Singing Sea/El Mar Que Canta (Paperback)

The time I was married for 30 years I was teaching full day in a public school pre-k, teaching a three hour course at a local community college, monitoring two grants for young families, and had just had my first children's book published, Helper Cow. On the home front my husband, Bob, and I had acres of gardens, horses, cats, dogs, and chickens to care for. We decided we needed a totally relaxing get away.

We booked a flight to a nature preserve, La Sagesse in Grenada. We got there and the peace of the place filled our very being. Our room was a stone's throw from the beach. You could smell the sea air and hear the waves crashing in front of our room. The restaurant was open air, on the beach, and twenty steps from our room. It served organically grown veggies from a local farmer. The fishermen would row up to the shore. Denise and Cecelia, two women who worked there, would look over the fresh caught, lobsters, tuna, and assorted fish and decide what the lunch and dinner menu would be. It was paradise. One day Mike, the owner of the preserve, told us that Mr. Boney had a van and was taking a young just married couple on an island tour and snorkeling. He had room for two more. We jumped at the chance. Boney was tall and fit. He had lived on the island his entire life. He brought us to his beautiful house to show us cinnamon trees, dasheen, calaloo, his dog, and chickens. He was a wealth of information about the flora and fauna of the island. He was very generous sharing his knowledge.

Then we set out to find the coral reef to snorkel. Boney had a red van that seated six people. It had no seatbelts. It was stifling hot. The drivers in Grenada drive on the left side of the road. They drive fast and pass each other tooting their horns like race car drivers. The roads are windy with steep mountains. There are drop offs with no guard rails.

I was clutching the seat until my knuckles turned white. The young woman in back felt car sick. Suddenly, Boney stopped the car near a cluster of houses on the edge of a cliff. To our left was the turquoise sea, the Caribbean. It was sparkling. Boney told us to carefully get out of the van. One side was the steep drop. The other side had crazy drivers whizzing by. Boney blocked the tire with a wedge so it would not roll down the hill. He locked it up and told a kid he would pay him if he watched it until he got back.

We gathered our snorkels, flippers, masks, sunscreen, hats etc. We looked like such tourists and we were. Boney told us to follow him single file. The pavement was burning hot and the tropical sun penetrating. We walked to a dusty, tiny, dirt road that wound down to the beach. We got to a point in between the main road and the beach. It was so hot and closed over with vegetation we could hardly breathe. Boney hacked at the plants with his big machete to clear a path. Land crabs scuttled by our feet into holes.

Finally we could hear the surf. We came to a small opening and could feel the breeze. There it was. A crescent shaped beach strewn with coral so thick it crunched under your feet. There was no room for sand. There were waving palm trees and small cliffs on both sides. There were some youth on the beach and fishermen with bright blue and red motor boats in the water.

Boney walked up to the youth and spoke Patois. He told us this was it. He told us the fishermen had the right of way and they were not thrilled that we were there. He said do not leave anything on the beach. He said he had to go because he was worried about his van. He would be back in two hours. It was sketchy.

The four of us scrambled around the edges of the water and cliffs and could not see an easy way into the crashing surf and through the sharp coral.

We finally dove off at a low point of the cliff. A fisherman came buzzing by bar