SIESTA KEY. DIED AND GONE TO HEAVEN
I’m not even a beach community kind of person, but this is spectacular
From the first, felt as though I had gone home.
See previous posting regarding Georgia.
I drove over the southern (Soon to discover the northern) drawbridge leading onto the barrier island of Sarasota known as Siesta Key. A sense of familiarity engulfed the rental car. The traffic, like most desirable warm beach areas in March, horrendous, but manageable compared to New York City and California. Only two miles separated me from the rental known as Tropical Hideaway, a small two bedroom, 1.5 bath bungalow in a section of the key called Palm Island.
The proprietor, a fellow Philadelphian by the name of Rich called when I was searching for a rental property on the island back on November of 2020.
We were still in Boulder, Colorado in a foot of snow. He convinced me to take the smaller property. My first choice was a three bedroom/two bath also on Palm Island, but Tropical Hideaway, the smaller, had a fenced in yard, and Astro, part Husky, loved to start running upon waking and not stop until run over by a car, or finally trapped by Yours truly.
I pulled up in front of a place that even looked like a Tropical Hideaway.
Tall wooden fencing, bleached by the sun. Palm trees lazing over the side of the house into an agreeable neighbor’s yard. A trickling fountain in front.
Rich met me at the property; gave me a walk-through; and welcomed the dogs to Siesta Key.
New York City, Bill de Blasio and Andrew Cuomo were a world away.
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