Wednesday 29 January 2020

FROM THE HEART.....A CONFESSION and AN APOLOGY

I CONFESS:




During our last trip to Barbados in 2013, Jim and I arrived at the difficult decision that, after over 30 visits to the island, we had seen it all. Of the 60 by 21 mile area, every square inch had been explored; no nook or cranny remained to be discovered. Jim jokes that he personally knows every palm tree; he probably does! No matter how hard we tried, we were no longer able to get lost on the tortuously confusing back country roads. And we are not just “sit-on-the-beach” people. No matter how emotionally attached we were to Barbados, it was time to move on.

Barbados is the island of my maternal heritage. Jim and I and our boys, Christopher and Matthew, are the 12th and 13th generations of my family to walk the land and swim the sea of this very special “island in the sun”. My Mother’s ashes, a her request, rest at St. John’s Parrish overlooking the Bathsheba Coast, her favourite view, and in the Caribbean Sea where she played in the surf until age 85! Even given all of our family history, I felt that we had no need to return. Well.....until we had grandchildren.....Generation 14.

Jim and I are in our mid-seventies. So many friends have passed away or have health issues that make international travel impossible or prohibitively expensive because of travel insurance that we have developed the mantra, “Do it now while we can”. Realizing that how much time Jim and I have to enjoy international travel is a “crap shoot”, I found myself suddenly overwhelmed with the urgent need to introduce our grandchildren, Morgan and Zachary, to this Caribbean part of their heritage and to revisit Barbados once again in the company of Christopher and Matthew. On March 9th, Jim and I fly out to fulfill this desire.

In anticipating our trip, it suddenly struck me that it may be selfish, but not only am I excited to introduce Morgan and Zachary to Barbados, I am also flat out hysterically excited about personally returning. It has nothing to do with escaping winter and everything to do with magical memories. Memories of dawn casting her golden hues across the Caribbean Sea, the sound of waves lapping the shore, the feel of white talcum-soft sand between my toes, the vibrant turquoise green and blue striations of the sea, sugar cane gently waving in caressing trade winds, the lilting Bajan accent which will forever be music to my ears, the irresistible calypso beat, the delectable Barbadian cuisine, the silver cast on both sand and sea at dusk and the music of the night - the cheeping sound of tree frogs. 




How true ring the words from an old Merrymen’s song. “Barbados is deep in my soul.” It is so time to go home!

I APOLOGIZE:




In looking back over my recent Facebook postings, I am truly embarrassed 😩 by the number of times I have mentioned Barbados. A bit of overkill, right! Please forgive me. My over excitement about returning is apparently begging for an outlet and as a result has spilled over onto my Timeline and you, my friends. I can’t and won’t apologize for my excitement, however I do apologize for exposing you to an endless stream of Barbados photos and promise to curtail my uber enthusiasm in future postings.

Restraint, Daphne, show restraint. I’ve got this......I think. 😂

Saturday 25 January 2020

NOT JUST SWIMMING WITH TURTLES....

The setting was the charming south coast Casuarina Beach Hotel. Picture a Barbados beach at sunset on that late April evening: tables and chairs elegantly placed on the sand; local hotel owners and government elite all dressed to the nines in suits and flowing dresses, enjoying canapés and drinks, the precursor to a formal dinner.

Now picture the initial dismay as the very beach beneath their feet began to move and bubble up. And then hear the delighted laughter as these Barbadian guests realized that, in a coordinated effort, a nest of 150 turtle hatchlings was breaking out and heading to the sea. Understanding the importance of this treacherous journey, guests gathered in a protective circle encouraging the baby turtles on their way.




How do I know about this? Over a month earlier, your Uncle Christopher, sitting at the edge of this very beach, was enjoying an evening drink with a friend when an eerie giant black shadow slowly emerged from the sea. Nervous surprise gave way to the recognition that what they were observing was a giant leatherback, the largest of sea turtles, lumbering ashore to lay her eggs. That Christopher and his friend moved quite close to her, mattered not; mama leatherback was on an all-consuming mission, to dig a deep nest, to lay her eggs and to return to the sea. The following day Christopher informed our hotel owner, Bonnie, what had transpired. She swore your Uncle Christopher to secrecy, to tell no one what he had witnessed.




When your Grampa and I arrived at the Casuarina registration desk the next March, Bonnie spotted us and immediately took us aside to relate what had happened at the dinner party. Christopher’s leatherback hatchlings had made it safely to the sea and she wanted him to know.

As trade in turtle shells and turtle meat increased unabated over the years, the hawksbill and leatherback populations plummeted by 90%, bringing these turtles to the level of extinction. In 1987, in an effort to conserve their sea turtle population, the University of the West Indies began the Barbados Sea Turtle Project. Through education programmes geared to both students and adults, the BSTP has impressed upon their nation the importance of saving their sea turtles.




A hotline has been established to the BSTP. Why? Hatchlings instinctively know to break out of their nests when the sands cool as the sun goes down. In the evening there is less chance of predators; no birds to sweep down and claim them as prey; no sand crabs to bite chunks out of them; less chance of being a tasty snack for passing fish. Sadly though, these baby turtles who with their sensitive eyes use the light of the stars and moon to guide them to the sea, now easily become confused by the artificial lights of hotels, restaurants and homes that line the shore. The BTSP hotline has been established so that Barbadians and tourists can report disoriented turtles who have been found on the boardwalk, in the middle of busy roads, in muddy gardens, in pool filters, in crab holes +++.

The few hatchlings who make it to the sea paddle furiously with their tiny flippers to floating seaweed which becomes their initial source of food. Here, tragically all too often baby turtles munch on trapped plastics which kill them by blocking their digestive tracks. You will be happy to know that effective April 1 of this year, Barbados has banned the import, sale and use of all single-use plastics.

Even with all of these efforts in place, it is estimated that only 1 in 1000 hatchlings grow to maturity and after two decades travel back to where they were born to lay their eggs. Yes! Only 1 in 1000 baby turtles survive. 😢

And so, Morgan and Zachary, on March 17 when we have reservations to swim on the west coast with the turtles and after you fall in love with these gentle, friendly, graceful giants of the Caribbean Sea, remind yourself that you are not just swimming with turtles, you are swimming with the survivors of an incredibly treacherous journey.




Sunday 12 January 2020

RANDOM THOUGHTS ON A SUNDAY

To the person who felt compelled to attend that Christmas party despite having a horrible cold, thank you!  Who knew I could be transformed into such a vision of beauty after having met you. Reality check! Grrrr!  Next time, could you please think of others first and stay home.




A friend posted this meme yesterday. After a good chuckle, I had to honestly admit to myself that it is I who must own up to being the drama queen. Jim has attempted, albeit at a drastically reduced level, to go about his daily activities. Me? Why do that when I can whine. 😂



Flight 752. How, as family or friend of one of the victims, do you ever come to terms with such a devastatingly useless loss? The brilliant talent and promise of these Iranian Canadians puts to shame those against Iranian immigration. Should Ukrainian Airlines have been flying into a potential war zone? Thank God for our current prime minister who, instead of tweeting out insulting furious knee-jerk reaction comments, in his speeches about the tragedy left diplomatic room for the Iranians to admit fault and who, instead of focusing on his own fury, has concentrated his efforts on the surviving families. Please Iran, for the sake of those involved, mitigate their agony and allow this investigation and subsequent compensation to be an easy process. Wishful thinking? Oh, and to Mr. Drumpf who stated that should it be proven Flight 752 was shot down by an Iranian missile, there would be serious repercussions, may we respectfully ask you to shut up. No American citizens were harmed and we Canadians, Ukrainians and Brits are doing just fine on our own. Actually, better without your assistance!



Australia. It is only the beginning of their summer, and still the infernos continue. What the Aussies are feeling, I cannot even begin to understand, because on this tragedy, my emotions are a giant never-ending roller coaster. My heart swells with pride as I watch our Canadian firefighters land in Sydney to offer assistance and then my mood crashes as I listen to a scientist estimate that now one billion animals have perished. Huge sighs of relief emanate from me when friends notify us that they are safe only to have my joy crash as I read that two wildfires in the southeast may merge into one inferno. I cry in sadness as I see a photo of a dead kangaroo lying in a burnt-out forest and then cry again, this time in love, as I watch a koala grab the hand of a man feeding him water. Worst is the helplessness. I hate feeling helpless.



To Harry and Meghan, go for it. Who can blame Prince Harry for wanting out? He didn’t ask for his current life; he was born in to it. As a child he followed his Mother’s coffin; no ‘stiff upper lip’ helps you deal with that. Now his wife is being hounded by the relentlessly ugly British press. It may be ‘complicated’, but I say find your happiness; find your freedom.

Amber Alert! Nothing like being woken up by an Amber Alert warning of an incident at the Pickering Nuclear Plant. Perhaps we should all go our and purchase lottery tickets, because the alert was in error. 

Ice storm. I could hear the clicking of ice particles on our window last night and expected the worst. Sometimes, thankfully, the weatherman gets it wrong. I am sitting here with no interruptions in power and temperatures back to their sub-zero norms, looking out at sparkling ice covered trees and a thin layer of snow on the ground. Stunningly beautiful winter has returned. I’m fine with that!

And that’s all folks!