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.

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. 
 

Company Is Coming! by Lea Ann Robson

The car is loaded, packed as tight as a hybrid can be.  Laundry is hung to dry (including today’s bathing suit).  Banana/Mango smoothie (product of my prolific yard) is frozen, along with my big water bottle.  Iced coffee is chilling in my big stainless mug. 

'Bamboo wrap' sea glass necklace

The cases in my car are loaded with fresh designs, from palm trees to earrings, to holly clusters, all bright & cheerful & as happy as I was making them over this last week.  The only thing left out is my tools, wire, bells & some glass.  I can never put those away until the last possible minute, always thinking ‘what if there is an emergency & I need to make reindeer…tonight!?’  Don’t laugh.  Could happen. 

Tomorrow morning will start at 5 & not too long after I’ll be at my spot on the seawall in Frederiksted by the pier.  I’ll be building my little house (tent, actually), decorating (filling tables & hanging racks with all my designs), & then I’ll put on a fresh coat of lip gloss, fluff my hair & wait.  I’m waiting for company.  I’m waiting for you.

Aqua long earrings

You got on the boat in Bayonne, or Miami, or San Juan.  You’ve left snow or freezing rain, or just bare trees & days when you can see your breath.  You may have had to scrape your car windshield before you could start the first leg of your trip.  You’ve been at sea for days or weeks or just hours.  You may have been to St. Croix last year or this could be your first trip here.  You’re on vacation, & I’m lucky enough to live where you want to visit. 

Believe me, I know how lucky that is.

If I don’t know that tonight, I’ll definitely know by the time you have to get back on the boat tomorrow.  Because for one day I get to talk to people from all over the country & the world, find out what makes them happy or curious, & share a lot of my island & a little of their vacation. 

I’ll meet honeymooning couples & people celebrating landmark anniversaries, & those will leave my booth with a handmade memento & my admiration of their faith in love & their fortune at finding the one. 

I’ll meet kids slathered in sun block & curious about sea glass & how the waves & surf make this phenomenon.  I’ll meet kindred souls who have been beachcombing as long as I have, & I’ll listen with some envy as they describe beaches full of treasure scattered all over the globe. 

My 'From the C' booth by the cruise ship pier

I’ll recommend the St. George Botanical Garden to all who ask about attractions, because I have so much affection for the place that after renting for 16 years here, I actually bought a little house in the neighborhood (knowing I’d be able to grow stuff there).

And as you board the ship & sail off to your next island or the final port on your journey, I’ll pack my tent, load my hybrid & return to my permanent house to water my orchids & pineapples, to skritch my dog Mu, & to think about the connections made with you on one day of your vacation. 

With luck I’ll have an email or a blog comment from one of you who I met a year or a month ago, one who was hesitant to break the connection or anxious to make the move to paradise.  I hope so!