Grenada is the only place I have know my whole life. It is the place my heart sings to when I think the word home. It makes it all the harder now Dave and Pat’s house is sold. Thankfully, there are friends that anchor me there no matter where I am.
When we were living in Venezuela, Dave was inland for long stretches of time. There was also much political unrest at the end of the 1950s and early 1960s.
So, Pat would come to Grenada with the three girls to spend time with friends.
In my memory, we spent every day playing at Grand Anse Beach.
We would take a picnic basket of sandwiches. These always had a certain taste (soggy) and smell (mixture of warm tomatoes and sweaty cheese). To this day, whenever I make a picnic for travel… never sandwiches.
Some times we would spend the afternoon at the Silversands Hotel. Even though we didn’t live there, we were allowed to use their pool. I vaguely remember the women drinking cocktails to while the time away.
Years later, once we had moved from Venezuela to California and then to
Montreal, we would go down every winter to spend some weeks with our Grenadian
friends. We would stay at the Ross Point Inn, which was run by the Hopkin
family. It is there I learned to love callaloo soup with soft bread rolls and
crab meat salad.
The weeks and months we spent in Grenada over the years are precious memories to me.
* This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.
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