Showing posts with label Black River. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Black River. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

... Joyce's gerberas ...

..."take time to smell the roses," ... this well known bit of advice is a Russian proverb, who knew? ... of course, in our Western interpretation it refers to more than roses ... the phrase nods to the fragrance of the flower while conveying a philosophy of deliberate appreciation toward beauty in general ... colourful plants, astral constellations, rainbows, autumn vistas, sea-breeze, natural phenomena great and small, in fact, any facet of Creation which stimulates pleasure sensors into a state of wonderment ...

... I arrive at these thoughts by reviewing photos of my most recent Jamaica jaunt which featured a trek to Black River, St. Elizabeth to hail Aunt Joyce, longtime earth-mother and horticulturist ... her yard's a port in a storm, featuring comforting constancy associated with boyhood happiness and adventure ...













... the open-faced blooms of her gerberas come in various colours but it is the overlapping radiance of their display that makes me take time to really look ... the gerbera flower is a member of the daisy family which originates in South Africa, and is valued worldwide in floral arrangements ... it has been hybridized to the point where it can be considered a cash-crop ...














... I suppose one could say it shows considerable temerity on my part to talk of smelling roses while visually featuring gerberas, but that's the sort of thing I'm getting a reputation for here at Ackeelover Chronicles ... literary license and extrapolation ... besides, I'm really only speaking in terms of the exquisite expressions of nature represented by these flowers ...

... having attended many a Black River Flower Show, I have a good understanding of the power of a flower ... so too the people who came up with the Persian proverb "the world is a rose; smell it and pass it to your friends," ... I'm due for another visit to this versatile garden, perhaps at that time my peculiar logic will lead me to smell the orchids and write about Joyce's roses ...

Friday, October 30, 2009

... "taliban" travelogue trilogy ... 3rd gear ... Black River ...


I believe it was Paul who first told me new slang for these automobiles ...
hardy versatile car-truck, best form-function combo found on four wheels ...

as seen on newsreels from Afghanistan ... built tough to suit the nether regions of anywhere ...
rebel-associated pick-ups now known as ... "taliban" ... linguistic inventiveness rules life here ....
I had been north to Toronto, a vital visit with my grown-up daughter and son ...
barely three weeks after a Jamaican excursion ... here I was having another one ...

this time I planned to relive long-time memories ... nostalgia, to tell the absolute truth ...
via the same road trip to Black River ... we so often did back then in our youth ...

Dad was once doctor-of-record, in old Spanish Town ... poverty and strife still entrenched there ...
I always think on him hard, passing that hospital front-gate ... the old cathedral and historic town square ...













prior commitment detoured us to Ewarton ... Pleasant Farm actually, way off our track ...
but effectively, it doubled my experience ... driving all the way 'round there and back ...

the talk was of past times and present reality, farming cassava, Paul's beloved livestock ... and whatnot ...
in the Rio Cobre gorge we paused to admire mother nature's salacious split ... the "pum pum" rock spot ...













on the French-built, multi-lane, wide Mandela Highway ... we paid our compulsory cash toll ...
here speed demons hype-flex flash rides ... Beenie wrote off his hummer and Bolt's bimma did a pupalick roll ...













Gutters, Tombstone, Goshen, Lacovia ... many a familiar place-name ...
in the St. Bess red dirt some things do change ... but most seemed to stay exactly the same ...














over two days and nights I'd do everything, get to know the next generation ...
visiting the Black River Upper Morass was bonus ... up past derelict "Sixteen Pump" location ...













a species-rich ecosystem I'd heard tales of ... felt like Jamaica's version of Africa's Nile ...
never more so than when we saw, off to one side ... the fabled, yet elusive Black River crocodile ...













Paul and I grew up fishing, this time in a "taliban" on the dykes, today my eight-inch catfish won our lifetime contest ...
rod and line couldn't match the guys with no fear of reptiles ... beating water into all-day nets earlyset to corner their quest ...







inspiration screamed at me in a meditative morning stretch ... we ate ackee and headed back to town ...
three road-trips this year felt spiritually connected ... this travelogue trilogy had to be written down ...