The Pelican Inn at Dog Island

Finding a Peaceful Oasis on The Pelican Inn Porch

I’m not sure how to describe the Pelican Inn. I loved it because I grew up in beach houses and don’t mind rustic. But I can see why they don’t get many visitors. It’s a bit like staying at the Bates Motel, only without Norman and his “mommy”. It is obviously in need of a man’s touch when it comes to maintenance. It needs some major cosmetic work and a complete scrubbing. I’ll skip over this part for now, but I’ll have plenty to say on the subject later. I’ll say this now: if you’re going to charge resort prices, you should have a functioning hot water spigot in the bathtub, and kitchen cabinets that have cabinets that open and close well. In other words, don’t charge Hyatt prices and provide (sparse) Goodwill furnishings.

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I walked straight through the unit, deciding to deal with interior matters later. It was the gulf experience I’ve come for, and on that, the Pelican Inn delivers. From there, the view expands. The four steps down to the large deck affords a panoramic view of the deserted stretch of beach that holds the Gulf of Mexico back as Dog Island does the job of all barrier reef islands: protect the mainland. The deck is generous enough to easily accommodate two porch swings, a table and chairs and a couple of chaise lounges. To the left, a series of different deck levels leads to a gazebo, to the right is the outdoor shower and hose and steps that lead down to the beach.

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The water sparkled like lights on bits of broken glass, diamonds that glittered in moving schools on the water as currents continue their motion below and moving clouds change the colors of the water from green to blue to navy black. The quiet is broken only by the waves and a passing seabird.

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This swing is too old for an old gal like me, I think. I look an uncoordinated hippo sitting down and getting up, but once I’m settled in, oh, it is a seat made for me. “This is how it is for tall people,” I think, “when their bended knees are well clear of the seat.” The swing is quiet, no squeaky chain and this rope, at least, does not creak. I push myself, flat-footed, and the swing glides, forward, then backward. My lower back so appreciates the difference in angle. “I should have my husband cut all the chairs down when we get home,” I think. Well, not the ones he sits in, of course, and I must leave some for company, but a few, just for me, and others who are short and struggle, sometimes knowingly, sometimes not, against the norm.

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We have the Pelican Inn to ourselves, our deserted and desolate sandcastle by the sea. There are no other guests and the owner is out of town. We are surprised by the level of trust.

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In our next post, we’ll take to the beach!

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