Soaking it all in

  It’s November already and Thanksgiving is right around the corner. This will be our third turkey day without my dad at the head of the table. It still doesn’t feel the same. I can recall Thanksgiving dinners when we lived in the section of Miami known as Little Havana. Our house was just two blocks off the busy and bustling famous Calle Ocho (S.W. 8 street also known as the Tamiami Trail). Thanksgiving was a family get-together and my family is HUGE. There was the table for the adults that sat roughly 20 people. And there were three more tables for the kids. If folks had too much to drink, they stayed overnight. It was a pretty big two-story house, so there was plenty of room for everyone. The women spent the day in the kitchen. Cooking, prepping and gossiping. The men set up a table in the back yard and played dominoes, talked about work and drank beer. The kids ran around the entire neighborhood playing, Hop-Scotch, Red Rover, Cowboys and Indians, Hide-n-Seek. We had turkey, dressi

  When I was a little girl, my Dad used to take my Mom, brother, and I on frequent weekend trips to the Everglades. We had a pull behind camper and there was this dirt road we’d always take which dead-ended on a huge lake. This spot was a frequent stop for weekend campers like us. It was like having a cool secret hideaway. There was no signs or posting showing you the way, you just had to know how to get there. I remember how we would travel along the Tamiami Trail, the main corridor that literally runs from Miami to Tampa. Once you left the City limits of Miami and West Dade County you entered into a whole different world. Along the Trail there was the tiny town of Cooper City, population 10 and known for their touristy airboat rides and sales of frog legs. The further west you drove you entered into the Miccosukee Indian Reservation and Big Cypress National Preserve. This was before they built their resort and gaming casino in 1983. Along the way there were several places to take air