Island Idylls, Being Thankful

Island Idylls: Stories of growing up in the Virgin Islands.

Adventure Under the Mosquito Net

For as long as I could remember I had either slept in the same room with my sister, or in the same bed.

Me at about the time of the incident.

When I was six, my sister, Erva, went BY HERSELF for TWO WEEKS to the Girl Scout camp in Puerto Rico. I went years later, a lovely spot up in the rain forests near El Yunque, one of the highest mountains in PR.

It was the first time in my long life of 6 or so years, that I had ever slept by myself. There I was, a small little thing, lost in that big double bed under that big mosquito net.


Lucky for me my parent's room was just a few feet away. They wisely left their door open so the light from their room cast a comforting glow over the bed and I didn't feel so alone.

I don't think I made a fuss about going to bed, that wasn't like me. And I didn't have any nightmares. In fact I think I rather liked being an only child, having Mom all to myself.

Everything was going alone just fine.

(Can you sense something about to change? Can you sense an adventure?)

I had settled into bed and Mom had pulled down the mosquito net to tuck it in when I let out a screech. Now Mom didn't call me one of God's Screechers for nothing. I had a piercing scream that could carry for miles, bouncing off hills and traveling across the water three miles to St. Thomas.

There, inside the net with me was a... land crab. They are not small, and with claws extended can easily reach a foot or more across.

Dad rescued the poor disoriented thing and set it free outside, while Mom calmed me down. How it got inside the mosquito net remains a mystery to this day.

Land crabs mostly live in mangrove swamps in holes they dig down to water level. This way they can keep their gills wet. However, they do wander around top-side, particularly at night. They are good to eat. In the old days people would catch them, put them in a 55 gallon drum and feed them coconut meat and corn meal. It cleaned out their swampy innards and made the meat sweet, sweet.

***

Being Thankful

Today I'm thankful for the little bit of rain we've gotten.

***

What are you thankful for?  What's the strangest animal/insect surprise you've discovered in your home?

Island Idylls: Yeknod and Being Thankful

Island Idylls: Stories of growing up in the Virgin Islands.

Last month I wrote about the Irascible Erasmus, a donkey with a mind of his own.

This month I'd like to introduce you Yeknod.

We had her while we lived at and ran our guest house at Lille Maho on St. John. I was in my teens. I thought of her as mine and named her Yeknod, which you may have noticed is donkey spelled backwards. In temperament, she was the opposite of Erasmus.

Yeknod was docile and friendly. See how she's looking at the person taking this picture? She was more like a dog than donkey. She brayed a greeting to the first person she saw each morning. She nuzzled and pushed her head against your hands and body looking to be scratched between the ears or searching for a treat. More than once she followed me into the house when I went to fill her water bucket or get her favorite snack of grapefruit rinds.

I had a western pony saddle which I used for long rides, but mostly I rode her bareback, often without a halter and reins, just her tether rope wrapped around her neck. Unlike Erasmus, Yeknod was born to be ridden and seemed to know when I was going to take her out.

I’d wind her tether rope around her neck, (which she didn't chew through) sling my saddle bags across her shoulders, hop up, and off we’d go.

How, you may ask, do you ride a donkey without reins and bridle? All I did was tap her neck on the left and she’d go right, tap her on the right and she’d go left. Yeknod was also unique in that she could single foot, which was wonderfully smooth. To get her up to speed I’d tickle her between her shoulder blades. She had to work her way into it. The run would start out in that stiff-legged, spine jarring trot donkeys have, but with a little more tickling she'd pick up speed and then it was smooth sailing.

There were a couple of long flat places where I liked to get her to run; the stretch of road by Big Maho and the stretch by Cinnamon Bay. It seemed to me she knew what I wanted because she’d pick up her pace when we reached those places as if anticipating my fingers between her shoulder blades.

She was such an easy ride that I often rode with one leg hanging down, the other with knee bent resting across her shoulders in a kind of modified side saddle. I could switch legs and ride either side. She didn’t care.

Yeknod and I wandered all over St. John. Sometimes we only went out for a few hours. Sometimes we made a whole day of it (which is when I'd saddle her up). We’d go along the roads (most of which weren't yet paved) or explore the old foot trails. Usually on the way home we’d stop at Cinnamon Bay (the National Park Camp Ground), where I’d buy a ginger beer and take a dip in the ocean. I’d unwind her tether rope and tie her up in the shade somewhere. The people who ran the campground knew me and would loan me a bucket so I could give her water. She always attracted tourists and enjoyed their attentions. Occasionally I'd give kids short rides.

Maho flower. They are a
member of the Mallow
family.

Maho tree

Only once did she behave out of character. I should have known she didn’t want to be ridden when she acted skittish. Foolish me, I tried to ride her anyway. She took off with me down the hill to the beach and headed towards a maho tree with low branches. I realized immediately she intended to scrape me off her back, but I didn’t have time to fling my arms around her neck, nor I could roll off her back as there were some rocks in the way. I only had time to stretch myself across her back, legs wrapped around her neck. As it was the branch she went under was so low it scraped the bottom of my chin. As soon as we were out from under the tree and free of rocks I rolled off her back onto the sand. She trotted back up the hill toward the house and brayed at me like she was laughing or heckling me.

Not long after that incident, Yeknod died of colic and was buried at sea. I cried at her loss, feeling I had somehow failed her. I loved that donkey, and I like to think she loved me.

I still miss her.

***

Being Thankful

Today I'm thankful for... coloring books. 

Long before adult coloring books became all the rage I was given this book (published in 1979) with beautiful illustrations by Michael Green who, for me, captured the characters and essence of Middle Earth like no other.

Here are some of the pages I colored.

Arwen

 

 Bilbo

 Frodo

Gandolf

 

 And here are some (not all) of my coloring books.

 I don't color as often as I'd like to, but this is my most recent attempt (not quite finished) from the Art Nouveau book.

What are you thankful for? Do you like to color? Ever ridden a donkey?

Erasmus

Island Idylls: Stories of growing up in the Virgin Islands.






Erasmus.

And I'm not talking about the Dutch philosopher (1466 - 1536.)









No, I'm talking about this guy.

I have always had a deep fondness for donkeys. 

At different times during the years we lived on St. John, we owned two donkeys.

Erasmus was the first.

He was large for a donkey standing at the shoulder a good 13 to 14 hands. A male who had been gelded late in life, he retained fond memories of the ladies. At least once he took off running after a female while my sister and I were riding him. There I was on the “rumble” seat, arms wrapped around Erva's waist, hanging on for dear life.

We acquired Erasmus when I was about 6 ½ or 7 years old. Sometimes Erva and I rode him to school, a three mile journey into Cruz Bay that started somewhere around 6:30 or 7 in morning. We’d tie him up under the old tamarind tree across the street from the school and at 3 PM ride him back home.

Erasmus had a few distinct quirks. We learned early on he would chew through his tether rope and go wandering off in search of his favorite snack, a parasitic leafless vine called yellow love.

Yellow love kills what it grows on.

We soon changed the rope to a chain and often wondered what he experienced the first time he tried to chew through it.

Another quirk was what he did when we tried to mount him. He would stand patiently while he was being saddled, the epitome of good behavior. But once one of us went to put foot into stirrup he would kick his left rear leg forward, acting for all the world as if he wanted to get his own hoof into the stirrup and climb up onto his own back. We had to time getting a foot into the stirrup and swinging up onto his back between kicks. Once in the saddle he was generally well behaved.

Except when it was time for me to take my first solo ride.

On this particular day he stood patiently as Mom saddled him. I timed getting my foot into the stirrup, and voila! I was up on in the saddle. The intent was for me to ride around our large yard with Mom and Erva near at hand. But Erasmus had other plans.

Maybe he sensed I was a bit afraid. Maybe he thought, “Ha! Novice rider, I’ll teach her a lesson she won’t soon forget.” Maybe he had an itch on his back. Or maybe he was in a bad mood. Whatever was going on in his donkey mind, it soon became apparent he didn’t want to be ridden. He pulled hard against the reins, dropping his head towards the ground. Mom and Erva were both yelling at me to pull up on the reins. But I couldn’t keep his head up. I wasn't strong enough. He dropped to his front knees. I’m screaming. “He’s gonna roll!”

Mom, calm as anything says, “Just step off when he gets to the ground.” Which somehow I managed to do. And there was Erasmus rolling in the dirt, kicking his legs heavenward like a dog, until the saddle was hanging down around his belly.

When he was through he was easily caught and stood patiently while he was unsaddle, acting for all the world as if nothing had happened. And I learned I could easily step off a donkey should it decide to roll.

***

Being Thankful

Today I'm thankful that the cold weather is letting up. I'm not fond of 16 degree mornings.

***

What are you thankful for? Have you ever ridden a donkey or spent any time around one? Are you a cold weather person or could you do without it?

Of Bicycles and Carriage Bells

Island Idylls: Stories of growing up in the Virgin Islands.

Tomorrow is my birthday so I thought I'd share a story about a birthday present I got when I was about 9 years old.

***

My sister, Erva, had gotten a brand new Reighley bicycle for her birthday or Christmas so of course I wanted one. On the morning of my birthday my father presented me with a bike he proudly declared he had built from the wrecks of three other bikes. It was clean and painted and looked like new. It even had a basket, which Erva's didn't, and handlebar breaks. But I was terribly disappointed, it wasn't NEW, as in bought at a store. Of course now I realize that bike was very special, my father had taken a great deal of time to MAKE it for me. How precious is that?

Anyway... at that time on St. John, 1959, bicycles had to be inspected and licensed at the police station. Once inspection was passed and a small fee paid, you got a real metal license plate (small) that hung off the back of the seat or was attached to a bracket on the rear fender.

source:
http://www.mtfca.com/discus/messages/118802/128544.html

Dad decided I needed to be responsible for getting it licensed, even though I have a vague recollection of Mom thinking I might not be old enough to handle this important task. He won, and off I went, riding my bike to the police station, which was just a few blocks away from our Mobil gas station/garage in Cruz Bay.

One of requirements - besides good breaks - for passing inspection was that there had to be a bell to warn people to get out of the way or to let vehicles know you were in their near proximity. Dad, being Dad, decided to attach a model T-Ford carriage bell in my basket. I could easily reach over the handlebars press down the plunger and a loud BING-BONG could clearly be heard, even above the noise of a Jeep!

When I got to the police station and proudly presented my bike for inspection, Captain Jergens, a tall slender black man with class and dignity, said, "Dis bell ain't de right kind. It mus' be a bell on the handlebar, one you push wid your tumb."

My bike had failed inspection. I was devastated and rode back to garage in tears. When I explained what had happen Dad became indignant. We loaded me and my bike in the jeep and drove to the police station where Dad explained to Captain Jergens that he wanted his daughter's bell to be heard. A weak bbrring-bbrring was not not his idea of a bell, "But this," he said, pressing down the plunger, BING-BONG, "will be let people know she's there."

Inspection was approved, I got my license, and me and my bike rode happily around Cruz Bay.

BING-BONG

***
Being Thankful
Today I'm thankful that I've had another year on this wonderful planet. 
Here's to being hopeful that I'll have another one!
***

What are you thankful for? Did you ever have a parent make you a present for Christmas or your birthday? How old were you when you learned to ride a bike? Have you ever heard of licensing bicycles?

Island Idylls, Question of the Month, Being Thankful

Island Idylls: Stories of growing up in the U. S. Virgin Islands. This is a repost of a blog from several years ago.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “One of the illusions of life is that the present hour is not the critical, decisive hour. Write it in your heart that every day is the best day of your life.” That quote is suspiciously similar to; “Today is the first day of the rest of your life.”

New Year’s resolutions are fine, but I/we should be looking at each day as a new beginning. Each day is the beginning of a New Week or New Month. Anyway, time is illusory and doesn't really exist. It's all in our minds. But I am, like everyone else, a victim of it.

Can you tell? I’ve never been a big New Years person. I think it all goes back to a New Years party my family went to when I was nine, in 1960. This picture shows my mother on the left with her good friend Nora. My sister, Erva,  is smiling big in the back-ground wearing the lei. She was 13 soon to be 14, as tall as any adult. The picture was taken right at mid-night. Everyone is happy and smiling and toasting and kissing and…where am I?

I remember being excited, wanting to help ring in the New Year. It was a big deal. 1960, turn of a decade. Everything, I thought, would be new and different once January 1st showed its face. I think it was the first time I became aware of the change of the year and what that “meant.”

I hung on as long as I could. Probably sometime between 9 and 10 pm I got sleepy. Certainly I was not used to staying up much past 8:30 or 9 o’clock. I was taken to a bed-room and remember specifically telling my sister and my mother to, “Wake me up at mid-night.”

Of course it didn’t happen. By the time mid-night rolled around the party was in full swing. The adults had been drinking and dancing, laughing and talking and Bish was forgotten. I don’t remember getting home. But I do remember the next day I was terribly disappointed that I’d missed The Big Event.

It was supposed to be a new day, a new year. But the business of being a family and doing chores, of eating and washing dishes, making the beds and sweeping the floor, were going on just like they had the day before and the day before that. Nothing had changed.

So what, I wondered, was “new” about it? I came to this resounding conclusion. Nothing. It’s just another day.

Because of that observation I’ve never gotten excited about New Years. Except for 2000. Just how often does a person get to ring in not only a new century but a new millennia? Well, not often. And I had a good time with my husband and friends. We fired off fire-works and scared the donkeys, but that’s a whole nuther story.

I didn’t stay upset with Mom or my sister for not waking me up. And I remember that dress Mom wore. It was white with gold-thread accents. It was probably silk, looked kind of like a sari. I thought she was beautiful. She was and will always be.

Happy New Year.

***

I decided to join this monthly bloghop because answering thoughtful/challenging questions is one way to expand one's mind. Hosted by Michael D'Agostino at A Life Examined ,  the question this month is: 

What are some New Year's resolutions you've had in the past? 

Well, as you might have gathered from the above story, I don't do New Year's resolutions. Why wait for the end of one year and the beginning of another to set them? Why not make them as and when you need them? Today, this moment, is all any of us has anyway. So don't wait for that special moment, because it will never come unless you make it so.

***

Being Thankful

Today I'm thankful for shelter. 
Lest we forget or pretend not to notice, there are people all over the world who have none.

Cleaveland

San Francisco

The Great Depression

Los Angeles

Syrian refugees

***

What are you thankful for? Are you a New Year's resolution maker or do you work on goals year round? Got a favorite New Year's Memory?

Island Idylls, Question of the Month, Being Thankful

Island Idylls: Or, stories of growing up in the U. S. Virgin Islands.

***
A Fishy Handshake 

I'd say by the time I was six I was fishing off the rocks with a hand line, smashing whelks for bait. But it wasn't until about age eight that I learned to fish with a rod and reel. That's when we got our little boat, the F. D. O., which stood for Father's Day Off.

In 1958, Dad was working as head of maintenance at Caneel Bay, Laurance Rockefeller's  private resort hotel. One of the benefits of working there was that housing was provided for the staff. We lived in a tiny house we called the Bee Hive, with the best view on the place. At least that's what Adlai Stevenson told my mother when he and his wife happened to wander through our yard.

Because the F. D. O. was small, neat, and clean, we were allowed to keep her pulled up on the main beach. She fit under a large Sea Grape tree where we could keep her tied up and out of the way and.


Picture, in your mind, the Caneel Bay of the 1950s. There was a concrete pier where guests and their luggage were loaded and unloaded from the resorts private ferry. The pier turned into a concrete walk-way which led right into the lobby. To the right of the lobby was a comfortable airy lounge with couches, chairs, and tables. To the left was the main dining room. Realize that all of this is open air, basically a roof, supported by pillars covering tile a floor. (All tastefully elegant) Just fifteen or twenty feet away from the lobby and dining room is the beach where guests can swim and sunbathe. No matter the time of day one could see guests walking around in anything from silk, linen, and mink to swim-suits and sandy bare feet.

So there we were. I had just gone on my first solo fishing trip. Just me and Dad. We had each caught a fish, but mine was bigger.  He got a Blue Runner and I got a Bonito. While Dad got ready to transport the motor, gas can, fishing gear, and boat cushions, I had the fish, one in each hand, and carried them by their tails through the lobby to the parking lot where the jeep was parked. There I was to unload the fish and return to help Dad carry cushions and fishing gear.

As I passed by the reception and check-in desk a large man stopped me and introduced himself as Allston Boyer. He asked me about the fish. I explained I'd been out fishing with my father and that I'd caught the big one. He asked me several other questions before saying, "There's someone I'd like you to meet." He disappeared into a room and returned moments later with a tall handsome man.

"This is John Denham's daughter, Bish, " he said to the tall handsome man. "Bish, I'd like you to meet Laurance Rockefeller." Having been taught to be polite, I slapped the fish in my right hand into my left and stuck it out. Mr. Rockefeller, having been taught to be polite, shook my fishy hand.

It was just about then that Dad walked up. Further pleasantries were exchanged, employer to employee and vise versa. Then we went our separate ways.

At eight years old I didn't realize I'd just shaken hands with one of the wealthiest people in the world, the man who owned Caneel Bay, the man who had bought up three quarters of the island of St. John and donated it to the National Park.

As for Allston Boyer, he was a contract lawyer, for LR with a gift for remembering faces and names. Although he had never met me, he had met my father, and it didn't take him but a second or two to figure out who the little girl carrying the fish belonged to.

So it was that my fishy handshake became one of our favorite family stories.

***

I decided to join this monthly bloghop because answering thoughtful/challenging questions is one way to expand one's mind. Hosted by Michael D'Agostino at A Life Examined ,  the question this month is: What's the best job you've ever had?

Hmmm, I've had a lot of jobs in my life, from pumping gas at my parent's gas station, to glazing ceramics. However, the absolute best job was working for 23 years with abused, neglected, and emotionally disturbed kids. Their resiliency and will to survive was/is humbling and awe inspiring.

And now, all these years later, many of those kids have made it a point to tell me that I made a difference in their lives. And my girl A. (the one who is dying and has guest posted here and here) gave me the greatest gift ever by saying, "Thank you for teaching me how to live before I die."

What could be better than that?

Being Thankful

Today I'm thankful for the Texas spiny lizard. 

Can you spot him/her?

What are you thankful for? What's the best job you ever had? Ever get to meet a "famous" person had shake his/her hand?