jodyrathgeb

As a fractured-sleep insomniac, I spend some late hours at my dining-room table, trying to tire my mind with solitaire, sudoku or making lists. It’s a time when I become aware of the nighttime sounds outside my apartment or house. In Richmond, these include train whistles, passing cars and helicopters landing on the roof the nearby Medical College of Virginia. On North Caicos, it’s barking and howling dogs, frogs in the cistern and high-tide surf, sometimes sussurating, sometimes roaring.
Noticing this makes me compare my urban and island sounds further, and I am surprised to find so much overlap, with differences not so much in type but in degree.
For example, I hear traffic in both places, but in Whitby it’s the occasional car out on the main road or a rumble up Hollywood Beach Road, while in Richmond there’s a steady whoosh on I-95 punctuated with closer passings just outside my building.
City sirens are frequent and varied: police, fire, ambulance, car alarms. On North, there’s only the occasional whine of the (singular) ambulance.
Likewise, the beat of ‘copter blades is steadier in the city than from the less-frequent passing of a Coast Guard patrol over the island.
I hear birds in both places, just different types. Canada goose and flamingo calls are remarkably similar! If I were a birder I might detect more differences, but to my untrained ear, only the “gobble” of the Cuban crow stands out as island-unique.
There are sounds of other people—their conversations, laughter and music—in both places, although live singing is more common to hear on the island, and angry voices more common in the city.
I hear the presence of churches in both places, but differently: bells in the city, wafting gospel songs and amplified sermons across the island.
The dog serenades on North Caicos—hearty crescendos of barks and howls—become, in the city, only an occasional altercation between people-walkers or the lonely complaint of a new puppy left alone in someone’s apartment.
Are any sounds either urban-unique or island-isolated? Well, yes. There are certain transportation sounds I hear only in the city: trains, garbage trucks and skateboards. But in the city I never hear certain sounds that my soul needs: wind through palm fronds and, above all, the ocean.
Ah, soundwaves. One of the reasons the island keeps drawing me back.
 
 

The Turks and Caicos SPCA recently finished its annual spay/neuter clinic on North Caicos. Each year for the past eight, it has brought volunteer vets and veterinary technicians to the island to care for pets and work at controlling the stray populations. For a week, local volunteers trap and release feral dogs and cats and handle other duties at the clinic while the pros perform an amazing number of operations.
Because my house is the clinic site, I am usually not there. This year, though, TCSPCA director Susan Blehr wanted me to see it first-hand, and volunteer Kim Armstrong gave me shelter so that I could stay for at least a part of it.
Even when I wasn’t there, I knew of the good that the spay/neuter clinic did, seeing for myself the diminishing presence of packs of wild dogs. What was more important and encouraging, to me, was seeing inroads on volunteering and a sense of community.
When I first began visiting the Turks and Caicos, I noticed that little value was given to volunteerism. In a place where just keeping oneself and one’s family fed and thriving was difficult, this was understandable. There was, in fact, even a suspicion of the volunteer taking away what might be paid jobs.
These attitudes have been changing as the island grows more prosperous and people go beyond family loyalties to recognize that the “us” of North Caicos is more inclusive. There are now fundraisers for the schools, beach cleanups and park maintenance projects. Some churches are beginning to reach out to help the elderly and poor instead of just preaching at them. And individuals are taking on work for the common good, with people like Lovey Forbes, who creates and maintains community areas on his own, leading the way.
The annual spay/neuter clinic is a part of this. What I saw in my brief time with it is cooperation with the program that reduces wild dog and cat populations; donations beyond payment for individual pet care; and the inclusive presence of children, who see and absorb the ethos of “helping out.”
And what help there is! The volunteers work hard, providing not only their time but also use of their own vehicles (and gas for them!), food for the vet team (who are volunteers themselves), even airfare to be there to help.
For this year’s clinic, I salute not only Susan Blehr, vet Liz Harris and vet tech Kim Wharton  and the volunteers I don’t know on Provo, but also these local volunteers and donors, in alphabetical order: Kim Armstrong, Howie Bartels, Patti DesLauriers, Regine Forbes, Merrica and Kamron Handfield, Sheila Parsons, Ernie Quant and Brenda Wilcke. Hats off also to Addison Forbes, who preps the house and garage, then does the laundry afterwards, and my neighbors who tolerate the extra traffic and noise.
I also salute the volunteers-to-be, who are seeing the “us” of North Caicos.
 

A lot of weird creatures live at the beach, and the weirdest of all are humans.

While other beach denizens make their homes in the sand and water and hide from the direct sun, we do the opposite. We put down towels and beach chairs to separate us from the sand and use plastic floats to keep us above the water. Then we catch our solar rays despite everything we've learned about the dangers of tanning.

The weirdest thing we do, though, is build homes that fly in the face of everything we know about living on the shore.

INSTEAD of orienting homes to make the best use of cooling ocean breezes, we line them up in neat suburban rows.

WE PRIZE "the view," but separate ourselves from it with glass and screens, requiring us to clean constantly to keep the view clear.

WE FURNISH these homes with items that battle with the elements: heavy upholstery, carpeting, finicky electronics, dust-catching rattan.

WE INSTALL hard-to-maintain swimming pools just feet away from the greatest swimming hold earth has to offer.

Then, hoping to protect all our investments and yet further separating ourselves from the beach, we put in air conditioning.

At this time of year, even in more moderate climates, people begin to separate along the air conditioning line. The "pros" can't imagine summer without chilled escape pods; the "cons" can't see why anyone would want to need a sweater in August.

I am truly baffled by people who move to the islands for the warmth, then shut themselves off from it. Yes, I know that sometimes the breeze dies and it gets oppressively hot. But those days, really, are rare and should be taken as a sign that it's time to slow down, take a swim, have a cool drink or take a nap. There's a reason certain areas of the world have a tradition of the siesta. Pre-AC people had it figured out.

I don't totally reject all AC. I think a certain level of it is necessary in hospitals and nursing homes, and I concede that it can provide an escape from sand flies on certain hot, still mornings. Nevertheless, I'd rather use Off! as my perfume than seal myself away from island living.

​Aloe House, the place that Tom and I built, is not directly on the beach. In its soul, however, it is a beach house, a comfortable cross between a cabana or tiki hut and a carefully appointed American home. Our builder, Clifford Gardiner, understood that it should be strong enough for hurricanes, yet open enough for indoor-outdoor living. We like it.
Other people apparently like it, too. While we aren’t in the rental business, others occasionally stay here, enjoying themselves and leaving a few footprints behind. A lot about this house has been letting go of the complete control of ownership and getting into the serendipity of sharing … especially when it comes to the things left behind.
There are, first, the things that are practical and appreciate: soap, bug spray, coffee, beer koozies, Zip-Loc bags and cool kitchen surprises such as artisanal vinegars, homemade fig chutney and jam.
Then come things that are a bit less practical for us, but, yeah, okay: tanning lotions of low SPF, tea lights and, ahem, feminine hygiene products (which would have been in Category One 15 or so years ago).
And then there are the truly mystifying items. Somehow, Aloe House has amassed a collection of tennis balls. This would be understandable if we or our acquaintances played tennis, or if there were a place to play tennis on North Caicos (the court at the former Prospect of Whitby is long overgrown), or if our guests included Golden or Labrador retrievers. None of those suppositions applies, and I have tried to interest the potcakes (local dogs) in balls, but they just look at me like bored teenagers. (Yeah, right. I’m gonna chase that?) Ultimately, I have no idea about the origins of the tennis balls.
And now, there’s a mermaid doll. Actually, two. Let’s just stop there, noting that no children have stayed at Aloe House. I’m sure it has something to do with vacation whimsy.
Other mysteries (for me) involved hunting for the misplaced. I rearrange the linens nearly every trip (constantly separating the “scrub towels” from “good for guests”), but can I ever find a washcloth? I leave reading glasses everywhere, but always seem to need new ones. Dog bowls disappear regularly (I don’t have dogs, but try to make sure my neighbor “adoptees” always have water. I suspect some doggie hoarding, somewhere.) And only yesterday I found my flexible cutting boards atop the refrigerator, a place I normally ignore because it’s far above my eye level.
I prefer, however, these mysteries to the alternative: being the type of homeowner who has to control everything. I am an organized woman, but when it comes to beach houses and island time, relaxing the standards is the only thing that makes sense.
 

I am flying to the TCI tomorrow, so to allow myself more time for trying to remember what I'm forgetting, here is an old blog about something I'm going to be doing very soon.

A few axioms of Cleaning Things in the Turks and Caicos Islands:
1. It's an endless job. Salt air and winds that pick up dust conspire to make sure that what's clean now won't be an hour from now. So...
2. Forget perfection. If you are someone who insists on everything being sparkly clean, you will go crazy here. Susie Gardiner said it well when I despaired of getting the windows of Aloe House in a synchronicity of clear: "Jody, those windows are never going to be clean-clean."
3. If a cleaning product doesn't make your fingernails fall off, burn your eyes with fumes or eat through rubber gloves, it probably won't work.
4. Bleach is your friend. Diluted, it boosts your laundry detergent, cleans toilets better than those fancy products, takes that sulfur smell out of cistern water and cleans up shells from the beach. Use it liberally.
5. Bleach is not your friend. It stains clothes, eats away at anything rubber and seems to splash inopportunely. Use it carefully.
6. Gecko shit happens. They find favorite corners to use as their toilet, and you will be constantly cleaning up after them. But don't make the mistake of thinking the solution is to get rid of them. They eat bugs. Which would you rather have - a houseful of mosquitoes, or a houseful of cute little geckos. Think of them as insurance (ha, ha).
7. Everyone's an expert, and everyone has their own solutions, either serious or tongue-in-cheek. Vinegar's better than Windex (or vice-versa). Always mop twice (or don't). My favorite is by Dave Kennedy of Sandy Point on cleaning window screens: If you just don't clean them, the sand flies can't get through.
8. Get over it. Don't go overboard. Remember that it's an endless job, and learn to live with a little dirt. Take frequent breaks (have a beer!), renew yourself and remember that tomorrow is another day.