Betsy Devine: Funny ha-ha and/or funny peculiar

Way back in the 1950s, my mom and dad packed 4 kids into a car and drove from NH to Florida. Our route south was studded with stoplights, paneled with billboards.

Eisenhower’s interstate network and Lady Bird’s highway beautification came much later. Credit cards also came later. On the way home, a blizzard stranded us in Dover, Delaware. My grandfather had to wire us money (Western Union) to buy the gas to get us home.

Years later, I still remember the alligator “farm” in St. Augustine–and, lucky me, I got to go there once again with Frank on Saturday.

People had warned us it was now a tourist trap–now, what do you think a “tourist trap” really means?

• The adult entry fee was $15, though we got discounts. Was it a tourist trap? Would it have been a tourist trap if it had been located in South America and we had paid thousands of dollars for airplane tickets, personal tourguides, and an authentically Hemingwayan canvas tent?
• The other people visiting the farm were mostly parents and children oohing and aahing. Was it a tourist trap? Would it have been a tourist trap if we had been the only visitors that day? Would it have been a tourist trap if we had been surrounded by PhDs tut-tutting about global warming?
• Alligators, crocodiles, caimans, and gavials–every species of crocodilian on the planet was peacefully floating, sunbathing, or grunting somewhere on the grounds. Was it a tourist trap? Would it have been a tourist trap if two or three of the global species were missing?

I have to admit, the families who shared our enjoyment were probably not totally postmodern.

Child: Do I smell alligator poop?
Dad: Do I hear someone talking dirty talk?
Another child, from another family: Mom, something stinks.
Mom: We are not going to talk about that.

Past the entrance, the gator smell melted away. And, tourist trap or not, I had a great time.