16/01/2018
Why "Annabel?" Annabell Dearing Smith lived much of her life in Panama City, Florida, where she owned and operated a small bay-side hotel with her husband Steve, and after he passed away, ran the place by herself. Annabel was, as they say, a character. She had long, long hair that she kept braided up in an imposing construction on her head, except in the morning when she brushed it out until it fell below her waist. I was amazed by that hair. After the ritual brushing, she’d pad down the hall, through the dining room, and into the kitchen where she would get a tall coca cola from the fridge, pad back to her room, climb into bed and drink it. Woe to the unfortunate boy-child who spoke to her before she had her morning coca cola!
The hotel she ran was called “The Villa,” a ramshackle three-story behemoth about which there are many stories. My favorite is that it was built shortly after the Civil War by a surviving son of John Brown, whose “body lies a-moldering in the grave.” (Read your Civil War history!)
As a kid, The Villa was my favorite place on earth. And Aunt Annabell was one of my favorite people. She was tough as nails, and she could be stern, but she was one of my best cheerleaders and she taught me things that help me to this day. And she taught me to work. Yes, most of all, she taught me that work was important, and satisfying, and how to do it well. (And to never set the blue plate in front of her. Aunt Annabell don’t eat off’n no blue plate!)
Oh yes, every time we went to The Villa I worked! Out in the vast yard, raking and weeding, but mostly in the kitchen and dining room, I worked directly under a cook named Ruby (or Pearl?) who was mean as a cottonmouth. I tell you what, that woman did not like clumsy little boys underfoot. Doing my best to stay out of her way, I set the big tables, served food, and washed dishes. Then, at last, I’d go out to play and swim and wander along the beach, and if I was very lucky, to go fishing on the “Sea Horse” with Uncle Steve, Cousin Tim, and my Dad.
In the evenings, we would gather out on the long side porch, chatting and swaying on the big swings that hung from the ceiling on chains. I learned how to stand up and pump the chains until I got those swings a’zooming . The kill-sport grown ups would yell at me to stop, “you’re gonna kill yourself,” but I just kept going as high and fast as I could. What a hoot.
In February, 2017, on a visit to the island of Roatan, we became interested in buying a tropical home as an investment, to use it as a vacation rental. Our realtor showed us several possibilities, but the instant I walked into this house, I knew it was the one. Inside, it had wood paneling and hardwood floors just like I remembered from The Villa. And outside, providing an incomparable view of the ocean, a long porch that wrapped completely around the home. And, of course, on that porch, a swing on chains. I was overwhelmed with a sense of déjà-vu.
What could we do?
We bought it.
During the past year, we have been restoring it, preparing it for business and as our family retreat. In her honor and memory, we named our place, Annabel.