Work of My Hands

Dancing upon the taste buds, a chef's work delights the most refined of palates. Yet a less refined palate would have no less of an appreciation for the delicacy of a French pastry.

Meticulously ground into cold pressed linseed oil the purest of pigments shimmer vibrantly along the corridors of an architectural wonder. It is a work of art contained within a work of art. A child's crayon scribbles are of no less value than Monet's oils.

Metaphorically written pros have been known to move the nations. Wars have been fought and nations have been born under the allspice of a feather quill. Did not God himself write upon the stone with his finger? The world moves by words.

What then, I ask, is the work of my hands? I like to think of myself as an artist and a poet, and I certainly enjoy food, but the works of my hands in these has yet to prove itself. I put paint on a canvas and call it art, but a child's crayon probably would sell for more. And how I wish I could write to move people, but I misplace the words. I certainly can't write upon stone.

I ask again, what is the work of my hands?

Paix Bouche = Peace Mouth

Fighting crime at nigh, fighting micro-organisms by day.

It will probably be the only time in our careers that we are allowed to practice medicine in flip flops and tee-shirts. We take full advantage of it. 

My health education activity went well.

My co-clinic coordinator and myself after a successful clinic. 

Returning from the clinic with the afternoon shift. (I wasn't able to get a group photo of the morning shift.)

This is the work of my hands. My work is that of the children. They are the stone tablet that I write upon, the canvas of crayon, the delicacy of life. My work may not be visible to the world, but the future of the world is held in my hands.

5K

One of the clubs that I'm involved with held a fundraising event today -a 5k race. I volunteered to help with the race and was delighted to be given the task of photographing the race at a certain location. Many of my shots of the runners were pitted against this lovely rainbow. 

Cabrits

Fort Shirley at the Cabrits 

The walls of these buildings are between two to four feet thick, made to withstand cannon shot.

Portsmouth was a key port in the defense of Dominica. 

The fort is currently being renovated. 

The road leading up to the fort. 

Northwest

The view from my meandering today. Looking to the Northwest. (I'm always looking that way with a long feeing.) The white building in the center are on campus. 

And this is the view looking in the easterly direction. 

The Neighborhood

Today is my last day in the neighborhood. I will be moving a little closer to campus tomorrow. I like the area well enough, but it is a little bit of a walk. (Twenty-five minutes really isn't that much, but time is so precious.) Before I leave the area I thought it would be nice to take a stroll along the streets and capture a few shots of the area. Brief as it was, this is what I called home.

Homes next to the soccer field. 

It was this tree that I took a mango from for my first breakfast in Dominica 

There is no freeway in Dominica. Travel between the cities is by this single, very windy road around the island. The coast line jets in and out. If you're a little sensitive to motion sickness, it's recommended to take some anti-nausia medication before you get in the taxi at the airport.

Fishing boats taking a day off.

The first specimen of the wild life of Dominica. This particular species runs wildly about the streets and can be heard at all hours of the day and night.

Some eggs are sold  -some hatch. 

A common site. A cow (or usually a goat) is tied to a tree along the road side.

This wild creature was playfully bounding away.

You can't see it in this frame, but mama is lying peacefully to the left, and the twin is standing on some cinderblock to the right. 

Curious. Where does that trail lead to? An adventure for another day.

The roads I walk daily.

Kids playing soccer in the street.

View down my street.

Home, for one more day. I was often seen sitting on the balcony wall on the days that I studied at home.

Peekaboo

You may be asking yourself, "Exactly why is he taking a picture of himself in the mirror?"

Peekaboo! I see you!
(I promise, I returned him to the wild yesternight, but he returned. And he isn't cute, he's ferocious. Rawr:) 

Day Fifty-Four

The river bridge that cross every afternoon. 

I wish you could see the images of my day that I am not able to capture. The photo above really isn't interesting in any particular way. Yet as inartistically as the scene is, there is something to be said for it. Had I shot the scene, some weeks ago it would have show a man bathing along its banks. I've mentioned this before. I see the gentleman often enough, probably 4 or 5 times a week in passing. He hangs around the "Shacks" and the dining tables outside the grocery store. Some days I see him without shoes, some days with. His clothing is nearly aways torn, but not soiled. I wonder if he notices to what degree I observe him. I was discussing his situation with the taxi driver who takes me home nearly every night. He has many children, though none are believed to live here. He took an accident to his face some years ago, disfiguring his lip. It is not exactly known why he chooses to live on the streets. Speculation might say that loss has driven him. I will admit, it's a thought experiment that I've given much thought to: To live homeless, having nothing, having no one. How would I survive? I have spend many hours over the years contemplating the answers to these questions, and more. The scene I would have you see today would be of the gentleman sifting through the rubbish bin out side the grocery, hoping to find his dinner. I just had mine. I feel immense compassion when I look upon his life.

Day Fifty-Two and Fifty-Three

Day Fifty-Two: My view as I was lying on the picnic bench whilst I was read upon the finer points of mononucleosis.

Day Fifty-Three: I was only able to catch the tail end of this sunset. I liked the contrast. 

Day Forty-Nine

Dusk at "The Shacks". The Shacks are the equivalent of most schools cafeteria or food court. Local vendors operate their own little shack, where they offer exotic foods such as pizza, burgers, chicken fingers, grilled chicken, crepes, and curry. Of the various option, only one shack offers a dish or two of traditional Dominican cuisine. There are also a few that offer local juices and fresh fruits and vegetables. Some student's refuse to eat at the shacks, due to the occasional infamous "Shack Attack", or simply mild food poisoning, but others have no qualms. I occasionally patronize the shacks, the food isn't bad, but I prefer healthier options. 

Day Forty-Eight

Clifton Government School

Game of Hopscotch anyone?

Peds clinic.

Because I am an EMT I am given greater responsibilities than your typical first semester student. 

I like to start out by having the kids listen to my lungs and heart.

Day Forty-Five

My morning walk enjoys this view painted upon the wall. My favorite mural is of the hibiscus and humming bird. 

Day Forty-Four

Durring the lunch hour the children at the school daycare were outside selling ice-cream, to raise money for "Save the Whales". As any good person would do, I bought the ice-cream for the sake of the children more than for my want (oh, but I do love ice cream, and it is such a rare treat). I decided that while I ate my ice-cream I'd take a short stroll along the beach. 

Day Forty-Three

A tree of roots. There trunk, I think, was once hanging roots that earthed themselves when they reached the soil.

Surface roots make a tree look very old, in my opinion. One of these days, when I get around to it, I'm going grow bonsai trees, and they will have roots like this this tree.