Crabs caught just off our dock at Gumbo Cove were perfectly satisfying and reminiscent of my childhood at the beach in Gilchrist, TX.

Musings about why we appreciate sunsets, a recipe for a refreshing Chambord and rosé cocktail, and a haiku.

Peaceful images from a weekend at Gumbo Cove.

We’re all waiting for the day when friends can once again be greeted with a bear hug.

Hurricane Zeta is behind us, the new roof is going on and Kimball’s is back where it belongs. It’s the little things.

When a hurricane storm surge happens at Gumbo Cove, the water roars in from the Gulf and goes back out eventually, but leaves behind an unwelcome calling card: canal mud.

Trucks, big, strong, sturdy, beautiful trucks, barrelling down the highway in a convoy, filled with workers loaded for bear and ready to slay the dragons of downed power lines to bring the lights back on for the people.

Remembering storms whose names have spawned headlines and headaches, headstones and heartache, hardships and heroism. And wondering, why do we have to name storms after people? Why not use diseases or the periodic table? Or colors?

Cicadas and air conditioners are the soundtrack of warm summer evenings as the indigo sky darkens on another day.

A few random things as we batten down the hatches before Cristobal comes to visit.

The grocery store had everything we needed, plus a coastal-Mississippi-right-before-Mardi-Gras culinary cultural tour.

Everything needs a foundation; you can’t just jump into something without laying the groundwork and expect it to work.

There’s a birding boat in our future!

Gumbo is a family treasure, seashells elicit childhood memories, and these napkin rings made with shells we found 40 years ago bring echoes of the past into the now.

Bay St. Louis has sun, sand, sea and serenity galore. It was everything we thought it would be, and more.