There and Back Again

My brother and I went to our aunt's funeral service Thursday. Google Maps lied about how long it would take to get there so despite leaving ten minutes earlier than planned and consistently exceeding the speed limit  (by only about 5/10 mph) we barely made it with minutes to spare which was still pretty good since our family has, for generations now, a well-deserved reputation for tardiness.

(Beautiful downtown Pahokee)

Part of the problem is that there are no direct routes between our corner of the Gulf coast and their section of the Atlantic shore what with Lake Okeechobee directly in the way. We took the southern route around the lake which was technically shorter and despite construction along a good chunk of the route we were only held up once (in beautiful downtown Pahokee) where the road went down to one lane for half a mile and the flag man waited until the line of vehicles backed up enough on our side to make it worthwhile to switch the directional flow of traffic (we, of course, were the first car in line.) for the record, Pahokee makes Belle Glade (which we also passed through on the southern route) look like a thriving metropolis and Belle Glade was once, way back at the beginning of the epidemic, the AIDS capital of the world although they seem to have gotten it under control since the BG General Hospital is now the BG General Hos  tal a farm implement distributor.

(The road and the dike)

We never did see the lake despite driving right next to it for fifty or so miles since it is completely hemmed in by a 25-35 foot tall dike. We drove along beside that straight, flat-topped sloping green wall on one side and low, flat open miles of sugarcane on the other until the monstrously huge sugar refinery rose up alone in the distance all towering smokestacks and multi-acre-covering building. There are very few roads out there but railroad tracks built up on berms crisscross the area.

(Another section of dike)

Aunt Shirley's service itself was pleasant enough, if Baptist. She'd become increasingly religious as she aged and at least some of her grandchildren (although not her kids so much) seem to be also. One of the grandkids sang a couple of songs in a very nice strong, light baritone. It was interesting to see how few of my generation even pretended to join in the hymns.

From there it was a short convoy to the cemetery where the preacher said a few more words and I had my most traumatic experience of the day when the groundskeepers offered bottled water to the attendees (the tent sheltered only the coffin and immediate family and the rest of us were out in the direct sun). One woman handed a bottle to a small boy with the instructions, "Give this to grandpa." The lad proceeded to hand it to my closest cousin who was born less than six months before me! Grandpa? Grandpa! WTH?!? I'm still debating what I want to be when I grow up!

Then it was off to to one of the cousins' homes for store-bought platters of sandwiches and veggies supplied by the church folk and trying to identify people in old photographs and other reminiscing and then retracing our steps another three hours back home through dying towns and cane fields. We did see a train full of sugar cane, trucks full of oranges, a parade of some thirty brand new snub-nosed farm tractors going the other way (perhaps to the BG General Hos  tal) with a police escort front and back, and more vultures in and beside the road, up in trees and on telephone and light poles than I'd seen before in all my time down here.