Time for Snowbirds to start flocking north

The Snowbirds down here on the Gulf Coast are getting ready to migrate back north.
This results in quite a lot of strange behaviour. Disparate groups flock together to prepare for the long trek.
Rituals specific to this time of year are re-enacted routinely. The hardy early migrators pack every conceivable nook and cranny of their vehicle, and look with disbelief at the other half-truckload of goodies still sitting around their car in the parking lot.
“Where in @#$* did you collect all this junk from?” snorts Norm with exasperation as he bends into his Toyota to lubricate the gas pedal—the excuse of unexpected acceleration will only work so many times when stopped for speeding.
“Humph! The only junk I see here is all that bargain golf equipment and fishing tackle you picked up,” snorts back Emily, exasperated at her attempts to re-arrange the “junk” and not ready to accept unwanted comments.
“Besides, we’ll put some of it in storage and drop the rest off at Jack and Norma’s. They’re not going home for another month.”
I offer this comment. Although we appreciate all the “free” goodies, how about dropping them off at the start of the season when we really need them.
Meal selection for the next month is pretty much restricted to restaurants or “whatever’s left in the fridge.”
The restaurant choice is frequently selected, but even here there are challenges. It’s Spring Break time, with a couple hundred thousand juvenile delinquents flooding every venue on the beach.
Early in the morning, the only evidence of their presence is a pervasive litter of beer cans and junk food wrappers—everywhere, along with enough illegally-parked cars to morph a tow-truck operator into a financial magnate.
But the flock is not up and around yet, and their patronage of McD’s can only be noted in the fact the Muzak has changed from the seniors’ favourites—“dead people singing”—to rap.
The only time it is safe to venture on the highways down here this time of year is between 8 and 11 a.m. on Sunday mornings. The Baptists and the Catholics are still all in church, the “Spring Breakers” haven’t gotten out of bed yet, and the ones spending the night in the crowbar hotel haven’t been bailed out.
So what you have is 80-year-olds driving 20 m.p.h. instead of 20-year-olds driving 80 m.p.h.
But before we close up the condo and stuff the last bag into the van for an early Saturday morning departure, I better put the telephoto lens on the camera and take one last stroll down to the beach.
After all, with the sun shining, a warm breeze blowing, and the cold beer flowing, there should be quite a flock of buff “Spring Breakers” in their best breeding plumage strutting their stuff.
What more could an avid bird-watcher wish for?

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