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Slack tide grant fl12/28/2023 ![]() ![]() You may hear the site referred to as the Blue Heron Bridge, BHB, Peanut Island or Phil Foster Park, but most local divers simply call it The Bridge or Blue Heron. New artificial reefs were introduced along the snorkel line of Blue Heron Bridge in 2016. The two dive sites at Blue Heron Bridge consist of a variety of eco-niches such as sand, shell rubble, sea grass, sailboat mooring lines & anchors, and of course bridge pilings and concrete. There are actually 2 bridges that traverse the small island (Singer Island) located in the inland waterway near the Lake Worth inlet. This is a top dive destination for spotting unusual species – if you have a keen eye. The Blue Heron Bridge in Palm Beach, Florida, is one such biological hotspot. Some of the best scuba diving sites for fish-watching are in the least obvious places. Consult our Scuba Schedules Facebook page or BHB Facebook page for the latest details. Parking at Peanut Island may be closed and there could be a long walk with your scuba gear to the steps. And yet, an epiphany about this impulse was visited upon me the other day during an unlikely event.2023 UPDATE: There is construction on the bridge through the end of 2023. See what I mean about the hatred? Politics, which I barely used to care about, even though I long labored in its journalism vineyards, has turned me into an embittered bile-spewer. I’d even be willing to pay exorbitant alimony so long as she agreed to leave Washington, take full custody of the bratty kids (Matt Gaetz and Lauren Boebert), and relocate to some place that could better accommodate her special needs, like an inpatient psychiatric facility or Florida. It’s about as dumb an idea as you’d expect of a person who believes that Hebraic space lasers cause wildfires, and who warns that the jackbooted “gazpacho” is coming for us. When leading-intellectual MAGA light, Marjorie Taylor Greene, suggested a national divorce, my first impulse was, “Sign me up.” Not that I think America should break up – a horrible, un-American idea, as foolish as it is impractical. I have yelled at my Trumpster parents over family dinners that they were kind enough to prepare for me. I have lost friends from political “debates,” which usually start off as gentlemanly email tussles, then devolve into expletive-filled insult fests. While I consider myself above that fray (I no longer really pick sides – I try to hate all sides, being a hatred purist), I sense that I’ve succumbed to the impulse. Anyone who has their head regularly submerged in the toxic soup that passes for current-events reading/viewing knows that harboring hatred is not only encouraged, but practically demanded of us: pick a morally-superior side, then hate the liars and chiselers who have chosen the opposite one. It’s easy to be full of hatred these days. But rather than judge our little hate collective, I’ll instead cut us a break. I’ve seen how you conduct yourselves in your rage-a-thon octagons, also known as Twitter and Facebook. (Though my parents just use “B.F.” for short.)ĭon’t hate me for hating. As someone who is part Sicilian – my great-grandfather hailed from Corleone – seething resentment is my love language. The hot fires of my hatreds keep me warm in winter and cool in summer. And despite trying to be a good lukewarm Christian, a man who takes semi-seriously Christ’s directive to love your enemies, I must admit that while I’m a friend to most of mankind and all of dog-kind, I sometimes enjoy hating people. I will never again have six-pack abs, as I once did for about two weeks in 1991, during an intense Jazzercise phase. Since I consider it part of my job description to be honest with people – a vocational responsibility that seems to elude a few others - I like to start by telling hard truths to myself: I will never write the Great American Novel, as I have no talent for fiction, even though some of my nonfiction subjects would likely disagree. A young Wendell Berry in his writing cabin. ![]()
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