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Friday, December 29, 2017

"So This is Christmas"

"And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear ones
        The old and the young."

                                      lyrics by Peter Hollens, 2nd verse

Sundog to the right of the sun visible--December 2014,
near Island Lake, Minnesota
No blizzards this Christmas, no snowmen, nor any snow at all.  No ice skating, sliding or dogsled races. No “White Christmas.”  No Sun dogs on a cold December morning.  No white-outs, dangerous windchill, nor school closures.  No polar fleece, thermal underwear, boots, wool hats and scarves. 
Beach at Jolly Harbour, Antigua
No parkas, snow tires, nor ice scrapers.  No red noses, runny noses or blowing noses.  No smell of freshly cut evergreens, a fire that crackles and spits out pockets of pitch. No hot apple cider. Sigh….I miss Minnesota at Christmas time.
Karen picked up dinghy driving quickly

On Christmas Day, the three of us, Carl, his daughter, Karen visiting from the Peace Corps in Colombia and I, set off in the dinghy. We zipped across the water to a beach where we set up a yellow half-moon pop-up tent against the searing sun, spread out the towels and found a bit of shade for the cold drinks. People we met on the way there smiled and said “Merry Christmas” to which we replied in kind. 
Caribbean "Snowman"


The wind was hot and the water refreshing.  I found the remains of a sand man near the surf, and gave him Carl’s shoes, stones for eyes and a stick nose to match his arms and christened him my Caribbean “Snowman.”  It would have to do. 

My family, circa 1960.  Alvin, Vivian, me, Mavis, BevAnn,
Mary Lou, Betty Jean, Vernice, Ford, Grandma Brevig

In spite of having entered my seventh decade, there is something about this season that makes me revisit vivid memories of Christmases long ago.  I have within me the “tuner” to find the Christmas Eve oyster stew with crackers—a special supper for two important reasons; the fare was an uncommon treat and it would be shared after milking cows, rather than before when supper was normally eaten; the ritual oyster stew that must be eaten before the gifts under the tree could be touched.  
Mavis, home for a visit 

From the earliest time I can remember, Christmas was associated with one or more of my five sisters and my brother coming home.  When I was four, it was my eldest sister for whom we waited to come home.  The next Christmas, it was two sisters that returned home, and so on each year until all six had grown up and left home, thereby, necessitating their triumphant return to the family farm for Christmas.  

Snowman, built by my brother,
Ford and me

And triumphant it would always seem to me.  Triumphant because I wanted them to come home, and they did!  I remember a bit of sadness for my classmates that did not have the excitement of waiting for those older brothers and sisters to return on Christmas Eve. I supposed that they had happy Christmases as well, but how could they be as wonderful as family members returning home?
The last time our blended family was all together at Christmas
time, at an Ice Bar north of Duluth, MN.

Some people said that I was a spoiled child, and I suppose I may have been. They were talking about the gifts that my brother and sisters would bring for me.  Yes, I know that they were in a bit of a contest to outdo each other for the best Christmas gifts for the baby.  I know that now.  And I remember my eyes getting bigger and bigger with each gift.  Enormous packages containing huge stuffed animals (how did they fit on the airplane?) or building sets.  But the best, the very best thing was that they all came home.  Through the snow and the ice, they came.  We (Mom, Dad and I) fretted about a blizzard that could ruin things but it never did that I can recall.  They all came back.  And that was always the best Christmas gift of all.  
Carl with his daughter, Karen 

Perhaps that is what I missed the most about Christmas this year.  The adversity to be overcome in order to be together.  There is something about knowing that the house/boat guests are going through grave challenges to get to us by Christmas.  
Karen sitting on the transom of the boat

In actuality, Karen did have to undergo a long day of flying, waiting, and then flying some more — from Cartagena, Colombia to Panama City, Panama to San Juan, Puerto Rico and then to Antigua.  The adversities included uncertain airlines and airports damaged by hurricane.  But she did make it to us, and in plenty of time for Christmas.  And that was the best part!  
Christmas 2016, Vero Beach, FL with 3 of our children,
plus Brian's fiancee

Our other three children we spoke to on the telephone.  We wished them a Merry Christmas.  We told them we miss them and that we love them.  That was the best we could do this year.  
Carl with his mom, Karen

And so we ate some Christmas lasagna, we raised a toast to Carl’s mom, who left this world earlier in December, and we shared a few fond memories of her life. Many more of those memories will be talked about and many more toasts will be made in June when we gather in Memphis for a Celebration of her Life.  She, who came through much adversity to get to the beautiful age of 96.  
Aebleskiver, Danish donuts, a tradition honoring
Karen's Danish heritage

May you keep only the best memories of all the yesterdays and of those you love and have loved.  May this season bring the best that it can bring, with or without ice and snow. 
"A very merry Christmas
And a happy new year
Let's hope it's a good one
Without any fears"








Sunday, December 17, 2017

The Mastery of Bread and Butter

West side of Guadeloupe, on the Caribbean Sea

There are French islands between Dominica and Antigua—Guadeloupe, of course and then the smaller ones, Iles des Saintes, Marie Gallante and La Desirade.  We haven’t visited them all yet, but we will.  Anyway, we passed through them again as we returned to Antigua.  Carl’s daughter is flying in from Colombia to Antigua to spend the Christmas holiday with us.
"Main" street on Iles des Saintes

Stopping in the French islands again prompts me to say something about bread and butter. We have been thrilled about the wonderful boulangeries (bo-lawn’-gurries) which sell fresh breads all day long!  This is a fabulous thing, in my estimation. Even late in the afternoon, a little queue of customers can be found there waiting for their two or three baguettes, fresh out of the ovens. 
One of my breads made in Minnesota 2009

Slender, lightly crusty bread as long as the length of my arm, from elbow to the tip of my middle finger.  I like the miche (meesh) as well.  I made pain miche back when I lived on land, and I now realize what it’s supposed to turn out like. We’ve also tried the Pain de Cereal and croissants, of course.  Shelves of other beautiful breads are there, and I can’t tell from looking at the list written on the chalkboard (in French) which name goes with which bread. In this case, my finger works well enough to get me by.  My pointing finger, I should say. 
A bread called a Fougasse, for its' shape. 
Made in MN 2009

As we sail between the islands (usually an easy day sail from one island to the next) I work on my French pronunciation.  I am gearing up to ask whether there is a whole-wheat bread (pain de ble’ entier).  Even with that goal in mind, I have to say that frankly, we’ve been eating too much bread of late, and I’m sorry to say that it is going to have to be curtailed to a degree.  I already gained weight in 2017, starting with those weeks of lying on my back before surgery in May.  From then and on, it’s just been plain moral laziness on my part—I have simply enjoyed eating far too much.
One of my breads, again

There is, however, an additional problem with curtailing bread intake while on the French islands and it is this—the French have mastered butter.  
Fertile Acres Brown Swiss Farm.  The milk went to make Land O' Lakes butter.

Yes, yes, our Minnesota dairy farm’s milk was made into Land O’ Lakes butter, and I have stated with absolute certainty many times in my life that it is the best butter you can buy.  
Two families raised on Land O' Lakes butter

A new cruising friend told me that in spite of my experience with Land O’ Lakes, that I must try the French butter or beurre.  “It is really something special,” she said. ‘Hah,’  I thought.  But, I took the challenge.  

That's me at age 5, fearless wielding a switch to drive the cattle.
I tried one brand of butter made in France.  It was….exquisitely delicious—so creamy and light.  A total fluke, I figured.  So I tried another brand, the cheapest French butter I could find.  Equally marvelous!  And then another brand—again, absolutely mouth-watering!  I was astonished!  So, it’s true!  The French have perfected butter!  And this from a woman who came within an arm’s length (or two) of having her head carved in butter.  

You know about the head carvings in butter? It’s a Minnesota phenomenon.  Every year, each county conducts a Princess Kay of the Milky Way contest, sponsored at least in part by the ADA.  (That would be the American Dairy Association, not the Assistant District Attorney—that would be an entirely different kind of phenomenon.)  Fifteen to twenty-five dairy farmer’s daughters compete for the title of Dairy Princess of that county. 
This is how many milk in 2017, an automated milking
parlor.  Amazing!
This is how we milked in 1975

It is a serious contest; the young lady’s knowledge about the dairy industry is of paramount importance.  At least it’s supposed to be, (Lord knows I came prepared to answer questions about butter fat content and the attributes of various breeds of dairy cattle) but then it turned out that one of the Princess’ attendants came from a farm that had only one milk cow!  One! I found that more than a little fishy.  Anyway, she and I and one other girl (who was truly worthy of the crown, she having already begun developing her own herd of milking cows) were chosen as the royalty. After the banquet, the royal entourage is available to ride on parade floats and baby blue Buick convertibles throughout the rest of the summer.
My expertise with butter
goes way back.

So, yes, I went on the road trip to the Regional competition. Yes, I did the evening gown competition, (there was no swimsuit competition thankfully) but at the Region, I don’t recall being asked even one question about the dairy industry.  Again….fishy. I met the previous year’s Princess Kay of the Milky Way at the Regional competition, and noted with some disdain that she was a hard core gum-snapper!  An exuberant gum-snapper! Hmph. I’m not sure just what it was they were looking for in a Princess Kay but I wasn’t it.  Yours truly did not progress from the Regional on to the State competition. My head would, alas, not be carved in butter.  
I took this heifer to the
MN State Fair, 1971

The three young women selected as royalty at the State Fair would have their heads carved in butter and they would be displayed (in a refrigerated glass case, of course) throughout the days of the Fair.  The skilled butter sculptor must practice on other mediums when there are no large blocks of butter on hand because those heads are very life-like.

MY head would have looked
kinda like this carved in butter.

But when the Fair is over, who wants to take home a life-size head of butter?  What do you do with it? I heard a piece done by MPR (Minnesota Public Radio) a while back about those heads of butter.  Apparently, someone or other at MPR had found their curiosity piqued about what the royalty did with their head of butter after the Fair.  Turns out that many of those heads are taking up about a human head’s worth of space in the bottom of their parent’s chest freezer, probably in the basement, even several years afterward.  “Oh, Aunt Frieda, when you retrieve the fish out of the freezer down there, don’t be alarmed if you see Susie’s head underneath.”
They even name hills after bread --
Pain du Sucre (Sugarloaf)

A head of butter is not like the top of a wedding cake that you eat on your First Wedding Anniversary.  Do you take the head out to show guests? Maybe only the guests who come for dinner? For how many years? Do you finally eat it? In little pieces?  Like, maybe eat the eyes, ears and nose for Halloween, the hair for Thanksgiving, the chin and cheeks for Christmas dinner? 

Bourg des Saintes, on Iles des Saintes
After harboring your offspring’s head (of butter) for fifteen years in the freezer on the family farm, does mom call her daughter and say, “Honey, we’ve been hanging onto your butter head for a long time.  Whaddya say we eat it? Is it time? Not sure it’s any good anymore. Or should we donate it to the Salvation Army breakfast fundraiser?”  “Hey, Frank, who’s the chick in the butter? She looks good.”

At any rate, I can state with absolute certainty that it is the French who have perfected butter.  And bread, of course. 

And don’t even get me started about the creme fraiche.


Sunday, December 10, 2017

Dominica After Hurricane Maria

Prince Rupert Bay, Dominica

It was Hurricane Maria which brought about the change in our destination from the British Virgin Islands to Antigua for the Salty Dawg Rally and it is Hurricane Maria which draws us now to Dominica (Do-min-EE-ka).
Locals admiring a catch

A group of boats expressed interest in offering their assistance  in Dominica in some way, but were without a clue about where to begin. The leader of our group, if I may call them that, is the S/V Toodle-oo!  We were all glad to have Bill and Laurie share their ideas with us about how we might make our desire to be of help known to the Dominicans. 
Five couples represented, all volunteering to help out in Dominica

Somewhere along our 1600 mile 12-day passage, therefore, plans to offer assistance to Dominica became known as the “Toodle-oo! Expedition" so named by other interested cruisers hearing about our intentions on SSB (single side band).  


Fishing pier in Portsmouth, Dominica
The "Toodle-oo! Expedition is a rather pompous name for such a humble little group of boats, but there it is.  Some of us had sailed to the Caribbean in the Salty Dawg Rally. Others are members of the OCC (Ocean Cruising Club) of which Carl and I are now members as well. 


Northwest coast of Dominica
Dominica is a tourism-based economy.  We want to help bring the cruising tourists back to Dominica. 
Toodle-oo! helped us identify an axis point where perhaps, we can help to tip the balance in favor of cruiser tourism. 

But before describing our chosen axis point, I want to share some observations about the post-hurricane Dominica that I see today.
The town of Portsmouth, Dominica before the sun comes over the mountains

First seen from 20+ miles away, the volcanic island’s rugged mountains rise sharply out of the ocean. Dominica has 7 potentially active volcanoes. Clouds rest on its’ peaks and as one sails closer, clusters of colorful houses creep up the steep foothills along the shoreline. 



With damaged tree canopy, the ground below is visible. 

Peering through binoculars however, reveals a clearer, more somber picture. The mountains are awash in broken trees and defoliation is evident because we can see land between the trees—the enormous canopy of trees about which I’d read, significantly damaged. Debris is visible here and there although much has been cleared away, I’m sure. 

So much debris yet to be removed.

Many buildings are in shambles and at least part of the reason for the appearance of the "colorful houses" is the addition of bright blue tarps on several roofs.  I am humbled and overwhelmed by the destructive force of the wind that has churned its way across this beautiful island.
Fort Shirley, site of West Indies Slave Soldier Revolt of 1802.

Now, anchored in the broad, deep harbor, I am struck by the relative quiet at the north end of the bay. Off our port stern, the stately brick buildings of Fort Shirley stand as a sentinel halfway up on the hillside, seemingly unharmed.  Below that, the long dock designed to receive cruise ships still stands, but is littered with pieces of itself. 


Dominica has many miles of hiking trails
The welcoming center to the Cabrits National Park of which Fort Shirley is a major showpiece, appears dark and without doors and windows.  An apparently new hotel runs parallel to the shore on our port beam but its' roof has been ripped away.  
The "new" hotel was unfinished when Maria came.  Now she's minus her roof as well.

Following the bay around our bow and to starboard are buildings surrounded by debris.  A relatively intact house appears between piles of rubble at times.  Through my binoculars I see only a single person now and then near a house.  A lone vehicle travels along the shoreline.  And later, a motorcycle.  

Houses extend up the mountainsides

In the darkness, only a smattering of lights appear on shore nearby.  Farther south along the bay the town of Portsmouth can be discerned by its lights, although all is dark on the mountainsides above.  At night, one would not guess that people live on the mountainsides.  
The PAYS building, repairs underway


Where Do We Begin?  So, where does one begin in Dominica?  Our chosen axis point is an organization called PAYS. Years ago, security was somewhat of an issue on Dominica, I am told.  There were thefts from boats and many cruisers were thus put off by concerns about safety.  
PAYS Security boat

A competent group of Dominican men known as Indian River Guides formed  the Portsmouth Association of Yacht Services (PAYS) and since that time there have been no thefts in the Prince Rupert Bay off of Portsmouth. Throughout the night hours, the northern harbor of the Bay is patrolled by PAYS boats to ensure sailboaters' safety.
Under the PAYS roof, laying concrete as base for wall.

PAYS members provide a number of services all of which are focused on making cruisers welcome in Dominica. PAYS built and maintains a dinghy dock, used almost exclusively by cruisers.  Our group helped to rebuild a portion of it. 
Repairing end of the dock


The PAYS building is open-air and is next to the public toilets, convenient for cruisers. With an outdoor grill and a new chest-high bar that we have helped to build, it will be a welcoming sort of place for cruisers to gather on the sand. 


We took a break and went on the Indian River tour. Knowledgeable guides.
Prior to the hurricane, PAYS had WiFi on site and tables with computers for internet access as well as a TV for cruisers who want to catch the game.  A PAYS member greets boats upon arrival, provides information about hiking and/or tours on the island, picks up the boats’ garbage, helps sort out someone to take the boats’ laundry, provides information about places to eat, provides water taxi as needed and in general, does everything they can to make a cruisers’ stay a pleasant one. 

Monday, December 4, 2017

Guadeloupe, My Love




The little town of Bourg des Saintes, on Iles des Saintes.  Lots of cruise
ship tourists pass through.

L'Eglise Notre Dame de l' Assomption, named for the
famous victory of the French against the British, 1666.

Up until a few months ago, I’m not sure I’d even heard of Guadeloupe.  If I had, I certainly had no idea where it was. From now on, I will likely be singing her praises.  We have been here less than a week, and have found so much beauty, and have so much more to explore.  And the people!  Wonderful, friendly, helpful and often very attractive people.  A few of them speak English and with the others, we limp along using the few French words that we have learned. 
These little girls were so beautiful and happy, I
just had to photograph them playing in the square.

Google Translate, I just have to say, is a wonderful invention  If you have used it already, you know what I am talking about.  I can enter text in English and it will be magically translated into French (or any other language I choose) and I can also  hear it spoken, repeatedly, if I want.  And I usually do want.  Furthermore, and this is really cool, if I don’t dare speak the translation myself,(which I am rarely too shy to doI can just turn my iPhone horizontally and the written translation will be magnified 10 fold on a blue background so that I can just hold it up to the person with whom I am trying to communicate. Voile’.  
Apparently happy about the menu translation with Google Translate

Plus, get this….. I can hold the phone with Google Translate over a menu and the menu will miraculously be in English!  How cool is that?  

Top-French Courtesy flag for Guadeloupe
We spent a few days anchored in the harbor off Deshaies (Day-yay) where Carl cleared us into Customs and where I made a French flag.  Silly me—before we left the States I’d ordered a flag for every Caribbean country that I thought we would probably visit at some point but I did not find any flag for Guadeloupe.  Duh—Guadeloupe belongs to France, thus the French flag is flown.  Well, I came armed with flag fabrics and made a rather large French flag.  
These little lorikeets fought over Carl, or more likely,
the coconut juice in the small cup.

A bit of flag etiquette here—the flag of one’s own country is flown usually off the back of the boat, and is supposed to be proportionately larger than the other flags that might be flown and of a size that is commensurate with the size of the boat.  Ahem….not so in our case.  Our U.S. flag is very small because it too easily gets wrapped around our AIS antennae.  Ignoring common etiquette, I made a huge French flag, as a sign of respect. It is flown on a flag halyard alongside the mast.
Delicate flower high up in tree

We chose two day-long activities to enjoy while in Deshaies.  There will be several more days spent in Guadeloupe a little later on in our travels.  
Wish I could remember the name of this huge, unusual tree.  

Atop one of the smaller mountains overlooking Deshaies is a Botanical Garden the likes of which I had never seen!  And I have seen some incredible botanical gardens in my time.  
Looking from the Botanical Gardens to the Caribbean Sea

We were awestruck! Here is this tiny little fishing village and only a steep drive uphill takes one to extensive gardens covering several acres over the top of the mountain. 
This little guy is only about 3" long from nose to tail.


Twiggy the Flamingo
Basically, I just want to share some of my photos here since words do not begin to do the place justice.  Oh, and when I phoned the Jardin Botanique, they sent a driver down the mountain to pick us up and they brought us back down the mountain again, too.
A Bus stop.  Sugar cane, the primary crop,
is used to make rhum in Guadeloupe.

The next day we boarded a bus bound for Pointe-a-Pitre, (Pwant a Peetr) a large city toward the center of Guadeloupe.  It lies on a river that bisects the two island halves of Guadeloupe.  
"So I says, Vera, honey, let's go to the beach.  Well, I'm 
here. But no Vera. Guess I'll just chew my cud....again."

We were on the bus for the opportunity to see the countryside as much as for a visit to the city of Pointe Pitre (Pointing Clown).  My personal opinion is that the city’s name lacks the sort of pomp that lends itself to being taken seriously, but the city has survived this long in spite of it, so…..what do I know?
Historic area of Pointe-a-Pitre.

We managed to find our way by bus through the city to the old downtown, along the waterfront of course.  We seem to have a nose for finding historic districts.  The old downtown reminds me of the French Quarter in New Orleans but without the care taken to preserve the old buildings that is seen in the Quarter.  Regardless, it is a charming old district, with narrow little streets, broadly porched buildings with several pairs of 8’ tall painted doors leading to each interior. 
Cemeteries on Guadeloupe.

There are boulangeries (bakeries) here and there of which we are big fans.  Huge! And the ancient trees remain in the historic district, as a testament to the longevity of the old city.  We found what I would call the Creole district with shops of brightly colored cloths made into garb reminiscent of African garments complete with matching turbans.  

Flower vendors in the square.  The old Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Paul is off to the right.
There are hawkers on the streets, selling all sorts of wares, and a large marche’ (market) just along the water with beautiful vegetables and fruits and  hats and jewelry.  Surrounding all of this is a large modern city, clean and orderly.  The bus back to Deshaies was packed whereas we had the entire bus to ourselves on the way to the city.  
School boys

We rode with shoppers with their groceries, workers going home at the end of the day and high school-age students wearing the colors of their school uniforms.  As more and more people poured onto the bus, the thought came to me….'We are SO white.’  Because it was approaching dusk, we could see some families gathered on some of those huge porches around a lighted table where there would be dinner, no doubt.
Panorama of Iles des Saintes nearing sunset. The very round knob on the far left is
called Le Pain de Sucre (sweet bread)

We have now sailed further south on to another set of small islands which are actually also part of France.  These are the Iles des Saintes (Eel d’ San) and I would be hard-pressed to name another set of islands (yet anyhow) that are more picturesque.  We are moored off a little town called Bourg des Saintes (Borg d’ San) and are surrounded by a cluster of small islands.  
Towns and cities line the western coast of Guadeloupe.

We can see the lights of the much larger island of Guadeloupe about 8 miles to the north.  More immediately surrounding us are the ruins of three old forts atop the smaller mountains of Iles des Saintes. Hiking paths will take us to see them, as well as the goats that clamber around the rocky islands.  


Main streets in Bourg des Saintes.  Lots of restaurants and shops for the tourists.


And the iguanas!  We saw one today while eating the most delicious glace’ (ice cream) that I can recall. It was I that was eating the glace’, not the iguana but I would have gladly shared if he’d have come down off the roof. Not as large as those National Geographic iguanas, but still very impressive, and very, very green.
I will call him "Vert" which of course means "green."


From here, we go on to the island of Dominica, so horrendously ravaged by Hurricane Maria. It is only another 20 miles farther south but we are prepared for it to be a world away from the serenity and beauty that we are enjoying here in Iles des Saintes.  With us we are carrying a few relief supplies and will join with another group of sailboats already there in Portsmouth. After a time in Dominica, my next post will surely be of a more somber nature.   Wish us well as we attempt to help out in whatever ways we can.