Summer of love

The aftermath of Hurricane Beryl in Treasure Beach, Jamaica

The legendary buttonwood tree in Treasure Beach - timeless, graceful, regal and still standing strong after Hurricane Beryl

“I have done nothing all summer but wait for myself to be myself again.” – Georgia O’Keeffe

True confession: I’m a bit of a bucket lister.

Though I often go with the flow, the truth is that I move with a lot of intentionality most of the time. If you were to explore my Notes app, you’d find lists - ideas for weekly artist dates with myself, DC restaurants to try, upcoming exhibits I want to check out – you name it.

I don’t have an actual SUMMER list per se. But this season – typically one of ease and abundance – has always been my favorite. Among other things, that means that there are plenty of rituals and images in my mind of what a perfect summer looks like.

Less traffic in my inbox. Spontaneous picnics. Outdoor concerts. A sail on my friends’ boat. Baking a peach crumble. Lazy days at the pool. Aperol spritzes. Turning on the ‘out of office’ notification. Lots of ice cream. Evening walks.

This summer, though? There’s been very little of any of these things…

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Instead, much of the season has revolved around what happened on July 3, when Hurricane Beryl mashed up the place that I consider my second home – Treasure Beach, Jamaica. It was the earliest Category 5 hurricane recorded in the Atlantic in over 100 years, a most tangible manifestation of warming ocean temperatures and the changing climate. Countless residents lost their roofs or sustained major damage to their homes and businesses, while the entire community lost access to running water, electricity and cell service. Many are yet to get these services back.

Though I wasn’t present when it happened, my son Rohan and I spent three weeks there in the aftermath, opting to maintain our summer vacation plans and combine it with supporting the relief effort on the ground. It was my 7th trip there since the summer of 2021 (yes, you read that correctly!).

Since returning home almost two weeks ago though, I confess that I’ve been at a loss for words.

Witnessing how this amazing community is building back with love as its guiding vision was the privilege of a lifetime. But quite frankly, it has felt impossible to summarize.

On the one hand, the Treasure Beach rebuilding story is a tale about development – about climate change and action, about community, about leadership, about resilience. And I’m penning that story, because it needs to be told. It’s also a tale about travel and a different notion of what that can mean, one that’s rooted in place and people. And that too is a story that I’m seeking to tell.

Do you want to know something though?

Since getting back home, I’ve also sat down at my desk a countless number of times to recount the story in more personal terms, and each time I’ve failed.

I’ve given myself grace around this, knowing that I’m still so enmeshed in the experience that I haven’t had the space that’s seemingly needed to offer up a neat, dispassionate take. My thoughts and sentiments are also disparate – not unified by a single filament or grand conclusion of any sort.

But today I told myself: So be it. It’s OK. It’s time. Unburden your heart and share.

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When I told Rohan that we were going ahead with our Treasure Beach plans and that I planned to spend some of the time helping with the relief effort, he nodded enthusiastically. Mommy, I want to help too, he said to me earnestly.

But reality on the ground hit different. Much of the community was still without electricity and cell service when we arrived, and water had just recently come back onto the main. Though we stayed in accommodations with generators and/or solar panels, it was probably the first time in Rohan’s 11 years of life where reliable access to these basic but precious things wasn’t always guaranteed.

Photo Credit: Pelico Ebanks

There were complaints aplenty. While we usually spend our days in Jamaica enjoying the beach and the outside, this wasn’t sustainable over a span of three weeks, due to much of the tourist infrastructure being temporarily unavailable post-hurricane. And with spotty WiFi access, you better believe that I heard “I’m bored!” from the mouth of my tween a countless number of times. It was also crazy hot, without much shade due to the hurricane mashing up so many trees. And the mosquitos – my gosh, what mosquitos!

Sometimes when it all got to be too much, Rohan and I would hang out on the stage used in the Calabash Festival, the amazing literary gathering that’s staged in Treasure Beach biannually which I attended for the first time last year. Enjoying the shade and the ocean breeze, we would pay Categories and just chat – about all manner of things. I talked to him about how privileged we are, how many people in the world don’t have access to clean water, electricity, Internet access and other things we take for granted, how the climate is changing and the implications that has.

And somewhere along the way, talk became action. Rohan eventually went to see the distribution of roofing materials to folks whose homes were damaged by the hurricane. He joined free art classes for the kids in the community, who made signs emblazoned with the phrase “Building Back with Love” to display throughout the area. And when it was decided that the tradition of a boat parade on Independence Day (August 6) would be maintained in a show of joy and solidarity, he got to ride in the bow and hold a Jamaican flag. It was a moment that he (and I) will surely never forget.

Photo credit: Victoria Elliott

Ultimately, I hope that my son lived and learned the same thing that I did from our time in Treasure Beach. It’s a pretty simple thing, actually. And it’s this:

When you love a place and the people in that place, your presence – especially in tough times – means something.

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For me personally, our post-hurricane trip also opened my eyes to some realities about development. I’ve been working in this field – international development specifically – for close to 25 years. Most of this time has been spent working with global actors whose scale is just that – the globe.

It’s been an honor and privilege to do this work. International standards and advocacy and cooperation affirm our common humanity. Systems and policies matter. And it is of course incumbent upon government to protect and support us.

But what I saw in Treasure Beach affirmed a realization that’s been taking hold of me for a while now: Change comes largely from the bottom up. It’s about individuals, leaders and ultimately communities.

And this community has always had a special relationship with the environment. On the one hand, they live on the frontlines of climate change: hurricanes are household names (Gilbert in 1988, Ivan in 2004, Beryl in 2024). This particular one arrived freakishly early and manifested in a different fashion, with high winds rather than much in the way of coastal damage. In a community whose backbone is farming and fishing, the overfishing of the seas has had a tremendous impact on livelihoods.

But Treasure Beach has always tied its fate to environmental action: there are community initiatives for recycling, regular beach and community cleanups, marine conservation efforts (the Galleon Fish Sanctuary, the Treasure Beach Turtle Group). As an arid, drought-prone area, conservation of resources has always been a way of life. Empress Thandi Williams-Wise, who runs a wellness center focused on yoga, plant-based cuisine and healing spoke to me about her efforts to support some of the harder-to-reach communities and the renewed importance of asking ourselves questions about the sustainability of our lifestyles and our relationship to the natural world. For her, the hurricane underscores the importance of ancestral wisdom.

So what can I say other than that this particular community, and the way they are rebuilding after this awful disaster, has a lot to teach the world?

I myself experienced a masterclass in what is possible with solidarity, dynamic leadership, vibrant civil society, cooperation and coordination between community groups, partnership and support. Not to mention what it can mean to rebuild with stewardship of the environment as a guiding vision, alongside the idea of building back with love. Love is indeed at the very center of the Treasure Beach ethos.

Justine, Dennis and Jason - some of the amazing people who make Treasure Beach what it is

So yes, stay tuned for a story on that (hopefully in a publication beyond this platform), inspired by conversations that I’ve had with leaders of the Treasure Beach community, who I had the honor of witnessing at work and in service.

With the fabulous ladies of the Treasure Beach Women’s Group

But on a more personal level, what I want to share is that this experience gave me some new ideas for the kinds of work that I want to do going forward, supporting community development in places that are special to me. And in many ways, it feels like a full circle moment, as I’ve always had a penchant for the micro, the tangible - the ground as it were.

Putting this revelation out in the world feels a bit scary, knowing that it might imply an eventual life pivot for me (in many ways, it already has). But it also feels right to share, because I have a feeling that many of us have had similar thoughts – questioning our role in the world or the path we’re walking. As I wrote upon my 46th revolution, we may be wondering if we’re making the best use of our abilities and skills, in a way that’s aligned with our values and ultimately, with our hearts. That question is certainly top of mind for me.

“Please love that destiny, if it turns out to be yours — for communities are all that’s substantial about the world.” — Kurt Vonnegut

And yeah, maybe that implies change. But change is evolution, and as you might recall evolution is my word of 2024.

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In my piece on the blessings of the full moon for my 46th birthday, I mentioned one of the main lessons that I learned during my time in Treasure Beach. That in spite of the roofs lost, belongings soaked and livelihoods impacted by the hurricane, people are laser centered on giving thanks for life and celebrating life.

And celebrating life, it turns out, includes making space for joy. Birthday parties. Free art classes for the kids led by local artist Ronda Bennett, where beautiful “Building Back with Love” signs are being created. The neighborhood domino tournament. A “summer igloo” party in nearby Black River.

And of course the boat parade on August 6, which is Jamaica’s Independence Day.

This tradition started just a couple of years ago, in 2022. But this year, it was initially doubtful whether it would be possible, given that most of the boat captains had pulled their boats up to land in preparation for the hurricane and were currently in low season, with virtually no tourists. But they mobilized, and different groups and individuals rallied to support. 27 colorful boats carried members of this beautiful community from Billy’s Bay to Great Bay and ended in Calabash Bay, where the best party took place.

DJ Ratty n Bones provided the tunes. The Edgewater Inn and a couple of other vendors supplied the beverages. The kids played in the water. Rohan jumped from boat to boat and made new friends. I watched an octopus meander across the sand. The amazing people involved in the relief effort got to kick back with a few cold Red Stripes and enjoy the vibes. In spite of the heat, it was pure magic.

And that’s what it’s all about, as this community and experience showed me. There’s a value and need for joy in our human journey. Even – or maybe especially – amidst pain.

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Like I said, these weeks in Treasure Beach also gave me a new understanding and appreciation for being present.

Of course, it must be said that this isn’t your typical tourist destination. Treasure Beach is unique in Jamaica and in the Caribbean: it’s all about community-based tourism, which in the words of Captain Dennis Abrahams - boat captain, former fisher, builder, entrepreneur and community leader - is tourism that’s rooted in “love and care”. I’ll be writing a separate piece (hopefully for a publication beyond this platform) on this part of the story. But in a nutshell, it’s about tourism that’s grounded in the people of the community, where the typical barriers between locals and visitors don’t exist. This is what enables people like myself and Rohan, as well as countless others, to form friendships and relationships that make us feel like a part of said community and bring us back time and time again.

Care package distribution

Given this, being present – in this case physically, emotionally, materially, by way of service – seemed like the natural thing to do. For me personally, this meant helping with the art classes, supporting fundraising efforts and distributing care packages with the Treasure Beach Women’s Group, Treasure Beach Turtle Group and Treasure Tours. That work gave me the opportunity to spend time in agricultural communities of the greater area - places like Flagaman and Newcombe Valley. I also joined some of the regular coordinating meetings run by the amazing Breds Treasure Beach Foundation, the vibrant community foundation that has led much of the overall effort.

So yes, being present. And what I realized is that telling the stories is also a manifestation of presence, perhaps the most natural one for me.

On the flip side, being present also meant being fully grounded in place. Buying vegetables, sharing meals, washing clothes, charging phones communally under the stage at Jack Sprat restaurant, getting my hair done (thanks, Olivia!), pulling up at the pop-up birthday cookshop. Spending a Sunday afternoon on Billy’s Bay beach, hiding in a little patch of shade framed by sea grape leaves, while watching a Hawksbill turtle swimming in the sea. Crying and laughing with friends. Enjoying small pleasures like morning beach walks, sunsets framed by the legendary buttonwood tree, running with dogs on the shore and sighting constellations in the starry skies.

Three weeks, it turns out, is not a long time and yet maybe it is. In the context of this particular time and experience, it felt immersive in a way that I’m not sure I’ve otherwise experienced. And so, I won’t lie here. It was really, really hard to leave Treasure Beach this time. Even though we were missing our home and our “normal life,” I knew that I’d been indelibly marked by this experience and that things had shifted.

And so on the morning of our departure, I woke up feeling really sad. Something akin to a broken heart. But then I went outside and saw this:

Which resulted in this:

DO NOT DESPAIR

Do not despair, the universe reminds you,
For even if you wake with the wet of tears,
She will wash them away with gentle morning rain and sea spray,
And maybe, just maybe, she will gift you a rainbow,
Spectrum of light, arc-en-ciel framing azure ocean
Remind you that:
the horizon is yours,
the path wide open,
the world wild and beautiful
and the love everlasting.

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So yes, an atypical summer this was.

If you’ve made it all the way to the end, thanks for being here and for reading. Please do stay tuned for the other stories that I’m writing that about this experience, based on conversations with the Treasure Beach community. And in the meanwhile, please remember that you can still support the Hurricane Beryl relief effort - there is indeed still so much need.

I’d also love to hear your thoughts or any experiences that you’ve had with some of the insights that were gifted to me over the course of this summer: experiences of change or pivots, connection to place, thoughts on community development, the role of joy alongside pain or anything else that might have resonated.

As for me, unlike Georgia O’Keefe I’m no longer waiting for myself to be myself again this summer or otherwise. Instead, I accept with grace and love that this self of mine is changing, growing and evolving as a human – and for that, I thank Treasure Beach and this summer. A summer of love.