Bounty (No Threat of Mutiny), by Lea Ann Robson

My sink, brimful of mangos...again

This morning, like most mornings here in St. Croix, produced much for which I’m thankful.  Regardless of my GPS locale, I’m still an American & so I’ll make a short list (because that’s what we do).  I am thankful for, & in no particular order:

FAMILY, both by birth & by choice.  For my Mom & Dennis in Florida, & my other ‘chosen’ family here on the island (& in Texas for the moment—fill up on turkey & tortillas & get your tuchas home!), I am grateful beyond words…all evidence to the contrary!  I know how lucky I am to be surrounded (near & far) by people who ‘get it,’ & who make every day interesting & goofy & worthy of a little sappy sentiment, so there!  Living this far from the mainland for two decades means I get to ‘choose’ my island family, & I’m fortunate to surround myself with a fascinating group of kindred souls with divergent interests.  We get called down in restaurants for having too much fun, & manage to make mundane tasks like shopping into events simply by going together.  We bob around in the surf & show each other our finds like big kids on a treasure hunt.   IMPORTANT NOTE here:  I’ve been verbally groveling to my much loved real family, my Mom, trying to squeeze a visit out of her.  Maybe if I write it here, she’ll consider it?  (Shameless huckstering acknowledged.)



Mu, pondering her yard

If you’ve met me, you know I also count among my ‘family’ my delightful Tasmanian devil of a dog, Mu.  And you know how grateful I am for how she improves every day of life, as all our mutts do for all of us. 

 

I am thankful for the ridiculous bounty of nature here on the island & more particularly in my yard.  I was filling my watering cans from the overflowing cistern this morning (rain barrel is already brimming) & tromped around the wet grass to check produce progress.  Both little Carambola (starfruit) trees are chock full of waxy fruit in hues from chartreuse to pumpkiny orange.  The one that produces larger fruit also supports a water lemon vine (passion fruit family, small fuzzy fruit that look like lemons wearing scalloped green ‘hats’ (sepals or calyx?).  The pineapple plants are growing by leaps & bounds & the ones in the ‘nursery’ (potted, but not in the ground) are begging to be planted.  Four big bunches of various types of bananas & plantains are hanging, fat & happy & growing by the day.  And the Julie mango tree has a stray, off-season mango hanging there ripening (& no doubt beaconing stray horses that will hang over my fence & try to ‘prig’it, ie. grab & run). 

But the surprise of the morning was cherries!  I have been busy making jewelry & ornaments & obviously wasn’t paying attention to the giant Surinam Cherry bush below my porch.  I vaguely remember smelling some sweet something on the breeze one night when I was watering the orchids, but the source didn’t register at the time.  So there they were this morning, looking like little squishy red pumpkins.  One fell off in my hand as I was inspecting it, which is the test for ripeness.  If you have to tug to get the fruit free, it isn’t ready & for the most part isn’t edible.  Like a lot of tropical fruit, Surinam cherry has an acrid taste that only dissipates when the sugars overwhelm it, ie. when it is almost overripe.  The cherry bush is taller than I am & willowy, with an appearance a lot like what we called Bridal Wreath bush back in Maryland & West Virginia.  The white bloom isn’t as showy as Bridal Wreath, but the cherries are stunners.  The first one lived up to its promise, too, dissolving on my tongue with that unique flavor somewhere between that of a cherry & a cherry tomato.  Bliss!

After checking all the fruit, I looked at the ornamentals.  Three different white orchids with magenta throats are blooming in the frangipani & sugar apple trees.  Each presents a long spray with parallel rows of big blooms, like a white-gloved sommelier offering a great vintage.  It is even more wonderful when you realize these plants were ‘goners,’ & would surely have croaked if my friend hadn’t advised me to tie them in trees.  He says when an orchid is showing signs of stress it is time to give it what it really wants, which is to live in a tree.  (Wonder if that would work with people?)

And the last oomph from the yard as I got in my car & headed for my other job was that in addition to their usual prolific periwinkle trumpets of bloom, the other variety of Thunbergia against my kitchen door was in full glory.  Three enormous white flowers against the steroid-looking (all natural though, as I don’t water or fertilize those plants at all) giant dark green leaves on the vines.  Obviously those plants are as happy & well-suited to where they are planted as I am, & for that I remain, truly thankful.    

When Dawn Dawned on Me, by Lea Ann Robson

 

My Mu, who feels about mornings as I do!

My Dad loved to fish.  He had a 15’ army-green Sears Bass boat that I grew to hate long before it capsized in a Kentucky TVA lake & nearly killed him.  It was ugly, & drab, & parked on a trailer in our yard, but I didn’t merely hate its appearance.  I despised its sense of timing.  For some ridiculous reason, it always had to be taken out between 3:30 & 4 AM.  The excuse was that fish preferred this time of day to get caught.  I tried to wrap my head around this logic & as a seven year old, decided they must get hooked while they were yawning. 

 

I’ve always been abominable as a morning person & my parents eventually gave up on changing that, wrapped me in an afghan & bundled me into the back seat of the car on those mornings.   I would wake an hour later to the crinking sound of the winch lowering the boat off the trailer & slipping it into the flat & quiet water.  I had a white Zebco rod with a zebra striped reel, & they spent the day baited & dismissed, resting against the side of the boat.  I was wedged crosswise in the center of the boat, reading Trixie Belden books & ignoring my Dad’s pleas to cast my line at least once. 

 

So I had a pretty strongly-held belief that early rising was a waste of time, & I clung to that even tighter when I realized I had been duped.  Fish are awake all day. Snorkeling in the Caribbean, I have encountered endless schools of all manner of fish…at all times of day.  If my Dad were still alive, he’d tell me that was because I wasn’t fishing & they didn’t feel threatened.  He’d be making my argument for me.  I never had the stomach for fishing, not even for catch & release.  Ironically my Dad was a latent pacifist.  He even collected & refurbished antique guns, only to use them for target practice.  So somewhere, deep within his evolved older self, I think he’d understand (if not agree with) my hesitancy to put a hook in something I enjoy swimming with. 

 

He’d probably only concede this point if I give him the following ‘told you so’ opportunity:  Now I get up at 5am so I can be on the beach at dawn. 5am gives my pup time to roam the yard, & me time to do some yoga stretches & brew a big stainless cup of freshly ground Peet’s to take along.  Mu (my pup) won’t go with me because she hates the beach despite having been born on an island.  Go figure.  Maybe she hates 5 am? 

 

I even enjoy the twelve minute drive from my house to the water.  People are taking their plaid-uniformed kids to school, & I pass a very efficient, white-gloved veteran crossing guard on my trek.  If I’m early enough, I pass my favorite local farmer too.  Grantley has a small Jeep with a tow-behind trailer, & obvious pride in his life’s work.  He has the best-tended garden I’ve seen since my Grandfather’s in West Virginia.  His permanent produce stand is right by Queen Mary Highway (main drag) & he waves when he catches my eye.  Years ago we vended side-by-side, & his wife makes the best carrot cake imaginable—very dangerous to be next to all day!  I usually see him in one of three stances—riding his little red tractor, roasting ears of corn over a small coal pot, or showing an interested teen some facet of agriculture they won’t find in a textbook…and making it acceptable to be up at 5am. And then there’s the sunrise over the sea…

Joy in a Rainy Night, by Lea Ann Robson

My 'office' booth by the ship pier in Frederiksted

So the ‘Adventure’ has sailed away & the weather was merciful & didn’t settle into this torrential rain until it was well out of view.  Merciful to the visitors, because we wanted a bright & sunny day for these refugees from ice & snow, & we got our wish.  As for us, we don’t mind the rain.  99% of our houses are built on a cistern as the foundation, & we collect water from our roofs & contain it below for our daily use.  We shower & wash in rainwater, & though some of us have connections to the ‘city water’ system, we’d all rather use our cistern water first, before having to pay through the nose for pumped or trucked water. 

So it is pouring & loud (most of us have a roof of tin or galvanized), & the temperature has dipped to a chilly 78.  Sounds crazy I know, but 78 & rainy feels deliciously cold when you’re used to the sometimes sultry daytime island temps.  The dip made me crave & eat hot soup for dinner, & I’ll go to bed early & actually have more than my usual sheet on the bed.  My akc (all kinds Crucian—put together from all manner of spare dog parts) dog is grateful for her thick fur right about now.  She’ll wait until I’m snoring & sneak in the bed to burrow next to me tonight.  I guarantee it.