Compiled By Forrest Preece
My Summers in Destin
By Marianne Midlo Rochelle
Community Leader & Advocate
Escaping the summer heat, humidity and daily rains of New Orleans in Destin (Florida) felt like living inside a postcard. Our little two-bedroom, one-bathroom cottage rental stood just steps from the whitest sand I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen plenty of beaches. Mornings began with the slap of screen doors and the smell of suntan oil, before most people were concerned with sunscreen! Whole days stretched between the tides. My parents and their closest friends rotated “happy hour duty” as if it were sacred, each arrival marked by a new concoction: spiked watermelon one day, frozen daiquiris the next, laughter wafting like the ocean breeze. The kids roamed like carefree sandpipers, chasing waves, collecting periwinkle shells or sand dollars, and daring each other to do something crazy off the diving board into the pool. I’d like those abs and thighs back now, please! Dinners meant baskets of fried seafood, burgers on the grill, salty fingers, and ice cream to cool down tanned bodies that would make a raisin blush. As twilight colored the sky in pinks and golds, we played cards or games, and my only memory of the TV being on was when Richard Nixon resigned! It wasn’t about luxury—it was that simple feeling of being with the best of friends, being sun-kissed and carefree, and mesmerized by the rhythm of the tide and the sound of familiar voices that made Destin the heart of summer itself.
