The Fountain of Youth

true story

My husband, Michael had a business meeting in Delray, Florida. We opted to take a road trip instead of flying. We stayed in Fort Lauderdale since we had points to redeem at the Sonesta there. We had a beautiful view of the beach, but the weather was cloudy and cool. Even though we love to lie on the beach, we could explore Fort Lauderdale instead. We browsed the shops on Las Olas Boulevard, ate at the old Casablanca restaurant and had scoobies at Coconuts, the seafood haunt on the water. If you love crabs, scoobies are essential - they are king crab claws drenched in butter. We drove around taking photos of the mansions lining the canals and the boats docked next to them.

Next stop, Delray where Michael met with his business associates. The focus of the meeting was how to maintain a decent profit margin on products despite them being looted and locked behind glass cabinets in retail outlets throughout the country. I wasn’t part of the meeting, instead I met my close friend, Lynne who moved from Pennsylvania to Delray. I will cherish those couple of hours we spent together on Atlantic Avenue. She is one of my favorite people. In 2023 I lost two of my closest friends. I sure do appreciate those I have left, even if we only communicate through texts. Ugh!

We drove AIA through Pompano, Deerfield, and we tooled around Boca too, but it was Saint Augustine that was on my bucket list. Anytime I mentioned that we were going to visit the oldest city in the nation, people asked if we would stop by the Fountain of Youth? I confess that I don’t remember anything about the Fountain of Youth. Where was I on that one? I was more interested in the religious and other historical aspects of Saint Augustine. I was determined to visit The Basilica of Saint Augustine, the oldest diocese and the Shrine of Our Lady of La Leche.

We approached the Villa hotel I reserved on booking.com. The price was right and the photo of the huge oak tree with Spanish moss centered in the garden attracted me. Guess what? The tree was withered, and the hotel looked more like a dilapidated motel, something Michael said looked like it was straight out of Breaking Bad.

Here was the curve ball after a perfect trip so far. We drove around the historic district where there were tons of tourists. We hoped to find lodgings. It was dinner time, and the city was congested. I felt smothered and wanted to get out of there fast. I remembered reading that St. Augustine beach was nearby, so we decided to cross the Bridge of Lions to find something there.

We sat in the car in The Embassy Suites parking lot where Michael tried his best to get a refund on the dump that was misrepresented. He was on the phone for a long time. He finally was able to get a refund for one of the two nights we had reserved. He just wanted to go home. He was exhausted from driving, but I still wanted to see the Basilica and the Shrine. It got pretty testy and we had a bit of a blowout. At a certain moment I decided that I would relinquish going back into the historic district and start our trek home. As soon as I searched for a Hampton Inn somewhere north, perhaps in North Carolina, the first one that popped up was a few doors away from the Embassy parking lot. That is when we decided to stay for only one night. We could get up early and enjoy the Saint Augustine Beach, the Crescent Beach, and the Lighthouse. Then we could go back across the Bridge of Lions. The oldest city in the nation, glistened in early morning without the throngs of tourists. We found street parking outside the Basilica. It was a diamond day enfolding.

From my personal photos..

Inside the Cathedral, I prayed before the statue of Saint Barbara, the patron saint of lost ships whose feast day is December 4th, my birthday. Saint Monica’s statue caught my eye as well, the mother who never get up on her son, Saint Augustine. I contemplated on the plaque above the Confessional, that read “there is no misery that could be a match for my mercy.”

We stopped in the gift shop where I purchased a rosary even though I have many from my grandmother, my mother, my aunt, my confirmation, the charming one from the seaside church in Brigantine, New Jersey, and the ornate one from Saint Patrick’s Cathedral in New York.

On our way out of Saint Augustine, we stopped at the Shrine of Our Lady of La Leche, America’s oldest Marian Shrine. The Shrine is dedicated to Our Lady of Nursing. As soon as we entered the grounds a sense of serenity fell upon both of us. This certainly was holy ground. The tiny shrine only held a handful of pews. It was simple and pure. There was a couple there with their infant. I stopped to compliment the babe in his mother’s arms. They spoke Spanish but the young woman kept saying, “miracle, miracle,” as she pointed to the Blessed Mother statue and then back to their baby. I felt the joy they had; it was contagious. I took a closer look at the statue and saw that Mary was depicted nursing her baby in her arms, the Savior.

We walked around the grounds of the Shrine nestled next to a pond where we could see the old headstones, the statues of saints, dedicated trees in memory of loved ones, and the seven stone grottos for the seven sorrows of Our Lady. Then the joy I shared with the couple I met earlier dissipated when I saw the angel statue who guarded a tombstone of an unborn life.

It was time to go home. I could have stayed on those grounds all day but we both needed to find a restroom. Guess what? Directly across the street from the Shrine was the Fountain of Youth. We ventured over there to see if we could use the restrooms and happily, we did since they were outside the entrance. Afterwards, we stood outside the ticket office and debated whether we should drink the water - it was very expensive to get in. I suggested that one of us could go in. I was surprised that Michael wasn’t interested in drinking the water, in fact, he said, “why drink it? Look at Ponce DeLeon, he’s dead.” Okay, we knew it wasn’t about immortality, but we had a laugh anyway. Meanwhile, the ticket woman was losing her patience with us as we deliberated. We decided that it was enough that we left some of our own water there and we were in no need of drinking any more. It was amazing that I didn’t drink of the Fountain of Youth because I have often been influenced by magical thinking. But that day I had no need for healing waters. The grace I felt from the Shrine drenched over me instead.

I did some research and there’s a story that the natives living in the Bahamas told Ponce that there were healing waters nearby and he searched for them but to no avail. Historians say there is no evidence that there is a Fountain of Youth, yet it is a thriving attraction to this day.

When we returned home, I went to Sunday Mass, and I asked our parish pastor if he would bless my rosary. I shared with him that I recently purchased it at the Basilica in Saint Augustine. I knew he would appreciate that I went to the oldest diocese in the country. I held the rosary in my two hands as the priest said the blessing prayer. This was a “Kairos” moment. The ancient Greeks had two words for time: “Chronos”, time that is measured by clocks, seasons, and years and “Kairos” time. Kairos time is a moment of critical change. For the Christian it is a moment when the eternal intersects with the temporal. For me I felt the sanctity of the moment when the priest made the sign of the cross after he completed the prayer. Immediately after the blessing, imagine the expression on my face when father looked at me intensely and said, “Did you go to the Fountain of Youth?”

(Reference to the Greek words for time and their meanings: Full of Grace Women and the Abundant Life, What Time Is It? Women of Grace Foundational Study Guide, 2023)

Photo by Anna Hecker on Unsplash