The view from Mafolie
by Anton Zuiker on March 11, 2019
Illustration of Estate Mount Washington Plantation on St. Croix
In yesterday’s NYTimes Travel section, Jessica Francis Kane writes about the Mafolie Great House that was owned for a time by her grandparents. Kane travels to St. Thomas, in the U.S. Virgin Islands, in search of the place with the famous view and the story of what happened to the house since her father moved to the Mainland and her grandfather passed away. It’s an interesting slice of memoir, even if you don’t have a connection to the islands.
Kane stayed at the Mafolie Hotel overlooking Charlotte Amalie. I know that hotel well, because during my two winter-break trips to St. Thomas—my father moved back there when I was in college—I would stop by the hotel to hang out at the swimming pool, drinking soda and reading Arthur Conan Doyle.
At the NYTimes site, Kane’s article generated a lot of comments, many pointing out the sad legacy of colonial sugar plantations that were dependent on slavery, and the subsequent poverty and racial tensions in the Virgin Islands.
Erin and I have taken our children to the Virgin Islands three times to visit my father and stepmother, who spend time on St. Croix when they’re not in Hawaii. Dorothy Hutchins—Abu Dot to us (abu means grandparent in the language of Paama)—has lived on the Frederiksted side since the 1970s, and she’s shared her considerable knowledge and passion for the island and its culture, people, and places. Just over the hill from her house is Estate Mount Washington, a restored Danish cotton and sugar plantation. We’ve walked over there a couple of times, to snap photos against the picturesque old stone walls but also to discuss the nuanced history and all its pain. When we go to Christiansted, on the other side of the island, we always visit the fort where Alexander Hamilton’s mother had been jailed, and we climb down into the dank dungeon where runaway slaves were chained. A couple of years we’ve accompanied Abu Dot to the March 31st Transfer Day ceremony marking the handover of the Virgin Islands from Denmark to the United States.
Another time, Dad and Dot drove us up Creque Dam Road to see the old reservoir. (The name Creque comes up in Kane’s St. Thomas article.) We crawled with our children out on the dam to sit in the middle and look down on the water weeds blanketing the collected water. Crucians go up to wash their cars with that water. We walked up the road and swung from the roots of banyan trees.
I hope to get back to St. Croix again soon. Dot’s son, Aaron, is a partner in Leatherback Brewing Co., and I want to sit in the sun enjoying their island brews and learning more about the islands.
Mall memories
by Anton Zuiker on March 10, 2019
During my blogging sabbatical of 2014 and 2015, when I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, my wardrobe went white, gray, and black. It was easier to be monotone, and it matched my mood.
Eventually, though, I began to take notice of the colors of the world. I inched back into blogging; my first few posts featured Malia’s colorful illustration of our Caribbean vacation and my snapshots of back-eyed Susans in Cleveland and roadside goldenrod in North Carolina. Soon enough, my closet was filled with coral chinos, red linen shirts, and for work, blue oxford shirts. I also bought an orange tie that always seems to get a compliment.
Doing the laundry one day, Erin noticed a sameness.
“Don’t buy another blue shirt,” she told me that night, confirming the nagging feeling I’d been having when I get dressed for work each morning.
So, today, after brunch with friends and then Oliver’s basketball game, I drove with Anna and Malia to the mall. We split up, and I went to my favorite store to make use of the 50% sale. (A gimmick, since what I pay for a discounted shirt today is more than what a full-priced shirt cost just a few years ago.) I walked out with a few new shirts; one is a cool blue pattern on white.
Walking to meet the girls, I had this memory of the mall my mother used to take me to in Idaho (the one with the arcade.) and the taste of those visits—we always went into the Orange Julius shop for a frothy, sweetened orange drink. I hated shopping for clothes, and I think mom made Orange Julius a regular treat because it made the mall trip bearable for us both.
The color orange followed me from Idaho to St. Croix to Illinois, where I found myself in a high school with the colors black and orange. I put orange shoe laces in my black oxford shoes last week, and in doing so, one of the eyelet tabs fell off. Until then, I had never noticed that the little ring tabs were on the underside of the vamp, and until I just looked up the definition of Oxford shoe, I didn’t know that the underside ring is the defining characteristic of that shoe.
From Orange Julius to Oxford shoes. Fascinating where a memory will take you.
Seeding hope
by Anton Zuiker on March 9, 2019
I spent the morning out back, raking the yard of all the debris from the tree work and all the leaves laid down over the last decade. The pileated woodpeckers were active in the branches above. I’m physically drained.
Inside, I joined Erin and Anna to watch Instant Family, about a couple fostering a trio of siblings. I laughed-cried-laughed-cried, tears down my face the entire movie.
Then, a date with Erin to the Home Depot for grass seed and weather stripping, and the grocery store for ingredients for brunch with friends tomorrow. Along the way we talked about our own fostering experience a few years back, something I’ve not written about for a number of reasons.
We work hard, get our hands dirty, laugh heartily and love unconditionally, and plant hope where we can.
The Austin 100
by Anton Zuiker on March 8, 2019
Bronze Radio Return at Cat's Cradle
Nick, my brother, would normally be planning to listen to as much live music as he and Carolyn could during the South by Southwest festival that’s happening next week. They love live music—they live in Austin, Texas, for goodness sake—and they’re always quick with a recommendation for what I should be adding to my playlists. Nick often looks through the Cat’s Cradle schedule to tell which bands to catch here in Carrboro. That’s why Anna and I went to hear Bronze Radio Return a few weeks ago (photo above).
But, Nick and Carolyn won’t be hearing much music this month. They had a baby last month, and they are staying home to dote on the little one. Erin, thoughtful as ever, sent a Tar Heels outfit , and they dressed him in it one day and sent a photo. Given that Carolyn is a third-generation alum for the University of Texas, we were touched that she allowed Carolina blue on her child.
To pick up the music slack, I’m listening to the Austin 100 mixtape from NPR, “six hours of music, highlighting a hundred handpicked highlights from among the thousands of acts playing SXSW 2019.” It’s great so far, broadening my musical tastes, and certainly much cheaper than a SXSW festival badge.
I was in Austin last November to attend the Association of American Medical Colleges annual meeting. Nick, Carolyn, and Matt (another brother) walked me along South Congress Avenue on a beautiful day. I asked to go to Goorin Bros. hat shop and they waited while I selected a blue Fedora, then we enjoyed lunch alfresco at Perla’s, laughing about our Austin Marathon experience in 2016.
When my mother and I had visited Nick, Carolyn, and Matt in 2015, I bought a pair of black Lucchese cowboy boots at Allens Boots, but for years whenever I wore them, I would struggle to get them off, my children laughing at me contorted on the floor. On my last visit, with my new Fedora perched on my head, I stopped back into Allens and paid $15 for a boot jack. What a difference the right tool can make.
To give attention
by Anton Zuiker on March 7, 2019
On Micro.blog today, Joyce Garcia references a tweet from Pico Iyer quoting the French philosopher Simone Weil: “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.” (Maria Popova had a Brain Pickings post about Weil in 2015).
That’s a beautiful way of expressing my curiosity advice to Anna the other day, and it’s a a good way to think about the listening that Bobette Buster advocates in her book Do Story. Iyer used the quote to make a point about distraction and incivility. To pay attention to someone means spending time focused on the person. That seems a good recipe for civility in our times.
Another Micro.blog user, Ron Chester, surprised me with an email message yesterday. He wrote to tell he’s been reading my chronicles, and that he was glad I’d made it through my blogging and social media sabbatical. Ron complimented my writing, but what really made me feel good is the sense that he had spent his time getting to know me through my posts and pictures. He had paid attention to me, and then he had given even more time to write me a long, thoughtful letter.
“I’m inspired by the way you approach life, full of love, especially for your family and your family roots, and no bullshit,” Ron wrote. He also asked about the family photo on my about page; it’s a snapshot of us in Big Bend National Forest, one of the trips we’ve taken to far-off corners of the globe. Visiting the remote Rio Grande and the rim of Mount Yasur and the white sands of St. Croix has given me many moments of awe and gratitude. I’ve been lucky to have my family at my side.
Ron’s letter reminded me of the letters I used to receive when I went away for youth retreats. They were letters from my parents and grandparents, reminding me that they loved me and were proud of me for what I’d accomplished, and even for what I’d tried and failed. When my daughters have gone on their school trips, we similarly send letters ahead, or slip notes into their suitcases.
What a gift it is to send someone a well-written message to compliment someone’s writing, or a kindly note to commend someone for being kind, or a lovingly penned card to remind someone they are loved. To take the time to know another person, to reflect on that person’s value, and to take the time to tell that person why they are important. That’s an amazing feeling, whether you are on the giving side or the receiving side.
Thank you Ron. Thank you mom and dad. Thank you Erin and Anna and Malia and Oliver. Thank you to all the other friends and family and strangers who have been a part of this generous equation during my 47 years.
Tomorrow’s another day. It will be perfect for giving attention and sending notes.