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?

Donkeys - The Wild Ones - Part Three

Over time, domestic donkeys in the islands have gone feral. They have formed small herds of up to a dozen or so. They are a nuisance eating most anything and doing harm to the ecology. While we were at Lille Maho one herd of about 7 or 8 came at night fairly regularly to the beach to romp and roll in the sand. They were bold and brazen. Sometimes they came during the day and our little 20 pound mutt dog (appropriately named Lassie) would fearlessly herd them off the property. She also herded out our neighbor’s goats and chickens.

One night I was sleeping soundly on one of the two day beds we had in the living room of the Main House when I sensed someone or something snuffling and snorting in my face. I opened my eyes to find a wild donkey’s lips inches from my nose. I let out a yell and the poor animal, disoriented from having wandered onto the porch and into the living room, didn’t know how to find its way out. It ran around the room a couple of times, found an open doorway, clattered its way through the kitchen, and ran out onto the back porch. By that time family members were up and were able to shoo it off the back porch and into the bush.

Here's a not to good floor plan to give you an idea of how things went.

We all had a good laugh over that and I have never forgotten those snuffling warm puffs of air on my face.

Donkeys - Yeknod - Part Two

In this, my second part on donkeys, I'd like to introduce you to a little jenny.

We had her while we lived at and ran our guest house at Lille Maho. I was in my teens. I always thought of her as mine and I 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 rather more like a dog than donkey. She’d bray a greeting to the first person she saw in the 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, but except for long rides, I usually rode her bareback, often without a halter and reins. Yeknod, unlike Erasmus, was born to be ridden. Because she was so personable, I think it was her greatest joy. She 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 onto her back and off we’d go.

How, you may ask, do you ride a donkey without reins and bridle? All I had to do 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 sort have to work her way into it. The run would start out in that stiff-legged, spine jarring trot, 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. We’d ride along the roads (which were not yet paved) and we explored 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 there knew me and would loan me a bucket so I could give her water. She always attracted tourists and seemed to enjoy their attentions.

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 got up on her bare back anyway. She took off with me from the main house 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. I didn’t have time fling my arms around her neck, and I couldn’t 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 I was free of rocks and rolled from her back. She trotted back up the hill toward the house and brayed at me. It was almost like she was laughing.

Yeknod died of colic only a few months later 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.

Donkeys - Erasmus - Part One

I have always had a deep fondness for donkeys. Their general behavioral traits have given them a bad rap. The most noted one is that they are stubborn. But think about this; donkeys, for their size, can carry quite a lot of weight, they are extraordinarily sure footed, they do not require a stable and are quite content to spend their lives out in the elements, plus they are not fussy eaters, eating almost anything available. In many places donkeys are used to protect sheep and goat herds from coyotes (when a donkey is raised among them they become fiercely protective; when threatened their sharp hooves can be deadly.) Lastly, they are smarter than horses. And this is where their reputation for “stubbornness” comes from.

A horse can actually be run to death. It doesn’t know enough to stop and rest. Some might call this devotion to the rider, or some such thing. I say it’s stupidity. A donkey, when it’s tired will stop and not budge until rested. If the load its carrying is too heavy, it will not move, or it may well get down on the ground and roll to get the load off its back. It knows its own limitations. Not even a beating will make it move a hoof.

The only true thing about donkeys is when you are riding them, and they run, you have to have a strong spine as theirs is a stiff legged trot that is quite jarring. However, their usual slow plodding pace is easy. Remember, Jesus didn't ride a colt into Jerusalem, he rode a young ass.

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 high. 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 on his back. 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, about the time we moved from Cruz Bay up to Gifft Hill. Sometimes we 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. But once in the saddle he was generally well behaved.

Except for once. I don’t think it was too long after we’d moved to Gifft Hill and we had acquired him that Mom decided it was time for me to take my first lesson in riding him solo. Now I had already ridden him many times with Erva, mostly riding on his rump while she was in the saddle. But sometimes, with her in the rear, I rode in the saddle and learned how to handle the reins.

On this particular day he stood patiently as Mom saddled him. I learned how to time 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 plans of his own.

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.