My Favorite Memory of St. Andrews
Before It Was a Destination
Today, I’m very fortunate to be living the waterfront lifestyle that St. Andrews aspires to provide.
I live on the seventh floor of a beautiful condo overlooking St. Andrews Bay and the marina. From my balconies, I can watch wildlife move through the water, see the sun rise and set, and feel connected to the rhythm of the bay every day. I can walk to restaurants, music venues, museums, and local shops. It’s the kind of life people dream about—and I know how lucky I am to be living it.
And yet, as good as this life is, these aren’t my favorite memories of St. Andrews.
Tastee Freez on Beck Avenue in St. Andrews, Flordia.
My favorite memories go back decades—back to the early 1970s—when St. Andrews wasn’t a destination, a district, or a brand. It was simply a place you went on a slow, leisurely afternoon drive. My sister and I would be riding in the back of our family pickup truck while my parents sat up front, enjoying a little quiet time together. The wind blew through our hair, the sun was always shining, and we watched the streets pass by like a moving picture show.
We would stop at the marina to watch the Davis fishing fleet come in. Boats would tie up with stringers of fish hanging high, and we’d watch as the fish were tossed onto the dock for the fishermen to claim. From there, it was usually off to Tastee Freez for a soft-serve cone—non-negotiable. Most of those afternoons also included visits to both sets of grandparents’ houses, one in St. Andrews and one in the Cove. At the time, it all felt routine. Ordinary. Something you assumed would always be there.
Only later did I understand how extraordinary it was.
Now, when I think back on those days, I realize how much I took for granted—not just the place, but the people. I would give just about anything for one more afternoon like that. One more ride in the back of that truck. One more visit. One more chance to ask the questions I never thought to ask. I know parts of their stories, of course—but so much went unasked and unsaid. How they lived. What they dreamed about. How they ended up here. I’m left with fragments, memories, and a lot of wondering.
That longing is one of the reasons Stories of St. Andrews exists.
The life we’re living today will someday be someone else’s history. And I don’t want those stories to disappear the way so many others have—lost because no one thought to write them down, record them, or ask the questions while they still could. This project is an attempt to ground St. Andrews in what it is today, understand how it became what it is, and—most importantly—tell the stories of the people and places that give it life right now.
Because someday, someone will want to know.
