Lillian

There are situations described as mental war
Rattled to the bone and shaken to the core
I've seen the lady often on a careful walk
The demons in my head ceased their quiet talk
A dire situation, there's something I should do
Demons got the victory I couldn't lift a shoe
Why is it we struggle to do a worthy deed
A moment of victory to help another's need
Again today I saw her at the corner shack
Buying a few simple loaves to place in her sack
She had a friend with her who seemed to assist
Again demons got the victory ne'r e'en resist
As I climbed the steps my back to the scene
Again the mental drifting as if in a dream
But as I turned the corner heard on the street below
Was an audible ticking with no friend in tow


Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick


Then the sound shifted with a violent CLANG
Through my hollow skull as a shot that rang
I turned to face my demons and with a feeble yelp
I just simply muttered "Ma'am may I help?"
She paused on her journey, beautiful and straight
I hope I didn't startle her when I reached the gate
When I reached her side, she stretched forth her hand
Placed it on my elbow and walked the way she'd planned
What happened next has really left me shocked
Demons now silent knowing they've been mocked
Normal Dominican chatter is really quite chopped
Words abruptly ended and sentences are cropped
But this was really different, smooth as Oriental silk
Warm to the touch as freshly drawn milk
Seems an angel dropped from heaven walking dusty street
Slaying my demons and laying them at my feet
She made the process easy this act of being kind
You see my friend Lillian, beautiful.

And blind.

A Walk to Remember.

Date: Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Location: Douglass Bay beachfront, North of Portsmouth, Dominica

When you don’t have a calendar, the haunts of Halloween don’t necessarily occur on October 31st. They don’t always occur at night. There isn’t always a rickety house with creaky stairs involved. Your skin can still goose bump as the hair on the back of your neck stands up.

He didn’t have a calendar.

Tuesday started out about as normal as any day following a mini exam should. The boys had created a list of things to do with Dad the night before, anxious for time to do what little boys love. We started out by heading up to Douglass Bay. I had assumed that by getting further away from Portsmouth to “shell hunt” the pickings might be better. We parked the car along the side of the road and got out to start putting sunscreen on. We soon were met with some scowls from the white woman that lived across the road. She must not have been enamored by the idea of someone parking between her house and the beach while she was doing her yoga on her porch, but thankfully she refrained from any less than overt gesticulations of her feelings. I finally got the boys directed down the beach heading southwest towards Cabrits. The sea was churning fairly roughly that morning, throwing salty spray up on us as we traversed the beach covered with basketball size rocks. The boys enjoyed a lizard chase that ended with a catch and a present for Dad to carry around on his shoulder until the lizard decided to jump and run. Crab traps made of chicken wire and sticks sitting idly hearkened of other days. We squeezed through a narrow spot where a palm tree had fallen leaving a boy high root ball in the way. We finally reached a spot where a tree was growing out far enough toward the water to prevent us from passing without getting ourselves soaked, so we paused to explore. I had to call Ethan back from heading down a narrow trail toward a rusty junk pile. Logan showed him where to find small black snails attached to the rocks.

I don’t really recall the details of what happened next. He was just. There. Like the clouds that settle in over Morne Diablotin, harbingers of an Atlantic storm. Not a definable moment, not a beginning, not an end. Just. There. Unassuming. Present, but somehow empty at the same time. Just. There. A few brief pleasantries were exchanged and he tried to engage the boys in conversation. They didn’t notice, as if he wasn’t. There. He soon settled on a basket sized stone and gazed into the distant breeze as though substance had no meaning and void was tangible. His kempt graying hair was lightly billowing in the Caribbean morning. I looked around to find another stone to sit on, but it’s as if the beach had been cleared of stones. Except for his. And he was. There. So I stooped nearby and looked intently at him. Who is this man, I wondered, that has emerged from the shadows of the rain forest to settle himself in our tranquil morning? The boys bring a hand full of snails to show me, walking right past. Him. Again, he gently spoke to them. Again, ignored as if the voice wasn’t there. He spoke of a simple life of fishing the sea and catching crabs. Delicious crabs. Very delicious. Very delicious. I turned to look and see what he was looking at across the bay. I don’t know if what he saw was in the mist or through the mountain, but I haven’t been blessed with the ability to see it. I know it was there because I trusted that he saw it. Trusted a simple graying man dressed only in underwear and carrying a tattered pair of shorts. I spoke a few more times then gathered the boys to leave. “Come here” he said, and turned to walk into the damp overgrown trail. Not a demand, nor a command, but more of a shared insight into where we would be standing a few seconds hence. Spoken as if the control of the strings of our life’s puppet had suddenly but gently been wrought from our grasp and were being gently directed by his calloused hands. We pensively followed and he began to explain the various flora and fauna in terms of their food value or healing power. A slow unhurried pace of speech that measured with his step. It wasn’t long that we arrived at his “fishing camp” as I would later describe it to the boys. “This isn’t where I live” he said. Was my demeanor judgmental such that he felt the need to defend this point? We followed him “in” and sat down. We were enveloped in a small hut made of heavy gauge plastic draped over carefully placed sticks and propped in the middle to shed the rain. The floor was similarly constructed with the plastic laying directly on the ground. Small stones were carefully lined up side-by-side along the edges of the plastic to hold it down. A car rim with a grate on top sat on a stump just outside. On the grate was a cooking pot. He offered us a place to sit. A broken seat situated on a coffee can. A stump. A plank bench. I sat on the floor and looked around some more. Several plastic spoons and forks neatly placed on a broken piece of plywood. A machete lying near an old coffee can containing heavy fishing line. “Do you sell the fish you catch?” I ask. “No, I eat them.” He answers. We linger for a few more moments, and then excuse ourselves. “Thank you for showing us around.” I tell him. “God bless.” He says. We return down the short trail to the beach. “Dad, he should totally live there” were the words spoken by my six year old son. Somewhere, Logan had begun to see him. Just before turning the corner, I turn to look again at where we had come from. He wasn’t. There.

To this day, I cannot believe what happened that morning. As quickly as he had appeared in our lives, he had disappeared again. Leaving me with a feeling of debt and a sense of emptiness. Empty for not seeing what he saw as he gazed across the bay. Empty for not understanding the plight of mankind. Empty for feeling that so many things I hold close are really just a mist to be seen through. Empty for seeing that one man’s earthly possessions consisted of a few old coffee cans, a machete and some fishing string. Indebted to those who, while suffering in obscure poverty, cannot be paid with minted coin or pressed bill for their contributions of simplicity that rattle the very foundations of who I am and whom I desire to become.

Tuesday morning, October 6, 2009

Out the door at 6:30 am. Slow walk to school..shouldn't have eaten that second cinnamon roll...tummy ache. Started working on Problem Based Learning activity for this afternoons session. Cranberries "Dreams" playing in my ear. "Then I open up and see. The person fumbling here is me. A different way to be." Sad to realize how much better me I can be. Project is "Prognosis and Management of Systemic Lupus Erythmatosis" Improvements in 5 year mortality rates in the 40% range in the 1950's to >90% now. Patients still die at a rate 2-3 times that of unaffected people. The body attacking itself. Wow, doesn't that have implications? Dan Edwards came by my desk at 9 am and told me Magda's fried chicken is especially good this morning, so I head up the hill to get some for breakfast. Walk toward the guard shack wondering if the grouchy guard is on duty and will make me walk around the end of the fence or if I can "cowboy" over it. I cowboy over it. Magda's recognizes me now...usually eat breakfast from there. Fried biscuit with fresh tuna salad stuffed into it is my normal breakfast. Today, it was 3 fried chicken legs. Day after Mini 1. Not much stress, so decide to walk to Portsmouth Beach Hotel beach to eat my breakfast on the pier. Quiet walk down the faded concrete drive under the whispering palm fronds. Dodge falling almond. Dominican man sweeping the sidewalk with a bundle of fine twigs...a native broom. Lady carrying out a sack of trash. Beer bottle by road...remnants of last nights "Post Mini Party". I wonder how many people will actually remember last night through the beer haze. I remember last night. My two boys and me down at the Glanvillia beach. Labrador Retriever chasing ball into water. Fading sunset over Prince Rupert Bay behind thick gray clouds. Single minded purpose of Retriever aiming at the ball floating 30 yards offshore. Up to his neck. Wow, doesn't that have implications? Back to breakfast. Walk out on new pier. Wood, as yet to be salt water stained, flexing under foot. Light chop on the waves. Walk to the end and sit down. Entered another world as an observer from above. Wow, doesn't that have implications? Bottom of ocean is how deep here? Mundane. Gray. A fish swims by and catches my attention. About 2 inches long...yellow and black...not mundane...not gray...now another...this time neon blue. How do I stand out from the mundane and gray? I remember the Cranberries. "Then I open up and see. The person fumbling here is me. A different way to be." Chicken legs slowly disappear. One life given for another. Wow,....? A rustle on the concrete pillar that holds the end of the pier. Before I can grab it, a Gatorade bottle, remnants of someone else's indiscretion, scuttles off the pillar and into the ocean. So out of place. So....marring...."impairing the soundness, perfection, integrity". Waves washing ashore on the black sand beach. Gentle whispers. A diesel truck revs in the distance...lumbering with it's load up the steep, potholed road. So out of place...so marring. I get up, careful to pack my trash. I realize I'm walking delicately now...don't disturb the deep...try to move without a sound...sand at the end of the pier crunches like angry thunder. Twist my way through the housing units of the University...up past the pool...empty of people...full of water. I raise my head and look at the ocean. Something inside me laughs at the scene before me. Grab a piece of it...try to contain it...define it...control it. The laughter suddenly stops. Wow,....? Walk up the hill past the pile of gravel being used for tiling the water away from the soccer field. Think of tile installation in Iowa....thousands of horsepower pulling the tile plows....trying to make the land more suitable for use. This time only a giggle escapes me. The scene before me is quite different from that. Maybe 10 men...a few with picks...some with shovels...a couple of wheelbarrows...manual labor tiling here. But they're on break now...in the shade of the Barn. Calm. Quiet. I stop to visit. I've come to realize that the more I learn about you, the more I learn about me. Wow,...? "I love my county." No, I haven't suddenly been taken with a spate of patriotism. I'm listening to a graying, 50-ish Dominican manual laboring man reflecting on his break. "You have money. You have problems with your money. It's quiet, peaceful here. I have this....". He gestures down the path that I just walked up, toward the ocean. Da Vinci, Michelangelo couldn't immortalize his gaze and gesture. I come back in the Barn, wash the chicken grease off my hands, sit down and write. Thank you for walking with me.

Minor "inconvenience"

Of my recent interlude my poetics are compelled
When my wife received the call her jaw was suddenly felled
From the bar at Purple Turtle in a thick Carrib accent
The caller broke the news of thievery repent
Seems the seas have still been plied and pirates come ashore
Neath the sand there's buried treasure I tell you galore
Musta been a starry night and diggin' done with booze
Cause the treasure that they found was my glasses, keys and shoes
Twas a glorious moment to be relieved of sin
Left a poem for me to write of the lurch I's in.
Blindly each day I'd get all dressed in a shirt that says I'm Sooner
Unfortunately for me my britches are Nelle's bloomers
I'd swagger out the door hair that looked disheveled
Tiptoe down the cobbled streets cause her heels are beveled
Now reclothed in my own digs I begin to act burly
Believe I'll take an evening stroll to go visit Fort Shirley.
A little muscle on the cannon and some powder in the barrel
The wideness of the pirate's eyes will certainly look all scleral
Light'r up and let'r fly I'll be giggling with glee
Yellin' at the fleeing pirates "You don't steal from me!"

Roosevelt Roberts Farm

Thursday, April 30, 2009

I've been telling our landlord that I would come visit his farm on break sometime, but today was the first day that it worked out to go....had to give up a beach trip, but it was well worth it! It is quite interesting how Dominica changes just a few blocks off the beaten trail. Roosevelt and Leona Roberts, our landlords here in Glanvillia, own a piece of property inland from the main campus of Ross University. You leave the main paved road onto a dirt/gravel trail, pass the supply barns that Ross has, then into the jungle on the trail. Just a few hundred feet into the jungle and you can feel the difference. Sounds of buses on the main road fade and your just left with the dull roar of the river as it races over the rocks. It's flat walking at first and unfortunately people use this trail side as an illegal dump. Further in, the trail becomes much steeper and is cut into the side of the mountain. In some places, the river rages nearly 200 feet below the trail. The trail side is strewn with ferns, palms, flowers, citrus, lemon grass, dasheen, and the like. The lemon grass exudes a rich, almost sickenly sweet scent in the damp, cool jungle breeze. Roosevelt's first cousin, Felix I believe he said, is building a guest house/bar/restaurant about a half mile in. The scenery is beautiful there; it overlooks the Caribbean some 2 miles distance down the valley. The structure is being built on concrete stilts about 5 feet off the ground. Below, the valley levels into a banana plantation before falling into the rocky river. The timber, 6 inch by 6 inch by maybe 12 feet long is rough hewn from trees harvested higher up the mountain above the estate. Felix was telling me that they sell some of their bananas to the Shacks at Ross, but most go for export to Montserrat and Antigua.

Further up the mountain trail is the Roberts Farm. There are only 2 buildings there. One has "current" (electricity) and is used for storage of fertilizer and tools. The other is the livestock barn which houses approximately 300 laying hens in 4 pens and further in, 12 pigs that he is growing out for slaughter. These are the last pigs he's planning to raise, but is keeping the layers active. He gets 2 day old peeps from Trinidad, keeps them through their laying life then sells the old hens and starts over again. I looked at the feed bags he had there and wondered if some of that corn may have come from Iowa, too! Nutrimix Feeds out of Catana, Puerto Rico was the label on the bag.

We hiked a short distance up a small valley into Roosevelt's vegetable farm. This area is so steep that you barely have to bend over to do the work! There are green beans, cucumber, cabbage, lettuce, carrots, celery, yams, dasheen and a few other vegetables that I'd barely heard of. The stream at the base of the farm formed the boundary with the neighbor and served as a water source for the livestock below. Roosevelt had dammed the stream and piped water to the livestock. Above the dam was where he took his water can to get water for the vegetables when the rain didn't provide enough. Lizards scurried everywhere...help in keeping the bugs under control. There is quite a bit of land, higher up the side of the mountain, that has been cleared but not used for farming now. High overhead, Jaco parrots circle on the mountain updrafts. They apparently do some damage to the grapefruit, so not entirely a welcome guest.

Roosevelt drove me in his little 4x4 Nissan pickup higher up beyond his brothers farm to the water supply reservoir. This structure supplies water to Picard, Glanvillia, and Portsmouth. He told me that sometimes the river is much higher and roars over the top of the dam!! The road ends at the dam and miles of steep jungle lie inland from there. It's amazing the feeling there. At 4:30 in the afternoon, it is dark in the jungle. It's not pitch black, but it is a darkness you feel. The air weighs damp and heavy which contributes to the feeling.

We wiggled the pickup around and headed back down the trail. I thanked him for the tour and walked further down the trail to the bustle of the streets below, thankful to see another piece of lifes puzzle.

Don't Miss The Boat!

Photos associated with this blog entry are at http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/sredir?uname=ShelbyFamilyOK&target=ALBUM&id=5332717114230203969&authkey=Gv1sRgCMuh-ZOhvJ6J1gE&authkey=Gv1sRgCMuh-ZOhvJ6J1gE&feat=email


Anticipation is a wonderful thing isn't it? We'd heard back early in the semester that Kendell and Brenda Henderson would be coming to visit us via cruise ship on the Tuesday right after Mini 2...perfect timing for a little break from studying. Just as exciting was the fact that several other couples were coming too: Craig and Noreen McConnell, whom we've known for a long time, and 2 other couples we'd never met -- Tim and Myrna Johnson along with Steve and Joann Blank.

Lanelle went to work lining up things to do, people to see and places to go for the 6 or 7 hours that they'd be here. We knew Travis Carlile had a driver that he worked with in Roseau, known as "Uncle Ash" to their kids (and ours too, now!) and "Mr. Sweetness" to the rest of us. Not sure Henderson's believe the relation to be from their side of the family, but it's all good! Uncle Ash did end up setting me straight on my terminology that day: "You're a resident...you ain't a native!" Gotcha!


The Tuesday morning they arrived was beautiful! We got up and bustled around getting ready to head to Roseau, 30 miles and an hour drive south of Portsmouth. A call to Andrew Palmer let us know he'd be riding his new motorcycle to Roseau that morning to register it with the Dept. of Inland Revenue, the equivalent of the DMV only slightly less efficient (didn't know that was possible, but it, in fact, is). He'd meet up with us when the business was taken care of. We left here around 8 to make sure to allow for enough time to find a parking spot in Roseau. That is quite the task especially when there are 3 cruise ships in town! At some point that morning there must have been a veritable landslide of natives heading into Roseau from the surrounding hillsides. By the time we arrived, we had to park across town from the dock near the corner of Cork and Great George streets due to the amount of people already in town.


About half way to Roseau, we could see a cruise ship off to the west and wondered if it might be them! They had told us the name of the cruise line, but the ship was too far away to see any writing and we were unfamiliar with the logo so that didn't help either. Nevertheless, it was exciting to speculate that it might be them and it had a couple of little boys straining their necks to check and see if we'd win the race to Roseau! Considering the roughness of the road, the ship stayed in the race pretty good! We parked then walked over to the pier and up on to the sea wall. We strained our necks and eyes to see the faces looking over the railing of the ship. What we were looking at was a cruise ship sized equivalent of a human purple martin house reminiscent of a hot August afternoon on the Hart Valley Ranch in Stratford, Oklahoma at Grandpa and Grandma Shelby's. We never picked our visitors out of the crowd, but some of them saw us. Not too hard considering we were the blobs of white against the dark gray of the sea wall and the only ones on the wall as well. That fact came much to the consternation of the two Port Authority guards, whom on more than one occasion chastised us for our horrible parenting in allowing our kids to run the wall, certain they would fall and dash themselves against the rocks below. We appreciated their concern...then moved further down the wall away from them. Horrible parenting to live for another day thank you very much!

Tim and Myrna, whom we didn't know before, were the first ones off the ship. We recognized each other pretty quickly, though. It is quite a scene at the gates when the ship is birthing forth her fare. Locals plying their wares from t-shirts, purses, and other trinkets under colorful canopies along the sea wall. Musicians provide the local beat and melody hoping for a kind hearted tourist to reward them. Over the din of horns tooting, bus drivers cry their tours to various points of interest. Among the wafting scents of sea water and diesel smoke, the smell of local fare of rice, plantain, dasheen and fish drifts through the sun soaked air. Craig and Noreen soon followed, then Kendell and Brenda. I wonder if the Port Authority was wondering if they were moving in? They had brought us lots of goodies, so were weighted down with a couple of over sized bags. "Never mind that your new shoes are wet, Lyndle, but Craig wanted to go water skiing!" Steve and Joann soon followed and away we went looking for Uncle Ash and his bus. Sweetness had the funniest lop-eared light tan hat on, so was easy to find. Trevin Carlile had come down to the pier to coordinate the process, and soon directed us to the right bus in the lineup. Quite the task to fit in 14 people, and the ladies seemed quiet pleased to be in close quarters with Craig...like discrete elbow throwing close quarters! On the way out of town, we passed Travis awaiting a bus ride home, so slammed on the brakes and leaned out the window to holler at him...now 15 on the bus. Remember, these buses are the size of a large minivan! Away we went heading toward Trafalgar Falls, across Roseau River and a right turn at Palm Grove. Cross the river again and begin the drive into the rain forest heading toward Woten Waven...just follow the Screw's Spa signs! Just past Woten Waven is an extremely steep downgrade, past the steaming cave, cross a creek, then the steep climb back up the other side. Just at the top of the hill, we stopped to get out and go see the boiling springs. There are several bamboo walled, tin roofed huts where locals sell trinkets. One of the locals parted with a couple of bamboo flutes to the ladies for a small fee, then we hiked a short distance back into the boiling springs. I believe Craig's ribs appreciated the lull, but it didn't last long. Back in the bus and away across the river again and a right turn at the "Obama for President" billboard. Once we arrived at the entrance gate of Trafalgar Falls, again we spilled out, bought the tickets and headed for the hike back into the river below the falls. Quite the pilgrimage of humanity moving, sometimes single file, over the log supported steps and large boulders. A few arrangements of photo op's later and the hike begins back out to the bus for the short ride to Carlile's. Poor Sasha probably felt terrified of the influx of tourists looking for a potty stop, but soon we were on our way again...this time with Sasha and their other 4 kiddo's making for a total of 20 on the bus.

We headed toward Champagne Bay, presumably so named for the volcanic origin bubbles that pervade the water there. Apparently, the water is some warmer there for the same reason, and schools of interesting colored fish are abundant. This draws divers, snorkelers and the like to the area and we soon joined them. Before we got to the Bay, we stopped at a roadside/seaside cafe for lunch of turkey (or that seemed to be the majority vote of identity anyway), rice, plantain, cabbage, lentils, and dasheen. Meat and provisions as it is called locally. Someone caught the perfect picture of me about to be drenched by a wave. I had crawled through the banister and down to some rocks to attempt to catch some crabs for the kiddos. After several attempts and near misses of waves, one finally caught me, drenching me head to toe. I did manage to catch a small crab, and after a small theatrical protestation of the pain being inflicted by it's claws on my pinched finger, I tried to pass it off to the kiddos, sending them screeching in the other direction! Andrew had caught up with us on his motorcycle and joined us for lunch and the following swim.


We had to get the travelers back to the boat by 5pm, so the swim was cut shorter than most of us would have liked. We soon learned of their rush...some "real" food to be served on "formal night": prime rib!! They wanted time to get cleaned up from the days bustle and presentable for the elegant affair. We gathered around for some group photos, and pair by pair they again walked through the Port Authority gate down the long wooden dock and aboard their ship. We waved our sad goodbyes before they disappeared into the depths of their ride for an evening that we could only imagine.

As we turned to leave, I noticed that the activities of the day along the sea wall were drawing to a close as well. Canvas was coming down and being folded. Unsold trinkets were being stowed away in boxes for the next visitors. Guitars and drums were quiet. Buses no longer tooted their horns and revved their engines. We slowly walked down the streets of Roseau, a town now veiled in relative silence. We got in our car and pulled onto the empty street to return home. That's when I saw them. That's where the story begins.

"They" are three little ol' Dominican ladies. Based on what I've observed since that time on different visits to Roseau, I don't think they actively participated in the days bustle of activities. "They" probably are more likely to fall into a group that I've observed, weathered faces full of Dominican life peaking out the broken window in their front door. An unaccustomed bystander would never see them...I barely have. When you wave, they shyly wave back and disappear into the darkness of their little homes. Little homes made of weathered lumber with a rusty tin roof, built up on stilts with front doors accessed by weathered, broken, old concrete steps. That's where they were...sitting in the calm of the late afternoon on the old concrete steps. My vision seems to go to slow motion, my thoughts storming with the scene in front of me. Three little old ladies. A different story begins to unfold in my mind. A story of the ages; one of pairs of people coming from afar. A story of pairs of people, having tasted of the fine things of Heaven, walking the wooden planks to the bustle of the world around them. Seeking those, who in the despair of the broken stoops of their life, long for something, a ticket of sorts, to partake of the elegance of shores beyond this life. A pair, leaving homes and earthly possessions for a calling beyond themselves, describing the taste, the fullness of Jesus. I got a taste that day. Not a taste of what this special message brings, I've tasted that and I love it. The taste I got that day was written on the faces of those three little old weathered Dominican ladies. I got a taste of the absence of that fullness. A taste of a time when the whistle will blow. A taste of the sound of an iron gate clinking shut, finding me on the wrong side. A taste of streets hushed in a quietened realization that something happened. I can now speak firmly from experience: don't miss the boat.

Thanks!

This is a story based on real facts. The names of the characters have NOT been changed to protect their identity for reasons you'll soon see.

March 28th, 2009

I was "told" to say "Thanks" this morning.


You might say the story started last night. But then again, does it really have a starting point or an ending point? It's a story about a young native Dominican in a red shirt and hat and black pants, but it really doesn't start with him, nor does it end with him. He said "Thanks".

Last night, Lanelle fixed a wonderful supper of fresh blue marlin, seasoned with fresh chopped garlic and fresh squeezed lime juice. Along side was steamed rice and this wonderful cooked cabbage seasoned with the "skillet leftovers" of lunch's fried chicken. Delicious. Except in the opinion of a pair of boys aged 6 and 3. Nevertheless, they made a showing by eating enough to avoid starvation. Afterward, Lanelle began washing the dishes as I sat down to read them a book. It dawned on me that they (we) had forgotten something. That something was "Thanks for supper, Mom". A little something that can set us as a group apart into a family. A little something that can set humanity forth from the organic muck created by an seemingly endless cycle of birth and death.

Speaking of birth, this young native Dominican was born in a little wooden shack with a tin roof about 30 years ago. I don't know that to be factual, but it's the best estimate I deduce from his surroundings and appearance. He said "Thanks"; that is a fact.

A young native Dominican saying "Thanks" to John Beyer for getting up on those cold October mornings in northwest Iowa to go start the ol' Case International combine to harvest the last 40 acres of corn. Apprehensive that he'll be unable to finish before the gathering clouds bring an early snow. Corn that he won't need to feed his hogs; left over to "feed the world" as the political pundits like to say. It really fed the "Thanks".

A young native Dominican saying "Thanks" to Scott Tyler for for placing that order to the feed mill in western Arkansas. Ordering feed made from corn that had arrived by rail from northwest Iowa. You see, Scott has chickens. Lots of chickens, like maybe half a million chickens, maybe more, maybe less. But more than he can eat.

It was certainly by chance I met this young native Dominican. I had left the apartment about 7:30 AM to go fill the car up with gas then go on to campus to study as my Saturday mornings usually go. I had finished filling the car at Texaco, paid for the EC$9 per gallon gas, and was casually driving along the coast enjoying the waves splashing ashore in the early morning sunshine. I turned the corner and the car moaned as it began the climb up the hill away from the ocean. That's when I first saw him.

Thanks to Brian Henderson and Damon Birkhofer for hitching their shiny John Deere's up to the 50 foot long air seeders. There is a lot of uncertainty for farmers out in western Nebraska. Who knows if the last rain they got in May will be enough to sprout the crop sown in September. You see, these guys farm a lot of ground. Between them, they probably farm more area than the whole area of Dominica. Well probably not, but you get the point. The thing is, it's all wheat; more wheat than they can possibly eat.

He was walking away from me. From the back, he was indistinguishable from most others we commonly see walking. Quietly going about their daily routines, most not aware of a world beyond the shores of Dominica that wasn't brought to them by television. Hearing my car, he turned to face me, putting his arm out.

A few weeks ago, construction workers finished a new restaurant between main campus and annex where first semester classes are held. It sits up a small hill from one of Dominica's 365 rivers, close enough that when you're sitting on the front veranda, you can hear the water babbling over the rocks in the river. It is the second restaurant here on the island that gives us the "taste of home". It is built in true Dominican style; concrete cinder blocks then coated with a thin layer of masonry to give a smooth finish. As being true to company colors, this one was painted red and black.

"Thanks", Mom for teaching me my colors, Charlene Cantrel for teaching me the alphabet, and Julie Brookshire for passing out a little blue card in 5th grade, all of which ended up making a difference today. I bet most of my 5th grade classmates and Ms. Brookshire have forgotten the blue card. Fortunately, I haven't, but if I had, I would have missed the "Thanks".

Putting an arm out is "Dominican" for "would you give me a ride?". From the front, he was indistinguishable from many others as well. I've been taught not to give rides to strangers from early on, but things operate a little differently here. I've often been picked up by strangers, even without putting my arm out, so I felt motivated to do the same. A quick assessment of his red and black uniform, general appearance, time of day, and a million other factors that can fly through your mind led me to believe he just wanted a ride to work at the red and black restaurant with the KFC on the front. I turned on my left blinker, pulled off the road, unlocked the door and let him in. "Hi, you going to work?" I asked. He hissed. Literally. Then he put up a fist, but that is a Dominican handshake to offer to bump fists. So I bumped his fist with mine and again asked "Are you going to KFC?" Again, he hissed and this time pointed down the road. So away we drove. In silence.

About a half a mile down the road, we arrived at KFC. Now what? I pulled off on the assumption I'd judged his character and appearance correctly. Again he hissed and pointed. This is where the little blue card comes in. You see, this time he pointed at his right ear. Born into conditions some 30 years ago that certainly put him at a disadvantage in his world: Poor people, lack of education and health care for his condition, playground taunts, missed job opportunities and any number of other things that could have left him bitter. But slowly he made a fist, putting his thumb between his first and middle fingers: "T", next, thumb parallel to fisted ring and little finger with index and middle finger extended: "H", and onward: "A", "N", "K", "S". The little blue card that had rudimentary pictures of the American Sign Language, not a class assignment, but interesting to a curious 5th grader. Our paths may never cross for more than that short, silent, half mile ride, but he said "Thanks". Another bump of fists, and he slipped into the morning sunshine and another day of work cooking a corn fed, flour coated chicken, leaving me with a "Thanks" heard round the world.

I don't have the email addresses of any of the real characters in this true story. If you do, please forward it to them.

Thanks, Lyndle

Missed view

I realized that I showed only the view from the back of our apartment in my earlier post. We do have a nice view from two other sides of our place too. This first picture is what we see from the kitchen window.






Standing on the front porch, looking inland. It seems to be impossible to get photos that aren't full of electric lines and poles.








This one is looking across the street from the front of our apartment. We get to look either at mountains or at the sea here.

Broken arm

As many of you already know, we got to experience the Dominican medical system a little bit lately. Logan fell down while running at school. He got a green stick fracture to his right arm. This quickly turned into quite the experience! He PE teacher, Mr. Theo, took him to the Ross University Health Clinic and called us. One of the doctors there wrapped his arm up and sent us to Roseau where we could get x-rays taken. It's an hour drive from Portsmouth to Roseau and then there was some waiting time at the radiology clinic. (Photo to the left was taken while we were waiting for xrays.) There was some misunderstanding about what was to happen from there. The radiologist was supposed to let us know that the arm was broken & needed a cast which would have sent us to a specialist in Roseau for a cast. Instead they left us with the impression that there was no fracture & no cast was needed. So we drove back to the Health Clinic at Ross in Portsmouth to find out we should have gotten a cast in Roseau. Since the clinic is not set up to do casts, they sent us to the Portsmouth Hospital. Let's just say it's NOT like a hospital in the US! We did have to wait again for our turn. Finally a doctor there put a cast on Logan's arm. His little accident happened in the morning by 8:30 or 8:45 am and it was 5 pm or later before we had the cast on his arm. (Photo below taken on the steps of the hospital as we were leaving from getting the cast on his arm.)

The doctors originally thought that the cast could come off after 3 weeks. We were referred to the specialist back in Roseau for removal of the cast. We took most of another whole day to make the trip to Roseau for this. Apparently appointments are not used here so we showed up at the clinic shortly after the doctor had told me the day before that he would be there. It turned out that there was some emergency that morning that he had to attend so it was after noon before he ever made it to his clinic. That was a long wait with 2 little boys who had more interesting things on their minds than waiting at a doctor's office! The doctor removed the cast (it was so loose that he just slipped it over Logan's hand to remove it) and examined the arm. It wasn't quite healed so on went a new cast for 2 more weeks. The doctor gave orders to just remove the cast here in Portsmouth on March 12 - 5 weeks after the break happened. (Photo below taken after the new cast was put on his arm.)











On the day we were to have the cast taken off, we took Logan to the Health Clinic at Ross University who referred us back to the Portsmouth Hospital to take the cast off. So back we went for a trip all over the hospital - with waits in between each place that we were sent. Finally, after about an hour and a half there we were told that the machine for taking the cast off was broken. They offered no other solution, just that they couldn't remove the cast. So we went back to the Ross Health Clinic looking for someone to remove the cast. There we were told that the only other machine for removing a cast on this island is at the hospital in Roseau! By this time we'd spent almost 2 hours trying to find someone to take the cast off. Now it was going to be another 2 hours of driving plus however long we had to wait in the Roseau hospital for someone to remove the cast & probably 30 seconds to actually cut the cast off. I wasn't really looking forward to making a trip there - possibly only to be told that their machine was broken too. Since the doctor had already written orders to remove the cast & no doctor was supposed to be looking at it nor were more xrays needed, we did the American thing....we found another way to take the cast off. :-) Lyndle and a friend found some trauma shears and cut the cast off themselves. By the way, these are the old plaster casts that they use here. It was pretty easy to cut in the palm of the hand and up by the elbow, but it was pretty hard in between. Good thing those men with the shears were tough. :-)

Logan's arm is doing well. He was a little nervous to have the cast off at first but he quickly started acting like he's never broken a bone in his body. By the next day he was showing me a new trick on the playground where he could swing from a rope by the monkey bars. That right arm doesn't seem to be too weak.

We're driving again.

We're glad to have a car again. It's made the trips to and from school much easier for all of us. This was especially good for Ethan coming home in the afternoons. It also allows me to come home and work a little bit between lunch and the time that Logan gets out of school. The walk with the boys is about 25 or 30 minutes as it's close to a mile and a half. It's great exercise though & I miss that, but I'm glad for the extra time to do other chores.

We have a 1992 Nissan Bluebird. Never heard of it? We hadn't either until we got here. It's actually pretty nice as cars go here among med students and even the locals. It was interesting to learn to drive on the left side of the road & I still remind myself of that when I'm behind the wheel. The driver sits on the right side of the car in most vehicles here. I'll post a picture. And yes, I realize it's parked on the wrong side of the street. I'm learning to drive like a Dominican. Look out when I get back to the US! Oh, and they DO drive on the sidewalks pretty often.

All that being said, we are driving less this week. When living in the Caribbean, don't let your gas gauge drop below half a tank. We haven't been able to find gas in either station here in the Portsmouth area for several days. We still have a little, but we're conserving until we can fill up. The walks have been nice and friends have offered rides in some instances. We're doing okay with it. We hope we can fill the gas tank this week though so Ethan doesn't have to walk home in the afternoon without a nap. Otherwise, we'll be walking everywhere again.

Err. Grrrr

I'm getting errors again and not getting to post what I want to post. Hopefully I can figure out why it's giving me this error.

At home in the Caribbean

We wanted to share a little view of what we call "home" for now. We have a small 2 bedroom apartment in Glanvillia. I've already posted the pictures. I thought my error from the last couple of weeks was because I was posting too much at a time.

Home sweet home.

Above is the front of our apartment building. We live on the 3rd floor. Our apartment is only the portion of the front that is visible in the picture.

Above is the view from the balcony off of our master bedroom.

Below is a full view of the kitchen, looking back from the dining area.

Home sweet home.

This is looking from our dining area to the kitchen. It's just a partial view of the kitchen showing our "pantry". The fresh fruit and vegetables are wonderful! (The boys were ready to head out to the swimming pool when I took these pictures. They had changed to the swim trunks but kept on the same shirts they had been wearing. They didn't care that they no longer matched. They were just interested in getting to the swimming pool!)Looking from the kitchen back to the dining area.
Looking from the hallway to the living room and dining area.

Home sweet home.

Above is looking down the hall from just outside the master bedroom and bathroom toward the living room. Below is the boys' bedroom. They have actually taken turns sleeping in it since they can't seem to settle down enough to share one bed. The other one sleeps on the couch.


Above is the bathroom. Below is the master bedroom.

A lot to learn

Okay, I'm not happy with the last post, but I'm learning how to blog. The photos all ended up reversed in order from what I wanted. I also pulled a wrong picture and missed getting one that I wanted. So I did the delete but didn't go back for the other one. Maybe I'll try it with this post.

I have to say that one thing I enjoyed most about the White Coat Ceremony was just seeing the American Flag. We'd only been out of the US for just over 2 weeks when this happened, but we were still happy to see a bit of our homeland. :-)

White Coat Ceremony

Lyndle's White Coat Ceremony was Back on January 15th. I have wanted to get something posted about it since that time. However, with learning how to post to this blog, working, learning my way around here and having the internet working when I had time to post, it has taken me 3 weeks longer to do this than I wanted it to.

Lyndle has worked hard to get here & I want to get this posted. The White Coat Ceremony is done for 1st semester students here at Ross. There is a big ceremony for the new med students with Dominican dignitaries present. There are speakers there to give words of wisdom and praise and encouragement to the new med students. All of the new students file to the front where an M.D. helps them to put on their white coats. Then they receive a Ross University pin.

Logan and I watched it on the mediasite. It's such a big ceremony, especially since there are somewhere around 450 or more 1st semester students here now. There is not a good place for families, especially with small children, to be able to watch it in person. It was great that we could watch it online and Ethan could take his nap. We were excited when we got to see Lyndle in the ceremony. We're proud of you, Lyndle! We're all here supporting him the best that we can as he studies hard and works to achieve a dream he's had for many years.

We had a very busy week getting everyone settled into a new routine. Lyndle hit it hard with classes and studying all day. Logan started his new school and Ethan started going to daycare in the mornings. Lyndle will definitely be too busy to do much blogging. I am not the story teller with all of the detail that Lyndle is so my posts won't weave the stories quite so well. My apologies. I guess that's why I majored in math instead of something more creative.

Logan was ready to go to his new school. His new teacher, Ms. Cool, is a native Dominican. About the first or second day he told her that his ears didn't just quite work right to understand her. She laughed as she told me. I am sure that he will soon have more of a Dominican accent than Okie accent. It sure didn't take him long to pick up his little Okie accent so I don't expect this to be much different. He made a new buddy from Texas, Sammy, in our first couple of days on the island. Sammy is in his class so they are excited to see each other. The school is small with Pre-K and Kindergarten sharing the same classroom & teacher. Most of the kids are like Logan and Sammy - only here for a short time while a parent attends medical school.

Ethan was ready to go to school too. Or so he said. He quickly decided that spending the morning at daycare with some new friends is okay. He's already claiming a new best buddy from daycare - a little boy from Wisconsin named Aidan. He looks forward to going to play with Aidan in the morning now. This frees me up to try to keep up with my work.

I was excited that the internet speed here is faster than what we had in the US. I have been able to keep working my 20 hours a week for Allied. Juggling work and the other aspects of island life is keeping me busy. It's about a 30 minute walk to get the boys to school by 8 am. After that I hike it back to our apartment ( unless someone or something sidetracks me along the way). I have some time to work then until I have to pack up lunch & head back to school to eat with the boys. There is no school lunch program here like we are used to in the States. The parents are responsible for their children over the lunch hour. It keeps us busy to make sure that we are there this extra time during the day, but it is actually a nice time for families and we usually eat with some of the other families. Ethan is finished with day care by lunch time, but Logan still has 2 hours of class after that. Sometimes we Ethan and I just hang out on the playground until Logan is finished. Then we have the 30 minute walk home with the boys. Lyndle can make the walk in about 15 minutes and I can make it in about 20 minutes when we are alone. The little legs that include a lot of jumping and extra steps make the trip a little longer.

A lot more happened this week but I will have to save it for the next blog. This was my trial blog - see if I can figure out how to do it.

East Coast, Commonwealth of Dominica

Took a trip to the East coast of Dominica yesterday, January 8, 2009...the Atlantic Ocean side. We ended up at Melville Hall Airport just on the chance that Brian's luggage may be there...glad it wasn't Vegas. It was nice to see the scenes that we missed on the drive in from the airport on the New Years. It follows the coast for maybe a third of the way. Definitely a wilder side of the island, the windward side, so the ocean has much rougher waves, trees are leaning away from the wind, etc. Spesh was our guide/driver again. I think he knows someone in all the little villages between here and there. I don't even pretend to remember all the beaches we stopped at...Batibou Bay, Woodford Hill Bay, Hampstead Beach. We stopped in Calibisie at Spesh's house there...that is the video above. The pile of fresh fruit that is seen in the video was raided for some fresh squeezed citrus juice as seen in the other video....too good to even describe over ice. Refreshed, we continued on to near the





Red Cliff area for lunch of Jamaicanand Caribbean pizza. The Jamaican pizza had an avacado sauce instead of tomatoe and was topped with grilled chicken, cheese, fresh tomatoes and avacado slices on a thin crust.

While we were waiting for the pizza to be served, Spesh took us around the beach to a cliff, where we timed our passage with the waves to climb out to a point on a small peninsula for a view that is only seen by those willing for the hike/adventure. There are no visible homes here around the small cove, and the Atlantic wind refreshingly blows unhindered from Africa.

Here's Lanelle, Brian, Ethan, Logan and Spesh overlooking the cove Southeast out over the Atlantic. Plug for Spesh here: He operates BarbWire Tours offering "Local Herbs & Foods, Art, History & Local Stories and Guest House". He can be reached at 767-612-0477. If you're looking for kicks and giggles, give him a call from the States just to say "Hi". He's an enchanting fellow, and will probably answer like he takes calls like this every day!

Right before lunch, Spesh asked the boys if they wanted to go swimming...Duh! So, being unprepared for swimming as we were, Spesh started stripping down....Lanelle quickly exited stage left for fear of seeing Spesh au naturale... I was beginning to wonder myself. We stripped Logan down to his skivvies too, and away they went. Spesh did a grand ocean entry by doing a cartwheel followed immediately by a backflip that ended in the ocean. He took Logan up on his back and swam 20 yards out to the island shown. Spesh told us that the guy shown swimming in front owns Tomatoes, a high falootin resturant here in Picard...perhaps one of the fanciest on the island. Ethan didn't end up going swimming...I was a little nervous about it all...that ocean is rough. I consider myself a good swimmer, but I don't know if I'd want to tackle it.

After all the excitement of touring the Northeast coast of the island with 365 rivers, nine volcanos, 360 inches of rain per year on the East side, multiple species of ferns, etc., Brian, Logan and I went on the Indian River tour. That is the river where some of the scenes from the "Pirates of the Caribbean" movie was shot. Frankly, it wasn't the high point of the day. Following that trip by row boat, we boarded a speed boat, wooden hull and Yamaha outboard motor, for a tour of Prince Rupert Bay here at Portsmouth. We got to see the ocean view of the island, gave good wake to anchored yachts, saw "skipping" fish that skip across the water faster than a thrown rock.

Brian took some neat sunset photos this evening, Friday, January 9th. (Copyright 2009, Brian Henderson, Kimball, NE. Your royalty check is in the mail, Brian...along with your luggage from Liat):

Wednesday afternoon

I'll start off with some photos from the campus of Ross University School of Medicine located in Picard, Portsmouth, Commonwealth of Dominica, West Indies. The first one is Classroom 5, one of several large classrooms holding several hundred people. As you can see there are AV monitors hanging everywhere to be able to see the professors presentations. There are at least two video cameras set up both recording the lectures for later review and broadcast into other classrooms for overflow crowds.

The next image is a shot down hill to the Campus Activities Center across the top of the old sugar cane mill. You can see the old water wheel and some of the concrete and stone aquaduct. Apparently the British and French fought several wars over control of these mills. Hopefully I don't find any unexploded cannonballs.









This is a shot looking generally northeast. Gross Anatomy is in the low building front and center. The 2 story building in the back right houses classrooms, private study rooms, etc. Low building on left in front is Information Technology. The rain you can see in the background got to camput about the time I made it to the front entrance, so I did not get any photos of that.





This photo is of the Prep School where Logan will be attending. It is located on campus, and the daycare center that Ethan will be going to is located in the room right next to it. Don't know how the teachers plan to keep the kiddos out of the Caribbean Ocean...it's about 50 yards on beyond the playground equipment.







This is a shot just missing the corner of the "Subway Deck", yes, that Subway, the one that gives us all a taste of home! Haven't tried it yet, but nice to know it's there. The deck seen in the bottom of the photo is under construction, but looks like a nice study area don't you think? The mountains in the background are the identifying feature of Portsmouth.






This is Logan's "catch". They were laying on the beach about 75 yards North of our apartment, and he picked them up one day when we went down for a swim. The gas bottle for the stove is located in the cabinet right behind Logan, and the stove/oven is at left. There still isn't gas to be found in the community, but we're getting by with our rice steamer. Tonight we had lentils, rice, and some home made salsa that Lanelle put together from fresh ingredients. Had steamed rice, brown sugar (nice sugar, much larger granules than we're used to and similar to "Sugar in the Raw" that is available stateside), and a sprinkling of Nestle Quick chocalate powder. I topped mine off with a fresh grapefruit bought from a nice native lady in the little shed down the road. She was really chatty when I bought the grapefruit....asking about the boys and my wife. We've never met her before, but she's noticed us coming and going and took interest. She asked how I liked it in "her country". That really gave me a goosebump feeling....taking ownership of this....her home....as we were about to cross the main street together, an extra surge of traffic was passing. Her parting comment was "it's so much busier now". "We" are impacting these people, and though there would not appear on the surface to be anything to lose, maybe they're losing "home". I'm loving "her country"; it has already opened my eyes in ways not otherwise possible. We Americans are a spoiled lot. I asked her if she'd ever visited the USA; she hasn't.

This photo is from last Sunday afternoon. That's cocoa drying on a piece of plywood along the side of the road to Woten Waven.











Just some shots of flora


































Rope swings and water are not a combination that can be passed up! Glad the rope didn't break and dump my fat patooty in the ocean!











Okay, here is the laundry shot of the happenings in the kitchen sink. Brian, Lanelle's brother for those of you who asked, snuck up and caught me by surprise. Sorry about the little peek-a-boo blue we got goin on here. Still have not lost the farmers tan either. We actually have not spent that much time at the beach, to be quite honest. Since it is close, it is usually just an hour or so at a time, and are usually swimming then. The water is surprisingly cool when you get into it, and takes a little bit for the body to adjust (read "pucker, baby"). It is insanely clear; I walked out out to chest deep and could see my feet yet. Course they're kinda big so maybe that doesn't count.

Another interesting tidbit for you construction types: the walls, floor, porch, stairs are all concrete construction. Roosevelt Roberts, husband of Leona our landlady, is making an addition just out our bedroom door. It is concrete block, approximate block dimension 4x8x16 inches with 3 holes. They are working on the second story now, so the blocks are hooked to a rebar piece bent into an S shape, then hoisted by hand via a rope. Sand for mortar is carried up in old fiber/plastic feed sacks and dumped on the concrete ceiling of the first floor. A not very big man carried a 94 pound sack of portland cement up a flight of stairs, across the handrail, and onto the ceiling. This mix is made right on the floor using shovels to mix, then handed up to the block layers. Roosevelt told me tonight that they ran out of blocks so didn't get as far as they'd like. The ceiling of the second story will eventually be a veranda for our apartment, which will be nice. Don't know if that will happen during our stay, though.

Looking out our East and front door toward the mountains. The little minivan you see is a "bus". This particular street is dirt. The tree that you see limbs of in the right of the photo is a mango, and the shorty on the right of the road is banana. I'm curious to know if the lady in the yellow house has a laundry service....this morning I saw through the red door at the left that it looked like she had a washing machine, and the little low flat roof shed seen just above left of the blue shed has lots of clothes hanging to dry. Quite usual to see chickens crossing back and forth across this street. I still don't know why. It was cute earlier on our walk back from Tina's, the grocery. There was a black mother hen and 3 little black peeps that was in the middle of the paved street along with us walking and a bus careening around the corner. During the chaos, the hen flew to the side of the road into the banana grove, but the little peeps were yet in the road scattering in 3 directions. The van driver screeched to a halt and let the little ones get out of his way, then passed on down the street. Very quickly and loudly momma hen came and gathered her chicks and away they went along their merry way.

Boiling water sulfur springs near Trafalgar Falls taken last Sunday afternoon.


All for tonight. Hope to do a few touristy things tomorrow. Would like to go over to Atlantic Ocean side as I've heard Calibishie is pretty and perhaps take a boat ride through Prince Rupert Bay here in Portsmouth.