Sunday, March 31, 2013

Easter Sunday; Francis Bay, St. John’s U.S. Virgin Islands


Sunday, March 31, 2013
View of St. John's as I sit in the cockpit with my coffee...
 Sunrise is hidden by a thick canopy of clouds this morning. The sound of the surf hitting the shore is intensified by the quietness of the anchorage. The wind generator hums as the breeze pushes the blades making electricity for our little boat. The gentle rocking of the boat on the ocean swell reminds me – one hand for the boat and one hand for my coffee as I climb the steps of the companionway into the cockpit.  Except for the wind generator, surf and the wind waves slapping the hull, it’s a very quiet morning. One dinghy headed to shore at 6:30am but the boats are all peaceful at their moorings. The surrounding islands look hidden behind a veil of gray mist. The green colors of the trees and vegetation are muted by the moisture in the air and the clouds that block the sun.
     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.
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!
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.
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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