Sunday, March 31, 2013
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| View of St. John's as I sit in the cockpit with my coffee... |
I look down at the water
and follow one large swell as it rolls under the boat, lifting us, and flows
toward the shore. It carries smaller wind waves that dance on its surface. It
reminds me of a large carpet that someone picked up and shook creating a large
roll that flows shoreward. The little waves on it, the disturbed knap of the
fabric of the ocean. It’s a gentle swell with a 12 second interval. It’s not
steep or short but just a gentle roll followed by another and another, each 12
seconds apart. The clouds brush the tops
of the hills that surround Francis Bay and this morning I can see (but very dimly)
St. Thomas in the distance under the veil of moisture. Last night it was hidden
completely by the clouds and the day before, it was hidden by sheets of rain
that the islands so dearly needed.
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| Looking toward St. Thomas in the distance - shrouded in the clouds and moisture... |
No fish are jumping this
morning. The ripples and waves remain unbroken by the bar jacks that 2-3 days
ago were leaping and hunting newly hatched fry of an unknown breed. I miss
seeing their frenzied motions churn up the waters so that they look boiling!
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| Maho Camp on the side of the hill. |
I watch the clouds roll over
the hills westward to the music of the surf and wind. The coffee is hot,
strong, and delicious with no hint of bitterness as I sip it. My body sways with
the boat in the waves as I sit enjoying the peace and warmth of this Easter
morning in St. Johns. It’s a beautiful island and its turquoise waters and
green hills never cease to amaze the calming effect this place has on my soul.
Its always been like a salve to my, at times, battered psyche. Maho Bay is
closing, but Cinnamon Bay remains. It (Cinnamon Bay) feels older than and not as loved as it
once was. The caretakers that loved it have moved on I think… The sugar factory
ruins across from the campground show a progression across time. A new tomb to
an old family sits among the old decaying graves. People come and go but the
island? The island stands through time. The waves beat against the rock turning
it to sand over the years but the island still stands. Long past the lives that
live here, visit here and try to change it to suit their whims. It’s still a
beautiful place filled with memories, people, sea life and birds. The Turtles
still come back and lay their eggs in the warm sand and swim off, to where, I
don’t know…
We’ve dallied here a while
now. How could we not? Tom seems to hate this place. He goes to work and back
to his boat. He seems disenchanted with it and its people. He hasn’t explored
it or fallen in love with it. I can’t comprehend that he doesn’t like it or the
people here. It makes me sad. The island doesn’t touch him. Its left scars on
many people that have tried to etch out a living here. But it’s really the people that created those
scars as they tried to turn the island into something more than it is to suit
their purposes. The people still seek equilibrium with themselves, their
history and the land.
I’ll miss this place and am
glad we got the opportunity, and time, to travel around the island. The mooring
fields have taken over the anchorages regulating where you can stay on the
boat. The mansions are cropping up the the hills that overlook Cinnamon and Cruz
Bay is a bustling tourist town. But sitting here swaying on the boat, watching
the pelicans soar on the breeze and a brown boobie dive into the water; I am
content on this Easter morning. I’ve been blessed to have been able to come
back one more time. I know you can never go back… but this morning it feels
like I have been able to… I’ve been given the gift to go back; to return to a
place I hold dear in my memory – for just one more time in my life.
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| Another sip of coffee as I watch the mist sheet into rain onto the island... |
Happy Easter from St. John, U.S. Virgin Islands!
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