I had to leave my car in Warrens today for a service and thought I would walk down to UWI. When we walk and look, we see so much more than driving by in a car. As I crossed the roundabout, a tractor was clearing the land to my right. The ever attendant cattle egrets were there, waiting to see what choice morsels the tractor blade would turn up. Isnt it amazing how these birds are so attuned to the food in cleared or ploughed land that some sixth sense draws them in from far away. A bit further on, the highway was cut through the fossilized coral reefs of Barbados and there our geological history was laid out for me...millions of dead coral skeletons, tightly packed over each other, towering over my head and reaching the very surface. A bright flash of yellow and what a surprise, a yellow warbler flew into the river tamarinds that line the road, creating the illusion of a highway built through a forest. Yellow warblers are quite fond of river tamarind, as they provide shade and insect food. Once very rare, this species is now widespread on the island. A bit further on, a line of black belly sheep were staked out. By then, the sun was high in the sky and they were crowding the side of the road cut to get as much shade as possible. What handsome animals they are, I thought and at the same time, what a pity that they are there, probably for the entire day, without a drop of water to drink. This happens so often, animals are left to graze and no provision is made for them to have access to water. The coral cliff petered out and my eye was caught by the fence that marked the extent of the property that I was passing and by the large gaping hole that someone had cut in it, so that people could have access from a neighbouring gap to the road. I thought to myself, dont we Bajans love a short cut....even if it is through some one elses property. There was a sprinkling of wild flowers on the verge but none of the butterflies I thought would have been attracted to them. The tragedy of a high speed roadway made itself apparent in the decomposing body of a small brown dog, its collar still around its neck. This was not the only victim of passing cars...earlier I had passed the bodies of various birds which had unfortunately flown in the path of oncoming vehicles. Road kill is a reality that we only appreciate when we walk by the side of the road. Crossing the intersection at the top of Cave Hill, my eye was caught by the house on the hill...a special house to me...I have often admired it during all the years I taught at UWI, often thinking what a commanding view it has of Bridgetown. I could live there. I was on the down hill section of the road now and breathing easier. How out of shape I am, I thought to myself. Yet another intersection. As I pressed the pedestrian crossing button and waited for the flashing silver hand to tell me when to cross, a bright splash of crimson caught my eye. It was a Monarch butterfly, the first butterfly I had seen all morning. It fluttered in the direction of Art Edwards busts of the three Ws. I took this as a signal that I should have a look at the busts, not knowing when I would walk that way again. As I circled the plinth, I noticed that Everton Weekes was missing. Further, someone had defaced the nose of Walcott. Vandalism knows no pride. I walked through that shadowy glade with the wind soughing through the branches of trees. Under the womans tongue tree, the myriad of seed pods chattered their secrets in a soft susurruu that left me none the wiser. It was pleasant nonetheless. I was almost there. As I entered the campus, a wave of nostalgia struck me. This after all was where I had spent three years of my young life, earning my first degree and then later in life, twenty years teaching. Tired and thirsty, I bought a bottle of water and made my way to the benches located in the cool of the hill overlooking the southern side of campus. It being holiday time, very few students were around and the raucous laughter of the children enjoying summer camp was too distant to impinge on my thoughts. As I drank, wood doves wandered around my feet and a blackbird strutted close by and sang sweetly, hoping that I had some bread. A Grey Kingbird, which Barbadians insist on calling a peewhittler, perched on a branch over my head and even an inquisitive vireo came down, uttering his John Chew It call. Again I thought to myself, isnt it amazing how semi domesticated many of the Barbadian birds are...but then, that is a survival mechanism they have adopted in such a crowded island. The water finished, my brief interlude with nature was at an end. It was off to the library to check some essential data for it is that time of year when my attention turns to the 2014 Journal of the Barbados Museum. The mornings walk was over.
Posted on: Wed, 09 Jul 2014 01:12:33 +0000
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