St. Croix Summer

Andrè Millar, a fave orchid 

Summer in St. Croix is a pretty wonderful, lazy thing. I look forward it like teachers must--lists of deferred projects made, edited, lost, recreated & usually forgotten when the flat, clear, signature 'Tiffany blue' of the Caribbean Sea calls. The sea calls to me year-round, but I'm able to answer more often when cruise ship port calls dwindle to one stop every third Sunday. And there's the yin-yang summer bonus cache of sea glass unearthed by tropical storms on their way through our neighborhood. I'm also addicted to seeing my favorite fish--a jr. Puffer type with his perpetually surprised expression & his two young French Angelfish friends. This summer I've never snorkeled alone, having a friendly entourage of very pushy 3"-4" long silver fish with me at all times. They swirl around me as I gather glass, & actually head-butt me sometimes. I call them Mumifish, named for my pup who uses similar tactics to get my attention.
Despite all the time spent 'self-brining,' I am getting some projects done, including a few house face lifts that have had a similar effect on my mood. Regular roof maintenance turned into trim work.  Trim paint (deeeeep midnight purple or 'Grape Ape,' as we've taken to calling it) quickly segued into porch ceiling paint (also 'Tiffany blue) & so on. I've put pics in a 'Projects' album on my personal FaceBook page (add yours to the comments section on this & I'll 'friend' you if you'd like) & new sea glass designs on www.facebook.com/FromtheC.

I finally opened an Etsy storefront at www.etsy.com/de/shop/fromthecstonegems.
I also post lots of pics of the orchids & fruit I grow on FB. Pineapple season in my yard was particularly splendid this year, with 21 beauties quickly dispersed & dispatched by my friends & myself. I even got around to boiling the peels this year to make a delicious unsweetened juice I used to bump up the flavor quotient in banana bread & muffins.  Mixed with light cran juice, the pineapple juice makes a really refreshing drink too.
Speaking of which, I'm about to have a glassful & toast to your lovely, lazy summer, wherever you celebrate it.

Streamlining Your Stuff

I'm reminded daily of George Carlin's old routine on 'stuff.'  He talked about how we're never comfortable unless we have our stuff with us--whether it is placed all around our home or workspace, or packed in smaller versions in our luggage when we travel. The smart phone & tablet were both created in response to this need, & I'm just as codependent on them as most people.
But here I'm talking about a more tangible version.
The best version of stuff is a ziplock sandwich bag with my driver's license, a pack of gum & a ten dollar bill inside. Paired with towel, snorkel, mask & mesh collection bag, it comprises my most streamlined stuff, & is all I take with me to snorkel. I don't take stuff to change into, or swim fins (HATE confined feet, on land or in the sea). I don't take my phone. If you're really my friend, you know I'm in the sea between the hours of 4:45 & 6:30, but that I can be reached in person there or you may leave a voicemail.  Since I don't 'do' my hair or wear makeup other than lipstick, I can be showered, shampooed, dressed & ready for dining out by 6:45.
Stateside stuff involved coats/gloves/umbrellas/hats/shoes/boots/scarves/briefcases/travel mugs/book bags & backpacks.
I love my little Baggie!

Chicken Foot* (*-note)

So somehow I managed to leave the discussion of St. Croix Agrifest 2014 without mentioning my absolute obsession from that event. I am completely fascinated by and totally enamored with...wait for it...the chicken tractor. Yes, I said the chicken tractor.
Perhaps you, like me had never heard of such a thing.  Or even better, perhaps your brain is conjuring up a picture of a rooster driving a John Deere.  But no! A chicken tractor is in fact a system rather than a vehicle.  Every evening as I was leaving the fairgrounds I had to pass the chicken tractor. It was actually an open work mesh pen or enclosure with no floor and roosts built for the chickens.  I would pass this apparatus every evening as darkness was setting in on my way off the fairgrounds. It was home to several of the best looking, fittest, chunkiest chickens I have ever seen.  I marveled at
how plump and soft feathered they appeared when all our local chickens look a little tougher and
more sinewy.
And on the final evening when I slowed down to read the educational sign attached to the chicken tractor, I discovered the reason for their fitness was the design of the gizmo.  It was in fact designed to give them a better life. The fact that it has no floor allows the chicken farmer to move the enclosure from place to place so that the chickens will have fresh green grass, grubs etc. to scratch around in.
Oh, and it was called the chicken tractor because the group of chickens within the coop performed many of the functions of the tractor – aerating the soil, keeping the grass down, and obviously fertilizing the area.

So here's to the chicken tractor, and to the many innovations and ideas that changed hands and heads during this year's Agrifest!

Chicken foot*(*note):  if I wanted to get crazy with the metaphors as I am wont to do, I might say something here about what the chicken tractor means in the big picture. I have two theories about why this thing fascinated me:

1.   Perhaps despite being able to see the larger realm, we're each given our own parcel of life, with boundaries real or imagined. The trick is to make the very best of what we've been allotted, & improve it if we can.  Or conversely…
2.  Perhaps some of us are just waiting for the moment when the coop is lifted and we can make a break for it!

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.