After the weekend rains that dampened our plans to go camping on Friday night, everyone was feeling a little antsy. It was determined that we would take one of our infamous drives to the middle of nowhere. It had been some time since we had driven to the Keys so we pointed the car in that direction.

We pulled off for a picnic in Key Largo but the weekend’s rains had stirred up a swarm of tiny biting insects that seemed to be laying in wait for us beneath the wet mulch. After being afforded no comfort there it was time to move on. A quick trip around the park (safe from the angry swarm in the confines of our own vehicle) provided the opportunity for some panorama shots of the mangroves.

Knowing the sun would be setting soon; we made our way west to search for a clearing. We drove an extra twenty miles to find a prime piece of real estate from which to watch it sink. Three minutes before the sun started it’s visible descent into the horizon we pulled off of U.S. 1 before a bridge in Upper Matacumbe Key. We all walked up to the water’s edge and watched the quick drop into the ocean.

That was it. That was all it took to remind us why we moved to Florida—why we have forsaken having friends and family nearby. It is very easy to forget when you are surrounded by an unfriendly, uncaring throng of commuter drones plowing their Lexus SUVs into your lane or running your children over in the supermarket. It is certainly not those people that are keeping us here—they can make a person yearn for the simplicity of a small town in the northeastern corner of Iowa. Sure, you can’t get a pizza delivered there or cavort near naked on the beach, but the people are friendly and display a hospitality that says they care about their neighbors and that currency has a far higher rate of exchange.

From this location we can change our latitude just a little—venture just a little further south—and things always seem to get better.