Progress, Or Something

Last night I had one of those nights where your brain doesn’t shut off until 3:30 in the morning and instead goes over every possibility the next day might bring in minute detail while singing complicated Adele songs in anticipation of the far away event I might have to sing them. I woke a few hours later and proceeded to the demonstration plot with Barbara where our tired looking sorrel transplants recovered in the sunshine and dry topsoil. Waiting in the shade for the person we needed to complete the task at hand (pegging out the locations for the seedling nurseries) I gazed at the hilltops asking the names of structures and clearings. Once we realized the person was not going to come, Barbara decided to show me how to get to the Paradise Hill Guesthouse- a building at the very top of the hill (or mountain, I don’t know what to call them b/c they might not be ‘Catskills high’ but they are steep).

We began our ascent in a district called “Silent Lane”, an unpaved road with sparsely placed houses among lush greenery- mango, pimento, pear, ginup, fig and breadfruit trees, thick vines of yellow and red flowers, ferns that look fake and copious other unidentified flora. As the road deteriorated into a path, the houses became more prominently wood board and tin roof structures (as opposed to cinderblock and concrete), the vegetation continued to be magnificent and I began to miss my dog something fierce. I am discovering a side of Beeston Spring that I adore- paths that have all the regenerative properties of a good hike, and that lead to places where people live and farm. I am a strange sight in many places in Jamaica, but especially wandering on my own in the bush. And I’ve not been accustomed to doing so for the last 3 years, since a perky little canine version of myself nestled into my arms. I found myself wondering if I’d ever find a dog in Jamaica who so happily follows my footsteps, and understands my words (those who know Lucy know that this is no dramatization). It feels alien and lonely to wander in the woods without a canine companion, even with the presence of Barbara. Needless to say I’m searching for a puppy. Not to take home, just to love in the interim, for just as age brings the wisdom to accept the things you don’t like, it also brings the wisdom to accept the person you are. I, am a dog person.

Anyway, we arrived at Paradise Hill and I promptly acknowledged that it was very aptly named. Nestled on a mountain top and surrounded by mountains, the Beeston Spring valley in the immediate landscape and the ocean beyond, Paradise Hill attracts a cool breeze, has a pool and a bar. On a clear day you can see as far as Treasure Beach along the coastline. Today it was quiet and the owner showed me around and then we sat in the shade talking about Beeston Spring, behavior change, American influences and the connection between anything called ‘Columbia’ and the Illuminati.

On the walk down I continued to marvel at the ‘hidden’ poverty in Beeston Spring. The thing about it here is that it’s literally off the beaten path, and off the beaten path means various differences- access to water and electricity being the main two, the former more than the latter. It’s not an easy walk, and I witnessed a mother carrying her infant, an umbrella for shade and a large purse up the hill, negotiating the uneven and rocky terrain in a simple pair of sandals. I also watched a woman leave her house with an overflowing hamper of clothes on her head, about to do her wash at the top of the hill where the water spigot is- and we were about halfway between the bottom and top when this occurred. People here continue to perplex and amaze me.

What went on between  arriving back to the main road and the evening is not of consequence. This evening though, I inadvertently led my first Farmers Group meeting. As we have no executive body, this being the first meeting, and I am modestly capable of putting words together, I ended up doing a lot of talking. Barbara and I had worked out an agenda the other day and we stuck to it quite well. The turnout could have been better, but it could certainly have been worse- there were a few new faces to my eyes so I count that as a plus. I was to introduce myself at this meeting, a task I took very seriously as the group disbanded 3 years ago due to distrust and an opaque organizational structure. I think I did well judging by the nods and knowing smiles at my insinuations of past versus present. I stressed that I am here in Beeston Spring for two years solely to get this group functioning, and I will not take that task lightly, nor will responsibility be abused or transparency compromised while I am doing my job. Next, I facilitated a SWOT analysis (strength, weakness, opportunity, threat) of farming in Beeston Spring and was disappointed when the opportunities section prompted no participation. Perhaps they just need inspiration.

In the end, while I think the meeting was productive, I am not sure how I feel about my own performance. I think I may have come off as too passionate and too outspoken. At the end of the meeting I was relieved to not have to hear my own voice, to not have tidal waves of emotion rolling out of my mouth. This mostly pertained to the last part of the meeting- a discussion about turning the plan I drew up for the demo plot into a diorama type display for the Denbigh Agricultural Show the first weekend in August, an annually huge deal for ag in Jamaica. Some persons were hung up on the time and energy and money it would take to create while other more silent participants had voted it a good idea (some protesters even voted it a good idea). As we discussed details, such as materials and whatnot, I was on a completely different wavelength as the protesters, making for a rowdy discussion for a solid 20 minutes (this discussion including a lot of “Adri, you don’t understand”s which made me feel as young and inexperienced as I actually am- cue sinking feeling in my gut). I realized I may have been getting possessive of the whole idea and just as I backed off, the other half understood where I was coming from.

It’s gonna be a busy next three weeks. Time to find my favorite fuzz-face in my photo archive.