Today was the kind of day that reminds me why I wrote A Good Day to Live. It started off cloudless with a pink sunrise and a slight south breeze. Perfect t-shirt and shorts weather – 70 degrees and only a hint of humidity. Before breakfast I’d already strolled the white sands of Perdido Key and watched pelicans glide in unison inches above the gulf, barely etching the surface with their wingtips.

We were in the boat by mid-morning heading to Soldier Creek. In all of four leisurely hours we covered enough ground to fill an entire spring break. We explored the narrow upper reaches of the creek, spotted a half dozen turtles sunning on logs, followed a flock of snow white herons, caught some speckled trout, did a gainer from the diving board at The Point, ate cheeseburgers at Pirates Cove (along with a stout Bushwhacker), toured the haunted attic at Witchwood, marveled at the view of Perdido Bay from Red Bluff, tossed the football with some neighbors, raced through woods with my daughters, threw pine cones at Spanish moss draped oak trees, and watched our worn out kids fall sound asleep on the boat ride back home.

As we meandered through the day, memories swirled in my mind like a waterspout. Today’s quick jaunt was as rich as double fudge cake yet was merely a sliver of my childhood summers in a place I’m still fortunate to call home.

I’ve come to realize that growing up around the magical and fertile waters of Perdido Bay was an extreme privilege. And while the past makes me smile, days like today prove that it’s still A (very) Good Day to Live.