By 
Twelve years ago, my husband and I decided to spend our winters in Florida. We lived in Rochester, New York and winters were becoming a problem: I had fallen on black ice a few years before and had broken my hip. In addition to receiving a diagnosis of osteoporosis, I had become an ice phobic. My job required trips to nine counties. Driving wasn’t a problem, but walking from the car to the office door in winter made me panic.
Florida was not a destination that neither my husband nor I had considered. My parents had lived on the East Coast and we had found it crowded, devoid of parks and reserves, and lacking educational opportunities. So we decided to visit the West Coast. We started with a condo rental on Marco Island and a visit to some friends who lived in Naples. Marco Island was quickly scrapped (very little beach access if you didn’t live on the beach) and was soon followed by Naples (charming but had a wealthy snobbish attitude that put us off). We drove north on Route 41 to Sarasota, where we quickly discovered St. Armand’s Circle (a shopper’s paradise) and settled in for a three-day stay at a motel on Lido Beach. We liked Sarasota – the new library, a beautiful downtown area, a sense of space, tons of educational opportunities. But something was missing. We visited Lakewood Ranch, which was in its infancy at the time. It seemed a long way from the beaches and a little too uniform for our tastes. We doubt.
One day we went for a ride on the Gulf of Mexico, through Long Boat Key. The view was beautiful, but it was obvious that the beaches weren’t available to anyone without property on the island. This was an exclusive community and not what we were looking for. Then we crossed the bridge and entered a whole new world. Original beach houses lined the street; all colors, all shapes, but none more than three stories high. Little restaurants and shops appeared here and there; people walked the streets in bathing suits and shorts and casual chaos seemed to exist everywhere. Best of all, the island had miles of beaches and hundreds of parking spaces. This was our kind of place.
This place was Anna Maria Island, and within a year, we had bought a house two miles from the island down the road. We could be on the beaches in less than ten minutes, but we could also be in Bradenton and shopping for necessities in ten minutes. Sarasota was a rough ride – 30 minutes when traffic was light and 45 during the best winter months. But who cared? After all, we were retired.
We sold our home in Rochester and hired a contractor to upgrade our little old cabin on Honeoye Lake, one of the smallest Finger Lakes in upstate New York. This would be our summer home. And, big AND, we decided to become Florida residents! Now we were really engaged. What we did not expect or realize were the amazing people we would get to know, the amount of activities and educational options this part of Florida had to offer, and how this combination would conspire to keep us young, even as our years continue to accumulate. .
# # #
By Jean Steiger