All The Fruits.

Behold, the Soursop.

It looks a mess, but I promise, it’s fantastic. We bought this one on Carriacou, and Jason cracked it, split it, peeled it?...I’m not really sure how you get into it...so that we could all try it. I already knew I liked it, hence my soursop smoothie yesterday. Everyone tried this one and those who could get past the smooth and slimy texture admitted they really liked it, too. Sweet and tangy, refreshing and sloppy. Pinching the pits at one another was just a bonus.

This is a peeled Soursop. I was unable to photograph the Soursop as it comes off the tree before Jason peeled it. Imagine a large, lumpy avocado with small spikies all over.

We have found many new fruits and foods in these two weeks in Grenada and the Grenadines, so many things I’ve never seen anywhere else.

This morning we moved from Anse la Roche to a large mangrove area on the southwestern shore of Carriacou. A mangrove is a shoreline full of trees that suspend their roots in sea water. These areas look swampy and are usually disregarded as useless, or as something that should be purged in favor of a resort-y beach. In fact, the mangrove is an essential part of a healthy marine ecosystem and a bustling coral reef, as it is the nursery grounds for the larger reef fish we see further offshore. It can feel a little creepy in there, sort of quiet and eerie, mangrove roots like bony fingers reaching into the water.

A quick look below the surface reveals all manner of things unlike the clear waters and brightly colored reefs we’ve been swimming over. The water here is a little murky, full of microscopic life. The sea floor of the mangrove pulses with upside down jellyfish, harmless but best left undisturbed. These feed from the water column and partner with photosynthetic algae to turn sunlight into nutrition. The most brave of us crept closer to the edges, nudging into spaces between the roots, suspended and full of algaes and stuff and sponges and more stuff, a forest through which millions of tiny little fish swirl and spin. Occasionally a larger fish bombs through these schools, and the little ones fan out like leaves from a leaf blower. For every one creature we register here, there are hundreds more we don’t see. It’s a special place, and our tour of it was an exercise in being still and fighting the urge to bolt from strange but important spaces. It’s stillness that reveals the fruits of this productive zone.

I love photographing here, if for no other reason than it produces a new color palette for our blog. After 30 minutes or so, I could tell our swimmers were equal parts fascinated and ready to move on, so we eased our way back out of the Groves of Man and back to our yacht, waiting in the deeper waters of the harbor.

Light streams down between the mangrove roots, illuminating a world quite unlike the reef life it supports.

We climbed aboard to yummy pre-sail, pre-lunch snacks prepared by both Miriam and Jason, who had made a soup from the callaloo we’d bought with the soursop. Callaloo is a leafy green that can’t be eaten raw, and is a bit like collard greens when cooked. Another food I’ve never seen anywhere else. Another fantastic flavor that must be earned through careful preparation.

Our downwind sail was long and beautiful, as we crossed from Carriacou back to Ile de Ronde by way of the windward side of that island and adjacent, baby island Caille. Jason was very passionate in his description of these islands and their relatively recent formation by the still active, undersea volcano, Kick’em Jenny. The exposed, open ocean sides of these islands are windy, raw and wild. We watched big waves crash along jagged black shores, tall cliffs lined with wind swept trees. No structures here, just wildness.

As we pulled into our anchorage on the leeward side, Jason called for another hike. He and Zack, Lexi and Cynthia swam to shore and hiked to the other side of this unique and wild island. Zack took some fantastic photos and I’m so glad because I’m a terrible hiker and if I’d gone ashore, I surely would have died there.

Our hikers befriended and island dog who hated to see them leave. We’ve been hearing him howling for their return. Poor beach pup.

Back on the yacht, I completed my rapid covid test video session for reentry into the US this coming Saturday. We are so glad to be able to offer this convenience to our guests, and Marianne and Janine got theirs done as well. The process is a little time consuming and mildly frustrating, if for no other reason than it reminds us that we are still within the grips of this pandemic - something of which this time at sea has allowed us a blissful ignorance.

After the benalities of testing, Janine was past ready to jump in for a swim. She and I set out alone into the wind and waves. We got about a half mile from the boat and fell into one of the conversations that can happen when the ocean is bumpy at just the right moment in a life. We floated and it pulled things from us that needed to be said. These words will remain ours, but I do believe we both came back to the yacht a little better, light hearts the fruits of rough water.

I’ve neglected to mention that this fantastic group of people has spent every night this week in rowdy rounds of UNO Flip (Thanks, Melinda!). I do believe these hours of play after dark have made their salt water bonds even more indelible. I haven’t played, as I work on the blog after dinner, but the laughter and buoyancy that has come from these game nights have become the soundtrack to my daily recounts of the fruits of these special days.

It’s late, and I’ve written too many words even as Janine encouraged me to let the pictures do the talking today. I can’t help it. These swims, days, adventures, waves give me all the feels and I just can’t sleep until I try to make you understand.

It’s different out here, you know? It’s different. It pushes and pulls and begs us to drop our bags on the dock and let go. Occasionally it looks a mess, but It’s fantastic, I promise.

One full day left.

Heather