Two stonecutters were asked what they were doing.

The first said, “I’m cutting this stone into blocks.”

The second replied, “I’m on a team that’s building a cathedral.”

How do you teach your children that every single action they take has meaning?  That smiling at a stranger can change that person’s day.  That helping an elderly person cross the road has a butterfly effect that can literally change the world?  So many adults lose their sense that they have the power to personally affect the universe.  I want my children to know for sure that they can and already have changed the world for the better, just by being in it.

Teaching these life lessons was made much easier when I met Harriet and T.L. Linskey, founders of Hands Across the Sea.  Harriet and T.L. created an organization that brings books to schools across the Caribbean and helps them to build libraries to promote literacy.  The organization has grown and now gets volunteers from colleges and the Peace Corps to help institute their programs.  The Linskeys themselves are busy throughout the winter, taking their boat from island to island to deliver books and school supplies and to organize libraries.

“Dedicated to raising the literacy levels of Caribbean children. Hands Across the Sea sends great new books and works with local educators and U.S.Peace Corps Volunteers to create borrowing libraries and sustainable positive change.”

www.handsacrossthesea.net

We met the Linskeys on their boat in Carriacou.  When we told them we were headed to Union Island, they asked for our help.  We were very excited to bring school supplies from New Jersey to the Stephanie Browne Primary School in Union and to work to organize their library.  Both our family and the Boyers were on board to volunteer our time to help the children of Union Island.

 

With little internet and no phones, we were not able to make an appointment at the school.  So Wendy and I just marched our whole little gang up the street and into the principal’s office one hot and sunny day.  Luckily, Harriet had given the principal a warning that our crew would be arriving some time that week.  She brought us to the library and we told her we would find her if we had any questions.

Harriet has created a system for library organization that requires little maintenance, which is a high priority in Caribbean schools.  We quickly went to work putting the system in place.

 

 

First, we had to take all the books off of the shelves and divide them into reading levels.  Next, we cleaned and reorganized the furniture in the library to make better use of the space and to get rid of the things that didn’t belong.  The kids worked hard for hours, checking the books and dividing them into piles.  Wendy and I weren’t unhappy to catch one or another of them with their nose stuck in a particularly interesting book once in a while!  We all worked well together.

We took a needed rest for lunch and then Chris and Craig joined us to finish up the job.  Throughout the day, the students poked their heads in the door or peeked through the windows to see what we were up to.  When the bell rang at 3:00, we had a group of students join us.  They were eager to help and we could tell that they relished having visitors.  By 4:00, our kids were worn out and ready for a break.  We sent them outside to play while we finished up.  Our children mixed right into the group of students on the field and they had fun running races around the track.

As parents, we were so proud of our children for giving their time and energy to such a worthy project.  The students loved their new library and our kids saw the immediate effects of their hard work.  It was an altogether wonderful day.  If you feel moved to learn how you can help Hands Across the Sea and the amazing work they are doing, please see their website at www.handsacrossthesea.net.  They accept monetary donations and have specific wishlists from schools all over the Caribbean.  They were named a 2012 Top Rated Nonprofit by “Great Nonprofits”.

Knowing is not enough.  We must apply. 

Willing is not enough.  We must do.

–Johann Wolfgang Von Geothe

The starting line for the running race

So now it was time for some fun!  Union Island is a hopping little island with lots to enjoy.  Wendy and I took an instant liking to the tiny little reggae music store on the main street.  The owner is an old Rasta with a most impressive pile of dreads.

 

 

We parked ourselves there for awhile one night and asked about a million and one dumb questions about reggae music.  He agreed to make us some mixed tapes.  Well, mixed CDs.  But doesn’t mixed tapes sound cooler?  I finally found a Bob Marley t-shirt in the shop and Wendy got a shirt that proved once and for all that she is inherently cooler than I am.

We took the kids to see the Steel Pan Band that plays every night.  They seemed like a nice bunch of young men and were led by an older Rasta.  We learned that their leader makes the steel pan drums himself.  They are exceptionally beautiful instruments.  When the kids were invited to try them out, I had a mini-daydream about the kids forming a little Von Trapp Family Steel Pan Band and touring the Caribbean…

Reese had purchased fabric in Carriacou to make a Caribbean-themed skirt.  The colors on many of the flags down here are yellow, green, and red.  Reese measured, cut, and pinned her skirt and had made excellent progress in hand-stitching it.  While visiting a cute little gift shop on Union Island, we made friends with the proprietor, and we noticed she owned a sewing machine.  We asked for her help and the next day she helped Reese to finish the waistband and hem so she could start wearing her new skirt right away.

I enjoyed the many produce stalls on Union Island.  The produce was fresh and the ladies were very pleasant and helpful.  Reese fell in love with the daughter of one of them and had fun holding her while I picked out callaloo and tomatoes.

We also spent a few nights having sundowners at Happy Island, which very much lived up to its name.  The family picture at the top of our website was taken on Happy Island.  This island was created by a local using conch shells.  This island-proud man was not happy with the piles of conch shells that the local fishermen left all over the island.  He decided to take them out into the harbor and dump them in one spot until he had a little island.  He shored up the sides and built himself a popular bar on top of his island with a perfect view of the Green Flash at sunset.  Happy.

What else did we do on Union Island?  Oh yes.  We watched a cow get butchered on the side of the road.  What?  As we strolled into town one day, we were literally stopped in our tracks when we saw a group of 5 men skinning and gutting a cow on the side of the road.  They had set up a piece of plywood on some tree stumps and had set the cow up on top to butcher it.  A man asked us if we wanted to buy some steak.  Fresh.  What?  Crazy questions were starting to form in my head.  We said we’d check in with them on the way back from town and got out of there.  When Chris learned about this “amazing opportunity” later, he was not happy that I passed up on filet mignon.  I am still hoping that he was kidding.

We found out later what was going on.  Ready?  I’m not sure you are.  Here’s the deal.  During the dry season, which we are in, livestock that are not fenced in or tied up make their way down to the airport runway, which ends up having the only patch of green grass left on the island.  It has become such a big problem for the planes trying to land that a law has been put into place.  It allows anyone who finds a loose animal to slaughter it.  Even though they know who owns what cow (it’s a very small island).  They don’t tie it back up.  They don’t fine the owner.  They just kill the cow, right there on the side of the road, and sell the meat.

I found this to be disturbing.  Is anyone else with me?  Add this together with the stories we heard about rampant domestic violence (including domestic homicide) that goes unchecked and we have decided to scratch Union Island from our list of “Places We Want to Live”.

Despite the cow thing and the DV thing, we really did have a wonderful time on Union Island.  We would have stayed longer so that Chris could take kite surfing lessons, but the Tobago Cays were calling…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Life is meant to be lived and curiosity must be kept alive.  One must never, for whatever reason, turn his back on life.”  -Eleanor Roosevelt

Once Carnival was over, we hightailed it out of Hillsborough.  The anchorage was certainly convenient to town, but it was rolly and uncomfortable in the swell.  We moved to a storybook spit of land called Sandy Island, a picturesque crescent moon of sand and low trees and bushes.  We moored in the curve of the island and swam ashore to enjoy the pristine beach.  It was a quiet reprieve after the insanity of Carnival but a new adventure awaited us!

When we moved the boat from Hillsborough to Sandy Island, our spare gas jerry jug fell off the back of our boat.  Patronus runs on diesel, but our dinghy engine uses gas.  Without our spare jug, we only had what was in the dinghy tank, which, of course, was not much.  Chris took the dinghy out to try to find it in the giant harbor, but it was gone.  We felt nervous and unsettled about where we might be able to buy a new jug and get it filled.  This is the Caribbean, so you can’t just hop in your SUV and drive six seconds to the nearest Mobil.  Without a dinghy, we lose our connection to the land.  It wasn’t an emergency, because of course we could row, but we wanted to get it dealt with as soon as possible, and that wasn’t going to happen on deserted Sandy Island!

That night, we enjoyed the starry night and looked around as several other boats came to rest in the peaceful cove.  The kids presented their monthly book reports after dinner.  After checking on our position, Chris thought that one of the boats had moved.  We let another half hour go by and we both thought it had moved a little more.  We tried hailing him on the radio, but no one answered.  The waves and the wind had kicked up and we found ourselves in quite a quandary.

 

 

 

Do we lower our dinghy down (it is raised up on halyards at night to keep the bottom clean and deter theft), drive around in the dark, with a few last drops of gas left, and go over to the drifting boat to warn them that they are dragging?  Or was that just too risky to ourselves?  The boating community runs what used to be called “gentleman’s rules” (I don’t think there’s a new name yet, but I can’t abide by such terminology).  There is a bond between boaters that makes us compelled to help one another in trouble and drink together when we’re not.  Well, and also to drink together when the trouble is over.  We had “saved” a few butts already on our journey and we were surprised that we met with rudeness and  ingratitude each time.  I told Chris that the boat owners we had helped were probably embarrassed and it just came across as iciness.  But now we found ourselves wondering if it was worth sticking our necks out yet again.

We decided the risk to ourselves was too great and went down below to try hailing the boat again on the VHF.  No answer.  Thirty minutes later, we gave in and launched the dinghy.  Sandy Island is surrounded by jagged coral reefs and we didn’t want to know that we had an opportunity to help someone and didn’t, especially if the boat ended up broken up on the reef by morning.  I gave Chris a life jacket, the handheld VHF, two flashlights, and the keys to the dinghy.  I was so nervous watching him disappear in the darkness in heavy winds and rough seas.  He came back 15 minutes later and didn’t look happy.

He had driven out to find the boat and pulled up alongside.  He yelled at the top of his lungs to get the captain’s attention over the howling wind.  When the captain came up top, he looked at Chris with distrust and Chris had to shout to explain to him that his anchor had dragged.  The captain looked around and yelled to Chris, “I’ve been here the whole night.  I haven’t moved.”  Then he turned away.  This boat had been next to us all day and was now far back behind the mooring field.  Chris had to give up and come back.  He wasn’t happy that he had wasted the precious little gas we had left.

But lo and behold, by the time we got the dinghy raised up alongside Patronus and everything put away, we looked out into the darkness and saw the dragging boat.  He had turned on his engines and running lights, pulled up his anchor, and was leaving the harbor.  We had no idea where he thought he was going to go in the middle of the night, but we were happy that he had gotten his bearings and realized he had dragged.  I’m not sure what the lesson was there, but we do know that despite the fact that no one we have “helped” has said “Thank You”, we will continue to help our fellow boaters.  When things go wrong on the sea, they can go really, really wrong.  We see it as our responsibility to help others if we are able and have been the grateful recipients of this kind of help ourselves.

The next morning, we waved farewell to Anything Goes.  They were heading back to Grenada so that Maggie could take her proctored math exams, which had been set up at the college there.  We planned to meet up with them in the Grenadines in a few days.  After snorkeling, kayaking, and enjoying this pretty island, we headed around the corner to the popular Tyrell Bay, which was filled with cruisers and permanent liveaboards.  We got some laundry done and I continued a two day cleaning spree on the boat.  Chris set out to get a new jerry jug and gas and returned three hours later after taking a bus all the way back to Hillsborough.  We laughed thinking about trying to take a jerry jug full of gasoline on a bus in the US!  We had a great dinner out at a local restaurant, and met some great people.

The next day was perfect for a hike of the area, including a trek up to the Chapeau Carre peak.  It ended up being much longer than we had anticipated and crankiness abounded.  I wonder how long it will take us to realize that our kids really don’t like hiking?

 

We changed the general attitude by making a game out of finding a restaurant for lunch.  We had heard about a cool place called Off the Hook, which was on Paradise Beach.  We used our honed navigational skills to find it: walk down hill till you see sand.  Here’s what we found:

1. They didn’t actually have fish (did you notice the name of the place?!)

2. The beach was beautiful.

3. It was the longest lunch in the history of midday meals.

4. The bathroom was an actual outhouse with no running water.

On the way back to Tyrell Bay, we stopped at a bakery for fresh bread and walked down the street to buy produce from the local street vendors.  Avocados are still out of season, but I keep asking anyway.  You never know.

One of the boat boys in the harbor offered to give us a tour of the island, so we set it up for the next morning.  Simon picked us up in his Suzuki Samurai.  It was a tight fit to say the least.  Before we left the parking lot, Simon bought a bag of conch from a fisherman and threw it in the back of the Suzuki for dinner that night.  It stayed there.  ALL.  DAY.  LONG.  I laughed, remembering how I used to literally run into the house with my bag of perishables first when returning from the supermarket, practically throwing the food into the fridge lest it had gone bad in the 1.5 mile drive home from Stop and Shop.

Simon drove us around while telling us a little about the island and a lot about the upcoming elections.  Simon and Assassin (from Grenada) were on opposite sides of the fence, so it was fascinating to hear their different points of view.  Knowing nothing of Grenadian politics, we listened more than talked.  We did ask enough questions to clear up the whole Grenada-Cuba thing.  Apparently, it wasn’t at all the way it was presented to us in the US.  But since I have less than zero interest in talking about politics, I will not go into it here.  Suffice it to say that Grenadians we met say they were very happy to have the United States come and do whatever it is they did, and still hold Ronald Reagan and all US presidents in high esteem.

Simon brought us to the Customs and Immigration Office so we could check out of Grenada (we planned on leaving for St. Vincent and the Grenadines the next day).  I have mentioned before that we have had a surprisingly easy time with checking in and out of countries on our trip.  When doing research for our trip, we had read horror stories about corrupt officers who charge extra fees and pocket it.  We had also heard about officers searching boats and imposing fines if you don’t show them the respect they expected.

We were starting to wonder if this type of experience was found only in the southern and western Caribbean.  Nope.  Alive and kicking in Carriacou.  The officers did not charge bogus fees as far as I could tell, but they were slow and nasty.  They didn’t look up from their papers and took as much time as they possibly could to do every transaction.  I stood there and started to fume inside while waiting my turn.  The officer was making a passport for someone.  From scratch, apparently.  He was cutting out the pictures, gluing them onto various pieces of paper, wiping off the excess glue, blowing on the glue, stapling the papers together, checking off some boxes on the papers, and I have no idea what else.  The kicker was that the man getting the passport had left and said he would come back tomorrow for it.  Argh.

We finally got on our way and stopped in Windward to visit the shipbuilder.  How cool is the name of that town?  I would like to live in a town called Windward someday.  The man we met had been building ships on Carriacou for his whole life.  This one was beautiful and we were invited to climb onboard to check it out.

 

 

I loved seeing the cracks in the wood planks, which were being filled with braided cord and caulked shut.  I find this aspect of making a boat waterproof absolutely enchanting.

 

 

As a bonus, the ship was being built on the first bona fide black sand beach we had encountered all year.  Lots of islands had boasted “black sand beaches” but most were just beaches with sand that seemed dirty.  This beach was breathtaking.  The sand was jet black and super fine with flecks of silver and gold shining in the sunlight.  I searched around for a baggie so I could take home a sample for our sand collection.  I finally found one.  It was stuck into a tree stump and had some dead flowers in it.  “That’s weird,” I thought. (Anyone out there as naïve as I am?)  I picked it up and was about to dump the flowers out when Chris yelled at me to stop.  Apparently, I was about to wreck someone’s afternoon “chill out” time!

We continued on our tour, visiting the airport and the ruins of an old lime factory (the fruit, not the stone).  We stopped again to visit the produce ladies and headed off to the boat to make conch fritters and conch chowder from all the lambi Chris had caught back in Grenada.  I bribed everyone into helping me finish cleaning the boat by promising to make Doughnut Muffins the next morning for breakfast.  It worked.  Thanks to Wendy for her recipe!  Feel free to try it if you have dishes that need washing and some spare kids to do the work…

 

 

Doughnut Muffins

Made on 2/16/13

Reese: “Super Duper Awesome Cool!  I want them for my birthday breakfast!”

 

 

 

For Batter:

¼ C butter

¼ C vegetable oil

½ C sugar

1/3 C brown sugar

2 large eggs

1 ½ t baking powder

¼ t baking soda

1 – 1 ¼ t ground nutmeg, to taste

¾ t salt

1 t vanilla

2 2/3 C flour

1 C milk

For Topping:

3 T melted butter

3 T cinnamon sugar

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.  In a mixing bowl, cream together the butter, oil, and sugars till smooth.  Add eggs, beating to combine.  Stir in baking powder, baking soda, nutmeg, salt, and vanilla.  Stir in the flour, alternating with milk.  Begin and end with the flour.  Spoon batter into greased muffin pan, filling the cups nearly full.  Bake 15-17 minutes.  Cool a few minutes, then dip each muffin in the melted butter and then into the cinnamon sugar.

“I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving: To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it – but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.”- Oliver Wendel Holmes

 

February 9, 2013

Today, we have begun to sail north.  North.  Away from the Equator.  Away from South America.  Towards home.  Home is still a long way off, but philosophically, this turn is a game-changer.  We are no longer sailing away into the sea.  We are on our way back.  What a difference it has made in our mindsets.  Grenada was our southernmost destination.  We accomplished what we set out to do.  But it was symbolic and big to turn around, even with the many fascinating ports that lay ahead of us.

CARNIVAL!!!!!

Our next port of call was Carriacou, an island just north of Grenada that is part of that country.  Carnival season had been in full swing since we were in Dominica, but now it was time for the real Carnival celebrations and we had timed our itinerary to land in one of the few places that celebrate Carnival in April (Dominica, Carriacou, and Trinidad).  Other countries celebrate in August.

We pulled into the unprotected harbor of Hillsborough but Chris was feeling sick.  He had a fatigue that hit him like a ton of bricks and he couldn’t move for three days.  He would attempt to get up and eat something, but would only manage to drink a cup of tea and then collapse back in bed.  It was awful to watch him feel so sick and Chris missed the entire Carnival celebration.

Wendy and I went into town when we arrived in order to scope out the scene.  The town appeared to be a bit rougher than many of the islands we had visited.  The stores were a little on the down and out and the people didn’t strike us as open and welcoming at first.  The town was clearly getting ready for Carnival.  Every store had piles of giant speakers outside their doors.  Some had as many as nine speakers on each side of the road.  Wendy and I tried to look cool, but it was all we could do to not put our hands over our ears like a couple of old fogies.  The sound literally pushed against us as we walked by the speakers.  You know that Bose advertisement, with the guy sitting in front of his stereo, listening to the music as the sound pushes his hair backwards?  It was like that.

 

I don’t know why we were surprised, but we couldn’t find anyone or any signs to tell us what the schedule was for Carnival.  We knew it incorporated three days of various events, but we needed to know the times and locations and all that.  As our friend Dave says, “This is not possible.”  Most people gave vague answers, like “The jouvert starts at around 5am and then the parade starts.  Just follow the music and you’ll find it.”  FYI, the jouvert started in the middle of the night, after the Calypso contest ended.  And the parade didn’t start until 5pm the next day.  This kind of thing went on all three days.  We finally just started listening from our boats for the music to get louder and we would head in an hour after that.

Here are a few things we learned about Carnival, aside from the fact that having six children very much decreases your chances of getting into trouble:

 

Jouvert: also known as Jab Jab.  This is a party that starts early in the morning.  Everyone comes out in all kinds of outfits, from torn up clothing to creepy costumes.  Everyone covers themselves in paint from head to toe while dancing, singing, and drinking.  By the time we arrived, at the late hour of 7:45 am, there were as many people passed out on the ground as still standing.  It was quite a scene.  The drinking was a little over the top.  Many people had not gone home after the calypso contest the night before and were three sheets to the wind, as we sailors like to say.

One group of men, covered in tar-like shiny black paint were dressed in costumes that were scary and quite, um, provocative.  At one point, one of them came up to us (you know, our group of 6 children and 4 parents).  He was thrusting his hips at us and laughing .  When I looked down, he had a giant, fake “addition” sticking out of his fly.  Not wanting them to see, I turned to the kids and spun them around quicker than Vanna White with her letter tiles.  Cheeky Kate looked up at Craig and said, “I already saw it.”  We still laugh over that whole scene.  So Jab Jab = drinking, loud music, paint, and inappropriate costumes.  All before 7:30 in the morning.

 

Next time I’m marching with them!

Parade: We went back to the boats once we realized that Jab Jab was too much for the kids.  We weren’t sure when the parade started, but we didn’t want to miss it.  We had lunch and kept our eyes on the town, but it seemed pretty quiet.  Apparently, everyone had gone home to rest (pass out).  We went in at around 1pm and walked around, looking for a good spot to watch the parade.  We checked out some of the stores, spoke to a restaurant owner about how to make Oil Down (the national dish) and finally found a nice, shady spot at the turn in the road.

We saw children milling about in their parade costumes and, at a roadside food stand, we met a few women in full costume, complete with glitter, sparkles, and max. cleavage.  I totally wanted to be one of them.  We waited and waited and waited some more.  The kids were very patient and created a game using bottle caps that they found on the street.  I ignored the fact that we didn’t have access to soap and water for the next three hours and pretended that they wouldn’t be putting their hands in their mouths at any point.  See how much I’ve grown?  Finally the parade arrived.  Band after band of people marched by in all kinds of colorful costumes.  The music was great and everyone was happy and dancing in the streets.

We met a great family from Australia, on a boat called s/v Moana Roa.  They had just moved on their boat a few weeks earlier, so we had a great conversation with them about getting used to life on board and especially about those first tough weeks of boatschooling.  Their kids jumped in on the bottle cap game.  Apparently, it hasn’t taken them long to figure out how to make friends as a “cruising kid”.

Shakespeare Mas: This was perhaps my favorite part of Carnival.  All year long, the men of the island practice reciting Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.  At Shakespeare Mas, they dress up in colorful costumes with a stiff, protective cape.  They pair off in the middle of the street and begin to recite the play, each taking a part.  If someone misses a line, he gets beaten with sticks on the back of his “protective” cape.  I’m not sure who came up with this cute little game, but it was fun to watch.  The men played their parts with passion and gusto.  They took their beatings with pride, and when each pair finished, there was laughter, smiles and hugging between the two. (The children of the town had their own Shakespeare Mas, minus the beatings.  I didn’t make it over to watch them as I was enthralled by the grown-up version, but the others said it was very cute.)

Again, I will let the pictures do the talking.  If you are as fascinated by the joy and culture of Carnival as we were, I hope you will visit the website of s/v Anything Goes and check out Wendy’s story and pictures from Carnival (click on the Threekidsandaboat link in the left margin of our website).