Puzzle Prep?

Today's project--FULL of sea glass!

Happy purple bromeliad on a new table

Before Sudoku, before the Rubik's Cube, before Space Invaders, there were these little puzzles with plastic tiles in a plastic frame & they would slide in only 2 directions (evidently diagonal hadn't yet been invented in the late 60's). I don't remember the object but my fingertips have a memory of how the puzzle felt in my hands as I pushed the tiles up, down, left, right. It was really rudimentary.

Who knew I was learning such a useful life skill?  In a small house with a lot of stuff I spend a lot of time trying to create, improve or relocate some mode of storage. 

Today's project was to paint gigantic clay pots bright green & fill them with the sheer tonnage of sea glass I've collected here over the years & have been storing in tarp-covered under-bed chests on my porch. Once full, I covered the pots with sheets of plexiglass & placed some of my many plants on them. They make wonderful side tables & plant stands & they aren't about to blow anywhere in a storm. And now I can get rid of those ugly plastic chests. I used 3 med-lg & one enormous pot today & offloaded the contents of one large & almost 2 medium plastic chests. It worked so well I'll be back at Home Depot tomorrow buying 4 more pots & four more sheets of plexi. I have enough paint. 

I know these numbers will be enough to hold the contents of the remaining 3 chests because in the 70's & 80's I learned another outmoded skill: Algebra. My favorite formula is 'this is to that as that is to 'x'.   When you live in a compact home, you use that one a lot.  

Oh, & the final result of all this puzzling & calculating should be a cleaner looking porch with more usable, non-plant-covered tables. Drinks will have a place to rest, & there will be room to serve dinner for 6.  And when I'm ready to sort sea glass for my next batch of angels, jellyfish, crabs or Jumbies, I'll have a lovely & practical way to do that....and more time to play Scrabble!

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.

Parables in Paradise

I like parables almost as much as I like analogies. And I'm telling you I like analogies like pageant queens like tiaras. But back to parables.
Growing up I frequently heard 'there is a lid for every pot,' & I guess I subscribed to the premise. It is similar to the Hebraic concept of bashert, which states that there is a 'perfect-fitting' someone out there for every one. The reason they fit one & only one person is that we were once fused, subsequently divided, & then left to wander the earth searching for our missing, matching mate. Kind of a cross between match.com & Garanimals, I guess.
My experience was more like Huusker Dü, the old memory game where you remove 2 checkers from a board, revealing symbol pairs & try to remember where the matching pairs were. It was a little more hit or miss than bashert's certainty, & the instructions were in Swedish, not unlike Ikea kit furniture. How's that for an analogy!?
Lately I've grown very attached to a local version of a pot parable (non Marley related); 'Every pot must sit on it's own bottom.'  Though I'm trying not to take that too literally (I get off my bottom & swim a lot), I like to think I've found the balance & independence of mind implied in the island version.
I'm not ruling out a lid...just not squandering a lot of time trying to get one to fit. For now I'm fine as is, on my own (well you know) & letting off a lotta steam!

Happy

So I had an appointment that I expected to be quite somber this afternoon.  Instead I left the spot with a snappy tune in & a ridiculous grin on my oh so round head.
A friend was recently diagnosed with a serious medical problem, one that caused her to lose her voice (temporarily) & those who knew her to gain some worry furrows. After several postponements of our regular standing monthly appointment (while she was off-island for treatment), fear & anxiety were building their walls on the foundation of the unknown.
  Earlier this week I finally received the call setting firm the appointment & by the time I arrived at the designated spot today I was twitchy with uncertainty. After I've known her for 2 decades would she look/sound/feel in some sense different or diminished?
When she opened the door the music fairly bounced out the door. My friend is a diminutive person, even so I've always marveled at how unfailingly perfectly put together she is, with the final detail always a spiky pair of beautiful heels (despite the fact she works on her feet for hours at a stretch.) When the door opened this afternoon I expected flats & probably an outfit more suited to comfort than style.
She wore a perfectly cut red dress, her black apron & a gorgeous pair of strappy leather high heels.  Her voice is back, as is her smile. The only visible change is a narrow clear strip of bandage at the hollow of her neck. After the initial relief, I relaxed & only after 20 or so minutes had passed did I become aware of the song, the soundtrack to this surprise. It was Pharrell Williams' 'Happy,' from 'Despicable Me 2.'
My appointment was at 4:30 this afternoon.
She had been playing 'Happy' on continuous repeat since 9 this morning.
No one complained.

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!

Oh the Wells Fargo Wagon is a-Comin'!!

OK, maybe not the Wells Fargo wagon, but something equally wonderful--the annual St. Croix Orchid Society Show at UVI this weekend.

These beauties won't make it to the show because they're busy decorating my front porch. 

My friend Karen & I have plans to take on the Orchid Show & have lunch at LaReine Chicken Shack. I plan to have worked up an appetite by then because I'm starting my Saturday at the Grow n Learn mini seminar on Agaves at St. George Botanical Garden. If I can manage to get in bed before the wees on Friday night I may even start my Saturday with a really early trip to the LaReine Farmers' Market to see my stalwart vending friend, Joan & pick up some choice produce. 

But the finalé will definitely be the Orchid Show. And here I'll allow more pictures of my crew to show you why I can't wait!

Too Long at the Fair

Sea glass pendant on 'bamboo wrap' band--the big seller at AgriFest this year

(See more at fromthecjewelry.com)

So the St. Croix Agrifest is over for another year. I followed a dump truck full of fair remains up Queen Mary Highway  this morning, & every time he hit the brakes, a balloon would fly out of the bed of his truck & drift away. Late yesterday you could tell things were winding down. Babies & toddlers were cranking & whining. Happily exhausted crowds flowed by with glazed unseeing eyes.

The slamming of legs on folding tables rang from several vendors' booths, & the family members who had set up supportive encampments behind booths bagged their sling chairs & grudgingly left their posts. Most had been there two or even three days of the fair, each covering the 'sales floor' for the vendor at some point while they went off to stretch legs, to buy the local delicacies made specially for this event, or just to see who & what they could in those short breaks.

As we took practiced shortcuts to avoid the inevitable traffic snarls of vendors trying to bring their vehicles onto the grounds to haul away displays, a gorgeous glow arose from behind the plant display building--a lovely sunset to this 43'rd annual event. Sitting in traffic on the short ride home, my mind ran to ideas for new designs for next year's fair. Visions of larger, hoop style earrings, new charm bracelets & anklets slowly paraded by my mind's eye. Despite having created well over 100 new pieces during the 3 days of the fair, I seriously considered unpacking my tools when I got home... & then I lapsed into a sofa-coma & left that for another day.
See you next year!

Before the parade passes by

Greetings from day two of  St. Croix AgriFest 2014!  The day started out rainy and gray but ended up
as colorful as a rainbow, with every possible shade of madras plaid on the many family members that went by.

Quadrille dancers in full regalia--swishing plaid dresses  & matching starched head wraps with white eyelet trim--paraded by one after the other, bound for the stage and a lively performance.  And I survived the second full day of torture, watching patrons go by burdened with bags and boxes full of gorgeous & colorful tropical plants that I would most assuredly have spent every penny I have on, if anyone had been foolish enough to watch my booth.

Just some of what I made in preparation for the fair...see more at  fromthecjewelry.com

Eager culinary students met in the Innovative tent in the morning to compete in a test of culinary skills and knowledge.  And speaking of eager, Stephen O'Day and his famous donkey Eeyore came by, giving happy children rides through the fair.  Those not brave enough to ride walked along, gesturing excitedly.  One little boy just stood stock still, gaped at the furry, friendly beast & squealed.

Even bigger squeals came from adults running into people they hadn't seen for years. Agrifest is always a source for homecoming and a lot of people come to visit their families during this special time of year.  Some people come home for Cruzan Christmas carnival and some people come home for Agrifest... and some people come for one and stay through the other!  There were college students home on break, running into old classmates, schoolchildren running into current or former teachers,  and just a general whole lotta catching up going on.  I must've overheard the question how's mommy? About two dozen times today.

Also eager and enthusiastic were the two impromptu interns that helped me sell today, Naomi and

D'Janee.  They pronounced my work their favorite at the fair and when I commented that their clothes even matched the colors of the booth and that they could be spokes models... they took me seriously.  They pitched to passersby in the street for about 20 minutes before their enthusiasm flagged and they moved on, but I was very happy to have them there. They were bright and sunny and despite their age (probably 11-ish) would be an asset to any company lucky enough to have them.  Thanks girls!

Agrifest-A-Palouza!

It is that time of year again!  This long weekend is Agrifest & St Croix has looked like an anthill all day, with everyone scurrying around corralling their products, plants, piggies, preserves, pickles & in my case. PENDANTS.

See more on www.fromthecjewelry.com 

I've been working like crazy prepping & primping, & I can say without equivocation or reservation I've got an array of some of the most beautiful sea glass pieces I've ever had in one place at one time.

From the C 2013 Agrifest booth

From the C 2014 Agrifest booth

This year I'm in exhibitor booth number 3, almost directly behind the Ag Department offices. I hope you get a chance to stop in, to say hi & let me know how you're enjoying the Fair.

Moko Jumbies at the Fair

On Poseidon & Procrastination

Pendants I make with my sea glass finds (www.fromthecjewelry.com)

Last night’s swim was an afterthought…that morphed into unfettered joy.  More about that in a moment.  First, a note about procrastination, a favorite hobby. 

Turns out I can procrastinate about anything—even things I LOVE to do.  Swimming is the perfect example.  One thing you’re accustomed to stateside that you give up here in the Caribbean is the notion of twilight.  We just don’t have it.  We go from sunset to full darkness in what seems like the flip of a switch. 

After 21 years here, I’m used to that & don’t really miss it…until I’m taking my after-work swim.  If I start for the beach at 4:45 I’ll have a full hour to swim & search for sea glass before I’m plunged into murk & everything I pick up looks like or is a rock.  I live 12 minutes from the beach, door to shore.  Sunset now is at 6:10, & I’ll be able to see my quarry for exactly 6 minutes after that & before everything that brushes my leg as I swim becomes an imaginary eel.  I love all sea creatures, except eels.  They are basically big-mouthed snakes underwater, some with the added fun of being electrified, & who needs that combo? 

I keep my towel, suit, mask/ snorkel & collection bag on a hall tree I painted aqua to go with the other craziness on my porch.  I like to have them all together & ready, like a firefighter’s gear…except I’m going to water, not fire.  I’d always be early to swim, if it weren’t for Sun-dried Tomato flavor Wheat Thins.  I work through lunch & I’m hungry when I get home, hence the allure of the aforementioned.  Crackers lead to water, then to mouthwash & tooth-brushing before I jump in my gear & head west. 

Non-Judgy Mu, Happy I'm staying home

And when I’m running late & my dog looks at me judgmentally for thinking of leaving her again after being at work already, I sometimes lose resolve & end up staying home.  Of course I never know what I missed at the beach, but it is human nature to think that you’ve missed something great by being a slacker & staying home…& I am human despite my gills. 

So last night I answered the Wheat Thins & was about to (literally) throw in the towel on my plans to swim when the beebeebeep of an incoming text sounded & there was a picture of my first boyfriend Chris, standing in a snowdrift in North Carolina.  He had taken a snow day from work & that picture gave me the required shove to get out the door & head West. 

The surf was doing the regular push/pull, but the unusually strong undertow from last week has left the building & Neptune & I are buddies again.  All last week’s churning unearthed some wonderful sea glass, & I pulled in several pounds of good pieces in an hour, in about a 25’ stretch of beach.  There was a lot of ‘live entertainment’ as well, in the form of many huge schools of fish, seemingly organized by grade order.  First I swam in a ‘herd’ of neon-sized (Kindergarten?) sprat & three graduated sized schools later, I was with a bunch big enough to be working on their post-grad studies. 

So thanks, Chris, for the arctic motivation.  Hope you & NC thaw soon & you have an early spring.  That’s the best I can wish for you, while I’m paddling about in the surf & watching the sunset.  Sorry!

Unexpected Treats

My orchids, always a wonderful surprise!

I’ve been vending sea glass ornaments & jewelry by the sea (fromthecjewelry.com) for a few years now, & you’d think it would be more predictable…but it isn’t.  Seems every day & every ship there is something or someone new & different.  Some come with a little warning.  Others… BLAM & there they are. 

A year ago I had some warning in the form of a few emails leading up to a day visit (she & her husband were on a cruise) by one of my dearest childhood friends, Anna.  I was set up & vending that day, but she spent some time with me & we got a chance to catch up.  WONDERFUL, after not having seen her for well over two decades. 

Last week I stepped out of my booth to stretch, glanced across the waterfront park between my booth & the cruise ship pier, & thought ‘WOW, there’s somebody with Anna’s face!’  And then I realized it was Anna! This year she opted to just surprise me & show up, which was almost as much fun as anticipating her arrival. 

Other recent surprises weren’t as personal (& didn’t come off a ship), but pretty wonderful anyway.  Around the Christmas holidays, we had another unexpected visitor here on St. Croix—none other than Martha Stewart.  She had a great visit here & even spent considerable time in a friend’s coffee house (among various other restaurants & attractions).  She wrote several glowing blog postings with loads of photos & we were thrilled to have her here.

But back to the ships.  In the middle of a vending day last week with cruise ship passengers milling all around, I glanced at the coral stone steps leading up to the clock tower in front of my booth...and noticed something unusual.  There were three gentlemen in white suits standing there looking rather twitchy & expectant.  A moment later we knew why.  Here came the bride!  She was lovely, with a gown that appeared to have been designed for her.  The short ceremony was all in Spanish, & there were a handful of attendants & a few more guests. 

Some surprises come in smaller packages.  This little guy is the youngest of the flock of shore birds Ms. Joan, my neighbor vendor refers to as her ‘children.’  She feeds them crushed crackers & they are quite tame.  The adults are much darker in coloring, but the babies are mostly white, like Jr. here. 

Independence Day(S) by Lea Ann Robson

So today we’re in the midst of our second day celebrating independence.  True to our love of excessive holidays here in the islands, we celebrate TWO versions of independence days, one on July 3^rd and the Continental states’ version on July 4^th. 

Granted we’ve been somewhat justifiably accused of ‘padding’ & fabricating holidays, but on the other hand there are a couple Federal holidays that really make little sense here—Columbus day comes to mind.  Hard to dedicate a day of praise to a guy who in effect invaded your shores (we did kind of hand him his lunch though).  Presidents’ Day is another quandary, given that as a Territory we are unable to vote in Presidential elections.  We fix it by using that weekend to throw our annual AgriFest (see earlier posts) & invite people from all the islands & the mainland to see how the ‘island half’ lives it up. 

And we have a couple of holidays that make sense only from our perspective:  Hurricane Supplication Day & Hurricane Thanksgiving.  The first occurs at the beginning of storm season & is celebrated by the sending up of prayers for peace & tropical weather inactivity.  The second falls in November & is dedicated to giving thanks for surviving yet another storm season (Note:  In 1995 after I lost a business to Hurricane Marilyn, I thought I could forgo the second holiday but stood corrected by a local friend who educated me otherwise.  We’re giving thanks for life, not for possessions, so thanks I gave.) 

So, while you might be tempted to think declaring two independence days is a bit over the top & just some extension of the relaxed island attitude, there is an important reason to celebrate both days here on St. Croix.  You know all about the Fourth, so here is the reasoning behind the Third:  July 3^rd represents Emancipation Day on St. Croix.

In 1847 King Christian of Denmark decreed that all Danish West Indian enslaved people would be free within twelve years.  On July 2^nd 1848, the oppressed people on St. Croix decided the twelve year projection was eleven years too long & that drastic measures were necessary.  Led by General Bordeaux (a.k.a. General Buddhoe), they massed in Frederiksted on the West end of St. Croix & threatened to burn the town (especially the government buildings) to the ground if swift freedom was not granted to them.  Danish Governor-General von Scholten did a much quicker risk/reward calculation than modern politicians seem capable of handling, realized the numbers & potential bloodshed, & on July 3^rd, 1848 from the battery of Fort Frederik issued a proclamation that freed the enslaved Danish West Indians.  His decision was unpopular with the island’s plantation managers, & three days later he was forced to resign his post.  He was exiled to Trinidad while a provisional government was put into place & Spanish soldiers were dispatched from Trinidad to prevent further bloodshed & unrest (though termed ‘the Bloodless Rebellion,’ that wasn’t completely accurate).  Despite this attempted rally by the landowners’ version of an ‘old boys’ club,’ there was no going back & freedom, once granted could not be rescinded.

Each year the anniversary of Emancipation Day is commemorated by large groups of islanders who walk the 15.4 MILES from Fort Christavern to Fort Frederik.  They start before dawn but as July is definitely NOT the coolest month in STX & given the advanced age of some of the participants, this is a real sacrifice & fitting tribute to the bravery & strength of their ancestors. 

Here’s to Independence and however you choose to celebrate it.  This year fireworks will return to the pier in Frederiksted, & we’ll be there, once again looking up.

Refuge, Reuse, Recycle

Frangipani, used in Hawaii to make Leis of Welcome

A couple of days ago there was an article in our local paper, the St. Croix Avis, about a group of 20 Cuban refugees who had barely survived the dangerous passage from their island to our island of St. Croix.  As I read the article, I was surprised that anybody would choose this direction & distance as a path of escape.  The youngest refugee was 15 years old. He came with his mother, who was seeking a place where she could speak and live freely. She wanted better for her son.

It is not a new story.  Some of the details surprised me though.

For instance, one of the group was a 31 year old IT guy.  In his case, his father had urged him to go.  And I started thinking about why people make long, risky treks in search of something different.

This group was seeking escape from external conditions over which they had no control.  Others of us had different motivations.

For many of us who had what would typically be considered a stable, if not enviable life in the continental US, close relatives & safe jobs, the reasons aren't that clear to the observer.  Personally I was running to, not away from something.  Instead of a shot at a better life, I was looking to St. Croix as a place to find my better self.  I wanted my life to mean more than traffic & paperwork & taxes & conspicuous consumption, because those were the pivot points it hinged on at the time.  At least once a week I wondered why quiet desperation seemed so damn loud in my head.

It turned out the silencer was to leave dry land completely, floating in the edge of the Caribbean Sea.  A bonus was the fact our soil grows a huge array of plants, & since that is my other mental balm, I found exactly what I sought. 

But back to the real refugees.  They are being temporarily housed in a local High School, & the Red Cross is attending to their basic needs.  Since they made it to land, they will be allowed to stay on our Island & the agents from Customs & Border Protection spent a few days sorting that out with each arrival.  And then they ran out of bureaucracy to occupy their time. 

So on Friday they went to our Botanical Garden.  There they found someone who spoke Spanish and beautiful grounds with no doubt familiar plants.  They got to relax & wander & start to recover from their journey. 

I hope they found the two things long distance travelers usually seek:  refuge & hope. 


Pictures my symbols of hope:  Plantains in Progress (above) & Pomegranates (below)

I Have the Need...for Seed, by Lea Ann Robson

Blooming Pineapple

Every year at this time peoples’ fancies (whatever that means) turn to Spring cleaning, & despite the lack of a temperature variant here in St. Croix, I’m not exempt.  My urge is also propelled by the fact my Mom finally succumbs to my pleas to visit around Mothers’ Day, thus making my usually benevolent view of my piles of stuff a little more critical.

 



Bumper Pineapple Crop!

I frequently joke that I have ADD, as in Artistic Deficit Disorder.  I have a zillion ideas, most of which I start in some format or fashion…& abandon for some other newer, better idea shortly thereafter.  Fortunately or unfortunately (perspective?), I have materials for nearly everything I think of…SOMEWHERE.  So in addition to the piles of half finished projects, there is always the trail of unrelated stuff I had to unearth to find those materials. At 51, I know myself well enough to realize that if I stopped to put away everything I dragged out, I’d lose momentum & never even start the project before grinding to an unsatisfying, overwhelmed halt. The difference between 51 & 21 is that you recognize that trait in yourself & are more forgiving of the resultant piles of ‘potential’ strewn everywhere. 

 

Potential is alternately my absolute favorite & most despised word.  The other day it caused me to decide the strangler fig vines my friends were pulling out of the Botanical Garden & heaping up to discard MUST BE RESCUED from that fate & stuffed in the hatch of my car so I could take them home & MAKE Baskets & trellises, & furniture & EVERYTHING!  (Sorry, the manic phase frequently comes out in all caps…no control over that).  When I got home, despite the fact it was misting rain, I was so enthused about the project I sat right down on my stoop in the rain & started a basket…at least I think it was a basket…like Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I fear I may have switched the plans & been ‘knitting a Brazillian ranch house instead of a sweater.’ 

 

After I spent about 45 minutes & had a respectable start, it was quite dark out & had begun to seriously rain…& I hadn’t eaten in hours.  You can guess the rest.  Five days later I got sick of tripping over the pile of vines & the basket nubbin, & hucked it into a nearby bush so I could continue later…who knows when?

 

The rain continued all day Saturday, a beautiful, tropical, straight down I mean business Spring rain that thrilled my pineapple plants & banana trees, overflowed my rainbarrel & impelled me to run out in the downpour with every container I could grab, catching the gushing cistern overflow & putting it aside to water plants when the dry season comes.  My normally much more sensible dog Mu even decided there must be some reason I stood in streaming water, so she came out & got completely waterlogged watching me.  No doubt she was trying to figure out how to protect me from my feeble-minded self. 

 



Waterlemon Bloom

It was only later that I remembered the seeds I had planted in containers a few nights prior, no doubt getting the hoo-hingus beat out of them & most probably sloshing right out of their pots in the downpours.  I had planted several varieties of dwarf sunflowers, basils & zinnias, 3 heirlooms plus one yellow pear tomato variety, cucumbers, green cantaloupe, & no doubt something else I forgot in several planters & small pots.  It is probably quite telling that all the seed packets denoted the contents were packed for 2012 planting.  Yes, I got distracted last year & didn’t get them in the ground when I should have…no doubt because I started some other project midstream.

 

This morning I noticed several different varieties of seed sprouting in odd clumps, not where I had planted them but instead where they washed to.  I’m still heartened by  the sight of sprouts—the epitome of potential.

 

This weekend I made a pendant light by adding a fringe of gem drops to a boring linen shade cylinder.  I actually finished this project & followed all the way through to getting out my cordless drill & mounting hanging hooks.  The light looks very warm, glowy & inviting as I had hoped. 

 

For those keeping score, that is one project completed for the 278 started this year.   

 

I might up that ratio this week when I (possibly) finish a fun cigar box purse I’m working on.  It is actually the product of some past potential idea, wherein I had embroidered an orchid on an old jeans leg I thought I’d use as a panel in a cloth purse I was going to make.  I found the panel when I was digging for hat patterns (don’t ask!) & decided it was pretty cute.  It also coordinated with the hand-painted plaid I had done on the other side of the box.  So I cut a square of batting from some other abandoned project, used my staple gun & upholstered the 2^nd side of the cigar box.  I have an upcycled denim belt I’ll apply as the strap, & some coordinating vintage fabric to line the interior & after I apply trim around the edges, I may actually have something else finished…maybe.

 

At least no one can say I don’t live up to my potential…more like I hope to live long enough to realize all the potential I’ve started!

 

Happy Spring!    

Darwin & Do-Overs, by Lea Ann Robson

Twenty years ago I hit St. Croix like a trop storm, all full of random energy going every which way.  I had just turned thirty & was coming from a type A job (Claims Rep) in the type A capital of the free world—Maryland/D.C.  I had adapted to that life fairly well despite being, in actuality, about a type G minus. 

 

So when our pipe-dream became (against all odds) a reality & we moved to St. Croix in the US Virgin Islands, I made that landing complete with a shiny resume’ chock full of declarative statements & action verbs, a suitcase full of power suits, & several pairs of very controlling control-top pantyhose.

 

Despite a Liberal Arts degree & multiple, seemingly unrelated majors & minors, I had only worked at one profession since I graduated & so my paper pedigree appeared much more focused & driven than the actual me.  So I hit sort of a paradise catch 22.  I needed a paycheck, so I sought jobs my resume’ said I was suited to (pun intended) & papered all the local insurance agencies with my applications.    

 

I tried to ignore the long, gaping looks & sniggering reactions to my forthright self, my linen-textured resume’ & the aforementioned control-tops.  In twenty-odd offices I was variously ignored, tolerated, placated, blown off, or met with ringing silence comparable to what a kangaroo might encounter upon trying to hail a taxi or order a latte. 

 

So, having been a lifelong fan of Darwin, I took a step back, sized up the preposterousness of my approach, & calculated how best to adapt & survive in this new environment.  At last seeing it through the eyes of those I had approached, I finally laughed at what they found funny—this typing-paper-white woman dressed in ridiculously inappropriate-to-the-heat garb, presenting a piece of paper that might just as well have stated “I have no idea where I am & I won’t last 6 months here, so please give me a job!”  Once I saw it as they did, I lost my nerve & knew I had to have an alternate plan.

 

So I went home & built my loom.

 

Not kidding, that is really what I did. 

 

My loom today, displaying another product of ADD (Artistic Deficit Disorder), My painted Cigar Boxes



How do you get a floor loom in the tropics, you might ask.  You persuade your then-husband a weaving business on a beautiful island can be viable, convincing him that shipping all your belongings through the USPS packed in yarn would keep them safe & secure (which it did—only one broken bowl in 33 boxes).  You cajole him into believing the financial & logistical commitment to shipping 5 huge boxes of unfinished loom parts from Maryland to St. Croix will be a stellar proposition. 

 

Facing the pile of adult-sized tinker toys that would become my loom, I was reminded that I had NO mechanical ability, construction experience, or other aptitude for such a task.  And so, remembering the bemused faces as they read my resume’, I built it anyway. 

 

I sanded all the pieces of hardwood carefully, then applied & wiped off a coat of ½ linseed oil & ½ paint thinner.  With the first coat the wood had the tone of light clover honey, & by the second it glowed a warm amber.  The process made the wood irresistible to my fingers, & twenty years later I still absently drag my hand along the front beam when I pass it in my living room, delighting to the satiny cool feel (& knocking off some of the dust of disuse, without accepting liability for it).

 

Not being a husband, I felt no compulsion to discard instruction sheets & instead poured over them as if they contained the secrets of DNA.  I lined up wooden & metal pieces as they appeared on the written sheet, as if that would cause it to magically self-assemble.  When that failed, I rose above my inabilities like a dyslexic swan-diving into Tolstoy, and after a week of uber-concentration mixed with trial & error, I had a functioning floor loom that would weave cloth 48” (or doubled, with a fold on one side—96”) wide. 

 

Or at least it would have if I hadn’t warped it upside down.  Yup.  I got so excited at my new building skills I forgot all others, namely the steps to dress the loom in preparation for weaving.  I had been repeating these steps hundreds of times since I learned to weave at 12 years old, but this was the first time that the threads ended up bypassing the back beam entirely.  I had painstakingly accomplished all the other steps, including gridding the pattern on graph paper, winding yards of fine yarn so that the threads weren’t tangled together, cranking the length on the back beam, threading each yarn end through each metal eye & the metal reed in the appropriate order, & finally tying the yarn to the rod under the front beam in groups, adjusting & re-adjusting so each thread was held in equal tension to all the others. 

 

But somehow I had threaded under instead of over the back beam.  This meant the tension would be impossible to maintain & therefore all that work would be pointless & I’d have to slice off & discard my beautiful silk threads. 

 

I couldn’t bring myself to do it.  So, I stepped back, studied the problem & tried to adapt. 

 

There was a pile of scrap wood on the porch of our little cottage.  It was the remains of a tiki bar some oil refinery workers (the previous tenants) had built on the back deck.  I found a 2 x 4 the appropriate length, but it had seen better days & was too rough & catchy to get anywhere near the fine silk, even after sanding. 

 

So I got a roll of Cutrite Waxed paper & covered the 2 x 4 as a  faux beam, inserted it under the warp near the beam that should have been under the warp, & happily started stomping pedals & wham-whamming the reed against the rapidly forming new cloth.  It wasn’t perfect or easy, but it worked & that fabric means more to me than any other I’ve made. 

 

These were only my FIRST adaptations to life here in this strange paradise.  I can’t remember or even count most of the rest. 

 

And now, two decades later that same loom stands covered not in threads, but in carved & painted cigar boxes, one of my other projects.  Beautiful lining fabrics are folded & stacked nearby & the finished pieces will be a feature at my Agriculture Fair booth on President’s Day weekend.  I’ve adapted them into purses, jewelry & treasure boxes, & while I make sure they are still recognizable in their origins, I like to think I’ve added charm & function with what I’ve done. 

 



AgriFest 2013 From the C Booth

Ag Fair may be different this year, because we’ve lost so many residents due to our refinery closing, July of 2012.  St. Croix is facing challenges of epic scale, & the joy on our tourists’ faces is sometimes met with lines of concern on those of the residents.  Fortunately, every visitor’s smile is a reminder of what we have here, what we can offer others, and how important it will be for us to choose carefully how we will adapt.  As a part of this community, I hope & believe we will do so by maintaining our numerous treasures, adding charm & improving function.   



The Breakfast Club, by Lea Ann Robson

As a kid I judged the quality of vacation days by the number of wet bathing suits draped over the porch furniture by sundown.  Now I’m 50, & happy to say I judge weekdays that way. 

The sea was a little too riled up to snorkel this morning at dawn, but I wore my mask to try to avoid large rock & coral formations that might prove dangerous when coupled with the surge. Even trying to pick glass out of the shallows before I got in, I was nearly knocked on my fanny.  I took some comfort in the presence of the ‘breakfast club,’ the gang of retired people who gather to bob in the surf & talk politics & current events most mornings.  Some of them move slowly or may need a cane to walk on land, but they take their ritual soak in the sea even when it is rougher than I like.  I suppose they’ve been through hurricanes & rougher things than the surf that gives me pause.

What I do with my Quarry (sea glass pendants)

It was too rough to stay in the shallows next to the rocks, so I swam out a bit, past the coral formations I know by heart.  Today they were shrouded in opaque aqua surf & the only thing I could make out startled me—a large spotted eagle ray.  He had a full length tail unlike a lot of the rays who have had close encounters with boats, & I initially noticed him because he tipped to the right & a ray of bright sunlight hit his white belly. 

 

As I swam back, I was able to grab a couple of pieces of glass before the surf tried to yank them out of my hands.  I realized as I struggled back onto the beach that though my collection bag was lighter than it had been in ages, I’m glad I came to the beach.  I’m ALWAYS glad I come to the beach, no matter what the conditions.

A Tale of Two Turkeys, by Lea Ann Robson

Mu, who is thankful for a nap spot

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, which makes today the infamous Black Friday.  Though I’ve never been much of a ‘joiner,’ I toyed with the idea that getting up at 4am to be in line for the 5am opening of Home Depot might be fun…for a lark.  And then I woke up.

 

Let me preface by saying I LOVE HOME DEPOT.  Oh, & by the way, did I mention how much I care for HOME DEPOT?  In September of 2011, we did join the crowd thronging (whatever that actually means?) in front of the new HD here on St. Croix.  We stood in the sun in the parking lot, listened to the speeches, watched the ribbon-cutting, & got caught up in the excitement.  Excitement, I’m happy to say, that hasn’t yet worn off.  I quip to friends that I’m going to Home Depot…where (as at Tiffany’s, according to Holly Golightly) nothing bad can ever happen to you. 

 

They were kind enough to build the store just over the hill from where I work, enabling me (in the addictive sense of that word) to make an excuse to stop there two or three times a week on my way home.  I might have something on my list to legitimize the trip or more likely not, but I rarely leave without something in hand guaranteed to improve my home, my yard, or my life.  (Did I tell you how I feel about Home Depot?)

 

This morning, the lure to leave my bed at 4am was strong, as they were chumming for me with $2.50 potted poinsettias (limit 12).  Visions of red danced in my head, in window boxes on my porch railing, mounded on my stoop, EVERYWHERE I could fit a plant.  I tried to con friends into going with me to buy their ‘limit 12’ & sell them to me.  I studied the ad & made a list of other things I ‘needed’ to make me seem less silly than if I did what I was really doing— just going for poinsettias. 

 

I had a lovely plan wherein I would get up at 4, arrive at HD at 5, coffee in hand, & then be at the beach by 7 for a swim…all before work.  And then I started watching “Please Don’t Eat the Daisies” last night & when I finished at 2:30am, the plan was history. 

My Herb bed (At the far left & right edges are poinsettias)

 

And then I realized the SHOULD spell was broken…just as it had been the day before when I ignored Thanksgiving ‘peer pressure,’ worked, swam, & ate (Lost Dog Pub) pizza instead.  My one concession came from a thoughtful co-worker who brought me slices of pumpkin & apple pie.  They were wonderful, & still I’m not plagued with the guilt of a fridge full of leftovers, turkey or otherwise.    

 

As for tradition, I held to one for this holiday.  I GAVE THANKS…but then again I do that daily here.  At sunset my friends & I were in the sea watching a gorgeous raspberry-tinged sunset…& we gave thanks.  And for the freedom to think & act as we want, not as we ‘must’ here on this island of misfit toys, I give thanks again & again.