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Friday, March 28, 2014


    Last Friday Francesca and I climbed inside a huge metal tube -a rocket with wings really- and blasted off for the Virgin Islands.   We zipped through the sky staring at blue water, sugary sand and shadows.

Two hours later we rolled to a stop on the island of St. Croix.

    I didn't know quite where we were.  An airport map said we had landed on a piece of land sixty miles southeast of Puerto Rico.  The former Danish colony is the most southernmost place in the United States.
We were there to visit Peter, Martha, their dog, Calypso, and an amazing farmer's market.  It had real farmers and fishermen.                                            Admiring our squash

Chopping steaks

Three years ago our island hosts were Coconut Grove neighbors with a bad case of Island Fever. To seek a cure they purchased a Hanse 40, raised its sails, and let the wind carry them south.  

  Eventually they picked the place they liked best (St. Croix) and bought a house with this great view for shaking  sheets.
                  Martha and Buck Island, a national park two miles offshore

     Martha and Peter were kind enough to invite us to shake sheets with them.


We did that and more.

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