Welcome,” reads a sign, and the tall seasonal apartment buildings tell it all. 

If any snowbirds have flown here to escape New England winter, I did not see them on the beach.  Maybe it’s because the air is about 45 degrees and strong wind bears down from the northwest.  I had a hard day just making it through here.  I suppose the snowbirds are holed up in their rooms just like they would be if they had never left the cold north. 

This plant growing in brilliant white sand casts its shadow like a self-portrait—curves resembling its own curved arms, but impressions in two dimensions, painted on canvas.

And this beach house, one of many, stands tall on the gulf shore to let hurricane waves pass below it while its owners fly north (hurricane birds) if such disaster comes again.

I came to the end of land on the south edge of Mobile Bay and crossed to Dauphin Island by ferry.  Strong cold wind pushed against the ferry as we crossed.  

I write this on Sunday Morning from Dauphin Island while the wind still comes hard from the northwest and the air outside my motel in 32 degrees.  I normally start riding early, but not today.  This warm room feels too good, and like the snowbirds, I am holed up until mid-morning when the wind is supposed to reduce to ten miles an hour.

We wishfully call ourselves birds and dream of flying to warm places, but the real birds make do.  They get by in the wind and cold, at least these seem very content riding the breeze.