22Bayshore Boulevard

 

Photo by Keir Magoulas

Bayshore Boulevard is a 4.5-mile scenic waterfront road along Hillsborough Bay, known for having the longest continuous sidewalk in the United States.

But to me, it was more than that.

It was part of the landscape of my childhood.

Both of my grandparents lived in Bayshore Beautiful, just west of the Boulevard. My father’s parents — Girl and Papa — lived on Villa Rosa Park Avenue, about four houses from the bay. It was an easy and familiar walk to the water.

My mother’s parents — Mamoo and Pop — lived on Harbor View Boulevard, a parallel street about eight blocks north. It wasn’t as close to the bay, and I don’t remember walking there from their house.

When my mother needed time without children, she would drop us off at our grandparents’ homes.

My sister Caroline and I didn’t usually play together, and we were both happier that way — each of us gravitating toward a different place.

Caroline stayed with Mamoo and Pop. She was agreeable and self-sufficient, and they preferred that.

I stayed with Girl and Papa.

(It was really Fanny who took care of me.)

They were relaxed and easygoing, and I was mostly allowed to do as I pleased. My mother’s parents, by contrast, were more particular, more structured.

At first, being separated from my mother was always a shock — something I had to recover from.

But once I did, I settled in.

Fanny would love me back to life.

She was kind and undemanding, and I felt safe with her. I also loved exploring the house and yard — there were always little places to discover, things to notice, corners that felt like my own.

Bayshore itself held its own kind of magic.

The Colonnade sat right along the Boulevard, and we went there often — a lively, popular spot for fries, burgers, iced tea, or a cold Coke.

At Christmastime, Bayshore transformed.

There was something called Christmas Card Lane — a series of oversized, lighted Christmas cards displayed along the waterfront. I remember sitting in the car for what felt like forever, inching forward in a long line, waiting to see each one.

And it was always worth it.

Each display glowed with color and imagination. I was completely dazzled.

When I was older, another favorite place was the Tampa Yacht and Country Club. It had a large swimming pool, and my cousin Catherine and I would be dropped off there for hours at a time — free and happy in the water.

Next to the Yacht Club was Ballast Point, a place with its own quiet history. Long ago, sailing ships would discard heavy rocks and materials — ballast — before docking in the shallow waters of the bay. Sometimes geodes were among those stones, and they could be found in the mud around the point.

Even the ground held stories.

Looking back, Bayshore was more than a place I visited.

It was a world of contrasts —

structure and freedom,

separation and comfort,

movement and stillness.

A place where I learned:

that even when I was taken away,

I could land somewhere soft.

That love could meet me again

in a different pair of arms.

And that the world was wide—

full of places to wander,

even for a little girl

learning how to let go…

and be held again.