Up in Jamaica

I went to Jamaica for five days to stay with Liz and Giul in the their tiny bungalow up in the hills.  The view from the veranda looks down over the farm lands of the Pedro Plains out to Treasure Beach and finally the sea.  We wake up early with the sun and sit on the veranda breathing in the fresh air, the smells of dirt and dog and weed.  Before the sun comes over the hill, the air is cool and shady at the house. We sit on the veranda eating breakfast and watching the sun move over Treasure Beach below us. Pella and Rocco and Biggins are romping around the lawn, digging holes in the red dirt, chasing birds, following Ev or Giul while they work on the property.  Every once in a while the dogs climb back up on the veranda for a drink of water, a quick nap and a cuddle.

I look out in every direction and see a million shades of green.The hills behind are covered with dense and dark green forests--travelers palms and cactus providing texture as well as color.  Along the lawn there are mango trees heavy with fruit waiting to ripen.  Out on the plains, I can see a patchwork of cultivated fields--scallion, thyme, peanuts, pumpkin, cucumber, tomato, lettuce.  It's not for nothing that the Pedro Plains is known as the breadbasket of Jamaica.  And then in the distance, there is the sea and the sky, a continuous backdrop of clear blue silk. 

Later in the morning we might drive down to Treasure Beach to swim or meet friends or even to play tennis on the Treasure Beach Sports Park, a new and wonderful additional to the community.  The drive down is an adventure.  The road is narrow and hilly and bumpy. It winds up and down and around fields, through tunnels of guinea grass and trees, past small open shops and ramshackle bars and half completed concrete houses.  There are goats everywhere--in the road, in the fields, wandering around the houses.

It is hot and dry when we get to Old Wharf beach where we like to swim even though it is not yet 10.  The water is perfect--clear and cool and calm. We sit on the beach to dry off and bake a little in the sun.  There are a few white clouds over the water but if we look back over the mountains we can see a jumble of clouds rolling and growing.  Perhaps we will get a shower in the late afternoon.

One day Liz and I take a hike down her road to visit Grandmother Pigeon, the mother of one the men who work on their property.  She says she's 85 but who knows.  She's a big woman with big hands and feet.  She wears a tattered black dress and her head is wrapped in an old scarf.  The yard is full of animals-- small stray dogs, roosters, goats and even a baby pig tied to a stake so he won't run away.  She speaks not a word of English, just patois, and I can hardly understand her. I just nod and smile as she and Liz carry on a conversation.