For four amazing years I lived on the waterfront on Allen's Creek. It was absolutely incredible in nearly every respect, except for all the work involved in keeping it up and the threat of hurricanes every summer. The house, the pool, the giant live oaks, the gardens, the dock, and the creek created a little private world where there was always something to do and always something new to notice.
From Land O' Lakes to Allen's Creek
Before moving there, I had been living at another wonderful waterfront place in Land O' Lakes. I had a big pool to cool off in, a large backyard that I had planted with all kinds of edible vegetation, and a growing collection of canoes and kayaks. I went out on the water almost every day, paddling with the dogs and, when we had them, even the cats.
Cindy and I lived there together for a couple of years. After we split, I stayed for another year by myself, and it was still an amazing place. Then I met Carol while we were kayaking. As our relationship grew, it became time to find a larger home together—somewhere between her family and life in Gulfport and my place farther out from the city.
We found it by accident
We had looked at close to twenty houses without finding anything that truly excited us. One day, while driving home from Honeymoon Island with the dogs after a day at the beach, we saw a sign advertising an open house on the waterfront. We turned down Damrosch Circle on a whim.
The open house was clearly over, but the gate was still open. We drove in, knocked, and got no answer. Then we walked around back. The moment we saw the acre of land, the enormous oak trees, the big screened pool, the wild shoreline, and Allen's Creek spread out behind the house, we both knew. We called that night, returned the next day, and made an offer almost immediately.
The creek became my backyard playground
Allen's Creek was tidal water connected to Upper Tampa Bay. From our own backyard I could paddle toward Safety Harbor and out into a much larger world. Long before we built the real dock, I kept the old canoe beside a small temporary dock with an electric motor and charged batteries. I could load the dogs and be exploring within minutes.
No loading boats onto a vehicle. No driving to a launch. No reservations and no planning. The water was simply waiting outside, day or night.
Building our waterfront home
We moved in during 2018. When I retired in November 2019, I immediately went to work. I built a large shed, then began transforming the waterfront. After estimates from several contractors, we built a forty-foot dock. Next came the big deck beneath the oaks, the boat lift, the Hurricane boat, and the many hanging chairs.
An outdoor living room
The dock and deck became far more than structures. They were where we watched sunsets, sat around fires, gathered with friends and family, and simply listened to the water. The large hanging chairs beneath the oaks were among the best seats anywhere.
Some nights the creek reflected the moon and neighborhood lights. Other evenings the entire sky seemed to catch fire. Even after years there, the view never became ordinary.
Florida skies never repeated themselves
One of the gifts of living on the water was having an unobstructed view of Florida's constantly changing weather. Towering summer thunderstorms, soft pastel clouds, fiery sunsets, and moonlit reflections turned the backyard into a different place every evening.
Wildlife everywhere
Much of our section of Allen's Creek remained wild and undeveloped. We watched dolphins and manatees, osprey and bald eagles, ducks, ibises, egrets, herons, roseate spoonbills, and seasonal migrants. Sometimes dolphins and manatees could be seen from the dock at the same time.
A narrow island sat just offshore. I collected discarded dead oak limbs and stood them upright in the sand to make bird perches. My little “dead forest” sometimes held twenty or thirty birds at once.
An acre became an ecosystem
Carol and I planted native trees, vines, shrubs, flowers, edible plants, and pollinator gardens throughout the property. Once you slowed down and looked closely, there was life everywhere—from dolphins and eagles to spiders, fungi, butterflies, and tiny organisms under the leaves.
The pool and the people we loved
The screened swimming pool was another center of daily life. It was a place to cool off, exercise, entertain family, and let visiting grandchildren play for hours. The five-bedroom house always seemed to have room for one more person, one more dog, or one more family gathering.
One bedroom became Carol's pottery workshop, while the dining room became a gallery for her art. Eventually her passion for pottery grew into The Hive in St. Petersburg.
Family made the house feel complete
The property was impressive, but the most meaningful photographs are often the ordinary ones: children playing inside, reading together, sitting at the water, swinging beneath the oaks, or gathering on the porch. Those are the moments that made the house a home.
Firelight on the water
We often gathered around a small fire on the porch, deck, or dock. The combination of warm firelight, dark water, dogs stretched out nearby, and the reflections from across the creek made even an ordinary evening feel like a vacation.
Paradise became a full-time job
I was in paradise because I could paddle whenever I wanted, but gradually I realized that I was spending less time exploring Florida and more time maintaining the property. Eight giant oak trees dropped endless leaves. The pool, dock, deck, old house, gardens, shoreline, and boat all demanded attention. At times it felt like a fifty-hour-a-week job.
Retirement was supposed to give me more time to explore. Instead, much of that time was being consumed by caring for paradise.
The hurricane threat never disappeared
The house sat only about seven and a half feet above sea level. Spring tides sometimes pushed water into the yard. During hurricanes and close calls, I watched the water creep frighteningly close to the house. I had spent years working around hurricanes, deploying storm-surge sensors and surveying high-water marks inside flooded homes. I had seen too much damage to pretend the risk was not real.
We left at exactly the right time
Eventually Carol said the property was becoming more expensive than we wanted. I immediately agreed that it was time to move before a hurricane took everything away. I made the place immaculate before we listed it. On the first day, a buyer offered the full asking price plus $150,000. By the end of the open house, we had six offers, five above asking. The house sold for about twice what we had paid.
The flood risk we feared later became real when hurricanes Helene and Milton struck in 2024 and homes in the neighborhood flooded. I still cannot believe how fortunate our timing was.
For four amazing years, Allen's Creek was one of the most wonderful places I ever called home. I could paddle from the backyard, watch wildlife from the dock, swim in the pool, garden, build things, sit beneath giant oaks, watch the sky, and share it all with family, friends, and dogs. I would never trade those years for anything.
The complete Allen's Creek gallery
Every photograph is clickable and opens the full-size image. Together they preserve the sunsets, projects, wildlife, family visits, fires, boats, dogs, and ordinary moments that made these four years unforgettable.