A recently discovered photo taken off Sanibel Island, Florida, in the late 1970s. I am diving off a motor boat to collect a large whelk from the bottom, having just consumed a delicious cheeseburger ("one of the best I've ever had!") at the Old House on Cabbage Key. My friend Sefton grips the railing to steady himself. Note my tan, blonde hair, red bathing costume, and large diving knife with which to fend off sharks. My family wintered on Sanibel for 10 years, staying in a large house off Periwinkle Way. We even spent a few summers there, which is not to be recommended due to heat and humidity. On Sanibel I learned to drive a moped, tease alligators, fish for tarpon and sea trout, hunt for coral snakes, and to stay away from sharks and stingrays. One winter I observed throngs of young people sifting through the seaweed on a remote beach, only to be told they were looking for washed-up marijuana from a drug smuggler's boatwreck just offshore. I have not visited Sanibel since 1985. I suspect like most beloved places of my youth it has changed--and not for the better. I view the prospect of visiting after all these years with a certain trepidation.