For Chocoholics

There are
still some
cocoa trees
remaining
in Corn Buck,
and despite
years of
neglect
and the
passage of
Ivan,
the remaining
few,
valiantly,
continue
to bear.



The pods
display
beautiful
colours,
from the
deepest mauve,
(not ready yet)
through to the
red
and
orange
and yellow
of maturity.






They have
to be cut
from the tree,
as they do not
fall
by their own
volition.
When they are
cracked open,
with a cutlass,
a sweet, sticky
mass
of creamy beans
is revealed,
which is scooped
out
and left to dry
in the hot sun.


This year,
instead of
taking
the wet beans
to the pool,
we are drying
and, later,
roasting,
them
ourselves.










Hopefully,
this work
in progress
will result
in
our very own
cocoa tea,
or, if I am
really lucky,
chocolate.

Eared Dove

Ross Hill

This is

Ross Hill,

as seen

from

the

shade

of the

Julie

mango

tree.

The

Immortal

Tree

is

in flower,

announcing the arrival of the rainy season.

Acrylic on ply. 12" x 12"

Champions League - Liverpool dump Arsenal in thriller - Yahoo! Eurosport UK

Champions League - Liverpool dump Arsenal in thriller - Yahoo! Eurosport UK

Spoilt child.

It was a measure of how sick you really were, if, as a small child, growing up in the 1950's post war Britain, when your mother was heard to ask,
"Could you manage a dippy egg, with soldiers?"
The proper response, so as not to sound too enthusiastically well,
" I'll try"
would herald the imminent arrival of a tray, (naturally being sick one was confined to bed) upon which would be, a boiled egg in an egg cup, a teaspoon, with which to hit the top of the egg to remove the shell, attendant 'soldiers', (slices of buttered toast cut into strips of a width that could be dipped into the soft yolk once the top of the egg had been removed) and a cup of weak, sweet, milky tea.

I have a tickly cough,
and a bit of a temperature
no egg cups, toast or butter.

Cocoa riggee for Guyana-Gyal

It was fun
yesterday
flying my
cocoa riggee
kite,

that T made

from

a cocoa leaf,

with

dry fig straw

for tail

and

sewing thread

for twine.

On making carrot beds.

there lie stones that like to hide
there lie stones from the other side

















there lie stones wet with dew
there lie stones with a greenish hue
there lie stones that demand to be held
there lie stones from another world




















there lie stones out of sight
there lie stones that gleam with light
there lie stones muddied and true
there lie stones that speak to you




















there lie stones lost in time
there lie stones etched with grime
there lie stones under foot
there lie stones disguised as root




















there lie stones of a different hue
there lie stones in wait for you.

Evening

As

the

day

draws

to

its'

end

the

sky

is

alive

with

a

flotilla

of

kites

that

will

sing

me

to

sleep.

Little or Great Blue Heron

Our
time
spent
in
Corn Buck
is
tolerated
by
this
majestic
blue
heron.












He
deigns
to
show
his
appreciation
of
our
efforts
to
till
the
soil











by
gracing
us
with
his
presence,
before
taking
flight
and
voicing
his
territorial
claim.

Wronged

So tell me,
what would
you do,
honestly,
if,
as you pass
the cakolee tree
and
you


see,









take a closer


look.
















In our
Garden of Eden
there is no time
for
Temptation.















I think this
was a
Lesser Antillean Racer.

To T it is
a serpent,

in the wrong place.

Easter Saturday

At five a.m.
the conch shell
blows,
time
to come and buy.
Pork, mutton,
beef and goat.
We know these
humble beasts,
their origins,
their pastures
and the labours
of their masters.







In the
early morning,
when
the mist
still
shrouds
the mountain,
no
shrink wrapped
disguises here.






This is village life,
raw and real,
filled with laughter,
and a slaughter
that bears
honest
testimony,











to a
hard working,
God fearing,
fun loving
people,
a community,
that knows how
to work
and move
and love
and live,
together.

Christmas,
Easter,
Carnival
all
punctuated
by
conch shell
fanfare
and food for all.

Easter Lillies

Dry Season

It is hot,
I breathe
hot, humid air.











T is busy
in
the hot sun,
forking
baked land
for
tomatoes,
and
these
beans.




I read the
instructions
carefully











and tell T
the story
of
Jack.










Mid afternoon
I escape
to the
river.










Dry season
has made
it a stream.











The sun
seeks
me
out.










An Angel
has given me
cive
to plant.
They must
be trimmed
before
planting.





Here are
some she
prepared
earlier.









The mountain
disappears
behind
a cloud
full of
promise.
I race
to make
holes in which
to plant
the beans.
The heavy drops
fall and evaporate and I go to the river
with the bucket.

Secrets of the soil

From time to time, when we are working here,
as T forks and I pull out roots and stones, we are
sometimes rewarded with pottery shards,
reminding us of the others who were here before.

These
shards
intrigue
me.
I
love
the
liquidity
of
the
blue
glazes,
the
detail,
density,
depth
and
delicacy
of
the
designs.


I think the above are from the
'Asiatic Pheasants' design.
























There are some pieces of the Willow pattern


























and a most delightful blog was also found, whilst
searching for more information;
'How to draw a Willow Pattern plate'
is a wonderful project that reinforced my desire
to delve deeper into the creativity involved in
these pieces.






















My favourite shard, to date, shows two people
watching a third, who appears to be crossing a bridge
to a fort, that lies below a mountain range,

























and bares this curious image on the reverse side.

Turmeric travails

Some time ago, here, the turmeric, known
as saffron in Grenada, flowered and before long,

was ready to harvest.

Six plants bore a bounty of succulent fingers

of spice.

The fingers were 'chipped', sliced thinly, and left

to dry in the hot sun.

There is a very happy woman in 'The Spice Isle",

who, thanks to her wonderful neighbour,

for showing her how,

and to Pa for giving her her own grinder,

(made in the Czech Republic, )

for her birthday next week,

got

two jars full of hard work, sunshine, happiness and health.

It wasn't me

I really tried, I really did,

I checked the camera settings,

reformatted the card,

passed down besides the river

and concentrated hard

to focus on my promises

of hummingbird and nest

but Internet deprived me

of giving of my best.

So now, at last, you have it and for those of you in doubt,

location is what hummingbirds, when nest building, seek out.

Blur

I believe this tiny little bird to be, either, a Vervain Hummingbird or, possibly, the smallest bird in the world, a Bee Hummingbird. Either way, I forgot to adjust the setting on my camera so I will return tomorrow to see if I can get a better shot. To give some idea of scale, the diameter of the nest is no bigger than one egg case holder that you get when you buy eggs in the supermarket. I could wrap my finger and thumb around it.

Caught red handed stealing the bananas ready for market is a regular visitor in our

kitchen. A male Lesser Antillean Bullfinch.

Finally, a Cattle Egret I think, taken from the Grenada Yacht Club with no cows in sight.

I love my Canon A530, not the ideal model for birding shots but my constant companion for capturing special moments, think I might treat the lens to a little clean.

Quite in the cocoa.

Before
Ivan,
there
was
a
lot
of
cocoa
grown
in
Grenada.
Some
trees
still
remain.
This
one
is
by
the
river,
near
where we made the carrot beds in Corn Buck . Some years ago now, I remember an animated discussion, between my co workers, who were disputing the paternity of one of their younger sister's, soon to be, baby.
Apparently, the child was conceived 'quite in the cocoa'.
A blessing, to be sure.

"Cocoa"
watercolour, 9"x12"

Dydd Dewi Sant Hapus