Contrast Along the Forgotten Coast

On our first night on land on Port St. Joe, we heard, “You are living my dream,” from a woman named Kim from Omaha, Nebraska who lives in an RV with her husband along the Intracoastal Waterway. We have heard this numerous times, that we are living someone’s dream. When living at Waterford Harbor Marina, we observed several retirees with big dreams of cruising, until they were in it and before you know it, the boat was up for sale. To live this life, you have to have a certain fortitude and be a little crazy.

The contrast from luxuries of land to the necessities of a sailboat can feel drastic. When I speak of luxuries, I mean being able to pee without holding on to rails and pushing your feet against the wall so you don’t fall off the toilet. I mean brushing your teeth without the fear of your toothbrush being accidentally shoved down your throat due to a wind gust or a bag of onions in a hanging net giving you a mild concussion because you didn’t tie them up high enough. Walking on stable ground seems like a privilege. We know this from our first step onto land and how it made us giddy like children. I remember walking along side Blake and saying, “This is 36. I’m unemployed. Don’t have a car…” and he finished my sentence saying, “and we’re hoofing it to Piggly Wiggly.”

Port St. Joe has embraced the label of being the “Forgotten Coast.” This struck me as odd. I would never want to be identified as the “forgotten daughter” or “forgotten sister.” Who wants to be forgotten? I asked a local, who has lived here her whole life why it’s called the Forgotten Coast and she said, “It’s because no one visits here. Everyone goes to Destin or Panama City.” On floridaforgottencoast.com, it reads, “This beautiful region has been dubbed the Forgotten Coast because it’s the last stretch of unspoiled, pristine Gulf Coast beaches that haven’t been overrun by high rises and strip malls.” When we spoke to another local, he said, “It’s only a matter of time before the right hand is greased and a high rise goes up.” There is a sense of pride in being forgotten but that is changing and there have been observations of an increase in tourism in the past couple of years, that one resident attributes to social media and another said the recent hurricane put them on the map.

I found Port St. Joe quite enchanting, so much so, that I admittedly browsed lots to see how much they cost. Everything you need is in walking distance from the public boat ramp, where we tied up our dinghy, at Frank Pate Park. Within a half mile radius you could walk to Piggly Wiggly, BlueWater Outriggers (marine and fishing supply store), post office, public library, and best of all Reid Ave, a strip of locally owned boutiques, restaurants, and businesses.

Surprisingly there were not any fish markets and only two seafood restaurants. We learned from a couple of locals that they used to have a booming oyster industry but say that Georgia is to blame for the collapse. In April 2021, the Supreme Court rejected Florida’s claim that Georgia is “diverting more than its share of Apalachicola River“ and “Georgia’s water use has been fair and reasonable.” My quotes are from an article in the Wall Street Journal and you can read more on this at https://www.wsj.com/articles/supreme-court-backs-georgia-in-water-dispute-with-florida-11617313257 if you’re curious.

Speaking of water, the water here is clear. It was the first time we saw Josephine’s keel in the water. The beaches are white and open to the public. We were surrounded by public boat ramps on each side of the bay, the Port St. Joe and Cape San Blas side, where the state park is located. We dropped anchor in the sandy bottoms of St. Joseph Point, Cape San Blas, and in Port St. Joe Harbor and felt safe at each one. It’s really a cruiser’s paradise. A transport from Long Island, named Ed, grew up sailing and doesn’t understand why there are not sailboats here. He said that he attempted to start a sailing school but didn’t get any traction. The attraction here seems to be power boats and sport fishing despite the deep and unobstructed waters of St. Joseph Bay.

I would describe the people of Port St. Joe as a bit divided. You have those that embrace the tourist industry and those that don’t. You have the old money and those working hard to make money. You have residents and tourists. You have nature conservators and land developers and business owners and construction workers…and there is a lot of construction. This community is still rebuilding after being devastated by Hurricane Michael, a category 5 storm, on October 10th, 2018.

On October 13th, it was reported that roads began to clear and people swarmed to see what was left of their homes and their city. I had the opportunity to read some storm stories that were compiled at the public library. Several high school students had written reflections and many wrote about driving back into town and the familiarity of a place they knew as home was devastated. One young lady who lost her home and most everything in it, reflected on the difference between a house and home. In her grieving of what she lost, her mother told her, “Memories are not dependent on the things you can hold in your hands but rather the things you hold in your heart.”

After the experience of losing so much and rebuilding, we can’t imagine what it felt like to adapt to more tourists rolling through. Imagine, you’re a local and your perception of what matters shifts drastically. Once your business is up and running or you go back to work, you are catering to the shallow desires of run of the mill tourists who are here to take, take, take! This is not to say that there is a lack of gratitude for the money that tourism brings in but that had to be a struggle. Then to have a global pandemic during reconstruction added stress to an already frazzled community. The struggle was real and the reconstruction continues. We are humbled by the fortitude and faith of this community. Through the contrast of our own experience and that we observed, it is clear that contrast creates space for gratitude. We are deeply grateful to have experienced the gifts of the Forgotten Coast.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! May it be peaceful, may it be happy, and may it be at ease.