Florida Part 1: In which I go to the beach.

If one goes to Florida, visiting a beach is almost obligatory. Yes, there's more to Florida than beaches, like interminable stretches of highway lined by scrubby pines and Disney World. But I'm a traditionalist, in vacationing as well as most everything else: I stop at the stateline welcome centers, I collect brochures, I eat at Cracker Barrel with the venerable RV-nauts, and I go to the beach when I'm in Florida. Certain niceties must be maintained lest society collapse into chaos and anarchy reign supreme.

Thus, as proof of my fulfillment of the Floridian Prime Directive, I submit the following photographic evidence.Exhibit A: Atlantic waves marching in rank to hurl themselves onto the sand; the beach is in St. Augustine, FL, an exceedingly interesting town.Exhibit B: A palm tree. Beaches have those; every little kid knows that. Palm tree = Beach, QED.Exhibit C: Sea gulls, one of the black-headed variety with two greyish nondescript wingmen. Also a requisite beach thing.Exhibit C: My little brother Jonathan in quest of seashells. He found several nice ones, filled a ziplock bag full of them. Boys aren't defining element of beaches, but shells are.Exhibit D: Me, wading. I'd forgotten the way the sand recedes beneath my feet as the waves ebb; it's pleasant.