I just realized this is my 100th post!

The water is clear, but distinctly amber in color. Up river, the tannins seep out of trees and travel south until they spill into the inlet, causing the currents to take on a golden hue. As the water laps the shore it looks as though the bay is filled with whiskey.

If you head west to The Emerald Coast, the beaches are wide and white; the water crystal clear. Where we are is known as The Forgotten Coast, not quite as appealing. The population is sparse and the few houses seem tired and run down. That is except for the new vacation homes. The developers are here and they are building. . .a lot. Hoping to package the good fishing and leisure boating with luxury homes and warm winters, the contractors are busy. It won't be long until the Coast is discovered by Baby Boomer retirees.

This is something my father is banking on, and he's probably right. Well, let's hope so since he's betting all the dough he and my mother have managed to scrape together on it. I am surprised to learn that they actually have FOUR properties, not just one. In the words of a popular commercial, they are in debt to their eyeballs.

Due to the remote nature of area, and the fact that it is still a work in progress, one is hard pressed when it comes to meals. There are a few Diners, offering standard greasy spoon fare. Saturday morning a breakfast of hashbrowns and eggs is served by a lovely lady named Mabelline, who calls me 'Sugar.'

There used to be a waterfront restaurant just down the road from my parents' home site, but it has fallen victim to the hurricanes. Not sure if it was Katrina or one of the others, but the poor building looks beaten and weary as it slumps sideways on its stilts. Though having a restaurant on a peir has appeal for waterfront dining, its jetting structure also extends beyond the county border, a well thought out technicality that allowed the proprietors to offer sinful spirits and ale. That law is now off the books, so there are a couple more ramshackle watering holes, but for a long time the elevated restaurant was the only show in town. As a result, it is a treasure to the community, and the locals are helping to get the place rebuilt. My Dad says it was nice, and hopes to see it resurrected as well.

So with our tastes leaning away from the drop ceilings and vinyl chairs of the mornings meal, my father suggests a restaurant he went to on one of his previous visits. He has 'an idea' of its location. Since he was the passenger, not the driver, he isn't really sure. Convinced that if we just start driving, he'll remember the way, we head out. Since he is apparently the Donald Trump of Ochlockonee Bay, I figure my father has seen enough of the area to know his way around, and put my trust in him as we depart into the swampy wild.

More later...