Dan Reiter - What I Love About Cocoa Beach


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	Things I Love about Cocoa Beach from The Beachside Resident Here’s a simple writing exercise that could change your life. Take a half-hour out of your day and find a peaceful place to sit with your computer or a pad of paper. A café will do nicely, a quiet picnic spot, a kitchen table. The office desk will suffice in a pinch. Sit down, then, and write out a list of the things you love. Anything works — food, scenery, people, movies. Anything. Make the list true. Make it extensive. Stay on task for at least half an hour. An hour is preferable, if your wrist and wits allow. Don’t be discouraged if the going is slow. The first five to ten items will be the hardest to dig up. But if you’re a positive spirit, the list will begin to flow out of you, like hot water from a faucet that has taken a few moments to warm. It is a silly business, I know, but I promise the experience will be illuminating, and possibly empowering. It is a sort of therapy I discovered completely by accident during a heartbreaking period in my life in my early twenties. Give it a try. As for this month’s column, I submit for your amusement a variation on this general theme. What follows is a list of things I love about Cocoa Beach, my hometown. Take it as a sort of jazz accompaniment to this five-minute lull in your day. And by all means, enjoy your drink. Things I Love about Cocoa Beach paper-thin yellow butterflies plumeria blossoms papaya trees Cedar Road oaks tangled in sunlight brushed-glass skies over the ocean cargo ships floating in mist streaks of fire arcing over the Cape time-delayed shuttle roars paratrooper training days cresting waves at dawn offshore sprays chop surfing sessions light north drifts west winds four-foot glass eight-foot glass six-foot high tide barrels lake-like flatness and an inflatable raft old, rusty sunglasses two-foot glass flip flops Core Surf stickers brunch at Simply Delicious baked brie at Heidi’s knowing that everything will rust, eventually the ghost of the Glass Bank peacocks perched atop car hoods playgrounds in the sun mangroves at blue dusk sleek, hunting redfish casting for mullet million-hued sunsets melting into the river dolphin fins cutting through mercury the shadows beneath the poinciana trees, summer monarch butterflies, dancing in milkweed 16streets.com manatee huffs dolphin sighs trout plops pelican dives gull cries anhinga curdles anything on The Fat Snook’s menu the local vibe at 13th Street shouting “Kooks go home!” out your car window long-haired boys long-haired girls the smell of an oncoming hurricane when the wind comes to sweep everything away when the wind calms again when the wind smells of conifers when the wind blows from the west (again) Tony Sasso’s pig roasts the Cocoa Beach cops (who don’t pull over the locals) the locals the street parties the art scene Mai-Tiki Rick Piper Henry Lund Bruce Reynolds Stu Sharpe the nestled serenity of the Beachside Guesthouses lightly buttered fish at the Pompano Grill the old peppered strawberries at Fischer’s miles and miles of beachbreak — when it’s working secret shoals and deep spots — when it’s not the magical spirit of Driftwood House hundreds of white pelicans roosting in the river cruising the Banana River on a stand-up paddleboard exploring the Thousand Islands by canoe a cruiser cycle ride on the beach, low tide everything about October bright cloudless winter days Jazz nights at Heidi’s seeing elderly couples holding hands, after all these years Sunday morning roads, empty and clean the sages who roam the aisles at Ace Hardware and hold the answers to life’s every problem playing tennis at Ramp Road park skateboarding down Brevard Avenue, mid-day, summer, after it has been re-paved soul sessions at 6th Street family-style longboarding at 11th street high-tide hurricane swells, on the fish the roast beef subs from Boardheads Deli afternoon tea in the back yard the multi-layered, bizarre history of the town Mayo Surfboards the space program neon phosphoresence in the river at night airborne schools of mullet the syrupy smell of jasmine in bloom, once a year yellow and pink hibiscus polka-dotting the road the measured ease of Country Club Drive high-drifting clouds, skirting the edge of the sun distant purple rainclouds, strafing the western sky double rainbows over the ocean sighting a bald eagle snowy egrets, their tails ruffling like ladies’ hats the rhythmic shush of the waves, four blocks away, after dark the starriest, most articulate winter nights huddling close sharing a bottle of wine on the beach, night kissing in the full light of the moon watching a child’s fingertips pluck tiny penta flowers the Norfolk pines the music at Cafe Surfinista the hanging orchids the skyline, low and organic, as seen from the ocean the pizza at The Shark Pit, and the fish tank Roy at Oceansports World Tom Neilson shapes O’Hare shapes the sushi — if it’s fresh the espresso martinis Chris Birch shapes the Cocoa Beach Surf Museum, and its inspirational exhibits Sunseed Co-op hovering through the aisles of Publix, on a slow day tequila sunrises at Coconut’s, on a very slow day jogging the beach swimming falling asleep in the sand cold beer on the beach freedom, hope, and good sanitation the “Locals Only” parking pass “Old Guys Rule” bumper stickers Longboard House bumper stickers Salick bumper stickers kids who sport retro-style ’70s hairdos the skate park Cocoa Beach High sports the legacy of Kelly Slater tiki huts quaintness kitsch Roberto’s Little Havana, coffee and cuban melts Ricky Carroll shapes kite surfers launching airs the nighttime view from the 520 bridge watching it rain through a blurry window the song, twitch and scamper of the squirrels the lizards, both the small and monstrous the hummingbirds, both rare and magical the fact that we are on an island the narrowness of the south end, two hundred feet from river to ocean when the third sandbar breaks when the second sandbar breaks when any sandbar breaks, really the occasional 100-foot tall cabbage palm, swaying gently above it all when an ocean-going dolphin looks you in the eye manatee mating season the slowness of summer the flight of the great herons white ibises, scratching themselves moments of unimaginable beauty passion flowers

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