Saturday, thinking it might be one of our last unmuggy weekends for a while, we headed north to Jupiter Island, where we stopped at Blowing Rocks Preserve – the sun-dappled forest of sea grape trees as impressive as the rocks – and then drove the length of the island. It had echoes of Palm Beach – the multi-million-dollar mansions, most of them invisible behind grandiose entranceways – but there was the occasional modest cottage, a couple with a bright Caribbean look. And the flora, while still very manicured, seemed more a mix of the wild with the decorative.
Back on the mainland we continued north into Stuart. We found the Historic Downtown – most towns north of Jupiter have “historic” downtowns – and took a stroll. The main street was built parallel to the wide St. Lucie River, a long block of restaurants and shops and cafes, locals sitting with their dogs on the outdoor terraces. The Lyric Theater, in the middle of block, was draped with scaffolding, but a schedule noted future appearances of Steven Wright and Rosanne Cash. The Riverwalk Café and Oyster Bar was my ideal of a restaurant, with a bar on one side and white-clothed tables on the other. Though the artwork on the exposed brick walls made me think of the Peter De Vries line: “The murals in restaurants are on a par with the food in museums.” My gumbo wasn’t great, but it was a step up from most museum fare.
