An Empowering Space

From moment my mother first saw a lonely, salt-beaten SEA-LAND container adjacent to an unfinished dwelling, perched on a cliff, high above the wild Caribbean Sea, she knew she had come upon her little slice of Heaven.

It was a forty-five minute drive from Port-of-Spain, the capital of Trinidad, and she had discovered it while on one of her usual weekend excursions with friends to the beaches nestled at the foothills of the Northern Range.

It was quite a scenic drive, winding through the tropical foliage, on a narrow road that draped the side of the mountains like a loosely placed necklace. The road curved and meandered through the greenery, teasing you with fleeting glimpses of remote and inaccessible bays where the Range stooped to greet the Caribbean Sea.

Her little slice of Heaven belonged to another, but she was determined that this would become her special place, her happy haven. She would always visit the spot and make enquiries, until she could find information on the proprietor. Being a divorced mother with a young son in her care she knew that she could not afford to purchase the property, but trusted that if it were to be, a tiny miracle would take place.

Time slowly crept by and the unattended spot lay waiting. She fell in love with a man and dared to share her dream with him. She took him to see the location and they both envisaged how they would transform the little house into their private retreat. He bought the place and together they began the transformation of a home at Blanchisseuse. Blanchisseuse, means Washer Woman in patois, a French dialect, and is aptly named for the white foam left behind when the waves crash onto the rocky coastline. I believe that once you had spent a little time there, Blanchisseuse washed away your worries and cares……

And so it was a healing place for my mother; a place that brought out the best in her. This was home to her, she felt comfortable amidst nature. The sound of the waves crashing on the rocks was invigorating. It was where she came to replenish her energy. Judy was like the wild waves that graced those shores, loud, unpredictable, exciting and overwhelming; you did not forget her, once she rolled into your life.

Little by little the one room dwelling at Blanchisseuse became a large casual gathering room with a tiny loft. Over the years it grew into little ensuite rooms all linked together by continuous decking and pathways. Each separated yet connected. They lay sprawled out atop the cliff each with a wonderful view of the ocean through white demerara windows. It seemed as though it was a never-ending work in progress, a masterpiece that could never finish. There was always something new being added, a bridge, a gazebo, a fishing deck, a tanning deck, another room, another space, and an orchard with tropical fruit trees. There was always something unexpected.

Although my mother could not financially pay for the building, she put everything she was into the place and so it took on her energy and vitality. It was supposed to be a secluded retreat for the two of them, but her personality did not allow her to be selfish. She needed to share its beauty and serenity with others. She loved life, and people, and needed friends and family around here. Many a weekend was spent with guests at the house, playing cards, board games, huge buffet lunches and lots of laughter. She had the most unusual, high-pitched laugh that would hurt your eardrum, but no matter where you were you had to go see what you were missing. One by one she invited her friends and let everyone taste a little bit of her Heaven.

She had overseen the building and renovating that continually took place, and was always flitting back and forth to Port-of-Spain taking workmen to the house or just making sure that they had the necessary supplies to complete the job.

She employed men from the village, and everyone there knew her. She tried to give the loafers a job, keep them busy so that they would not get into drugs and trouble. She always tried to help those less fortunate than herself and so, would buy schoolbooks and wrap gifts for all the children in the village when it was Christmas. Blanchisseuse had a special place in her heart. The villagers liked her and protected her, as there was always petty theft that took place in the small fishing village, but no one dared take anything from Miss Judy, as they knew whatever she had, she shared.

She was a perfectionist when it came to her home; everything had to have a particular place. She had a flare for knowing exactly what to put where. She had a sense of style; she eclectically decorated her space with brilliant Caribbean colours and artifacts. Every item she added to the collection screamed her name - Judy. She would take the ordinary and the mundane item from nature and cleverly craft it into an object of beauty. A dried twig, fairy lights, toile, bandages and clay trinkets would become the most mystical Christmas tree you ever did see. A brightly coloured appliquéd square of fabric, remnants from a Carnival band, became an eye-catching wall hanging. Over-sized bamboo furnishings invited friends to stay. Beautiful batiks graced the home.

Every ornament placed with special care. A brass statue of a nude boy was precariously placed at the edge of the cliff. He stood there with his eyes closed facing the wind, his knees bent, his arms opened outstretched towards the heavens above, placing all trust in his Creator as he prepared to take a Leap of Faith.

The slopes were covered with green tufts of zoysia grass that gave you the feeling of walking on clouds. The grounds also took much of her attention, continually ensuring that the caretaker did his part, trimming the cascading bouganvillas, neatening the beds of exotic heliconia, picking the ripened fruit, and cutting the coconuts so that there was always fresh jelly and coconut juice to drink.

She took care of the hummingbirds, always making certain that the feeders were filled with her special brown sugar concoction. The feeders hung like Chinese lanterns, around the deck that came off of the master bedroom. There were two bright green deck chairs where she could lay and look at her friends as they energetically visited the feeders. They would dart in and out, sipping from the pendulous containers. They gave her such joy, just as her presence bought joy to others. She identified with their energy, their joy of life, moving from flower to flower sharing the sweet nectar. She too made beauty her target and moved effortlessly within her beautiful surroundings, making sure others tasted the succulent essence of life.

The Amerindians believed that the hummingbird represented the soul and Judy instinctively identified with them, and by taking care of the hummingbirds she was able to nurture her soul. She took care of them as she did her friends; she shared whatever she had with them. They enjoyed the company and spent time entertaining one another. She was so easy to be around, you could talk about any topic under the sun, and laugh hysterically at her unconventional responses. She found humor in every crisis and shared her joy, her tears and her pain with her friends. She saw them as hummingbirds in her life, friends that allowed her to be free, allowed her to be JUDY!

When she then developed cancer and knew she only had a couple years to live, she then became so accepting and strong. Her illness was a gift for me to learn the lesson of acceptance. We spent many a time when she was ill talking about the Other Side. How we would continue to communicate after she had passed. We talked about dreams, internet ( motherofmine@heaven.comThis e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it ),and the hummingbirds.

So it was the most natural thing for her before she died to give me three bird feeders, one for each of her children and she asked us to place them in our yard and to KNOW that whenever we see a hummingbird to know that she is with us.

I have had the most amazing and unbelievable encounters with hummingbirds since she passed. They keep me on my path and fill my life with joy, I will share different experiences in my articles as there are too many to mention here. So look for the hummingbirds in your life, the things, the passions, the work, the people that bring you JOY.

P.S. The Amerindians called our island (Trinidad) EIRE -
Land of the Hummingbird