Jamaica Honeymoon - Day 3
Apollo Fields Destination Wedding Photographers | Negril, Jamaica | Honeymoon Adventures
Jamaica – Day 3
Sunday, November 4th, 2018 ~7:35 am, local time
Another morning waking to the ebbs and flows of the Caribbean Sea. There’s something about the sound of waves crashing that lures your mind into the rhythm of nature, reminding you that everything that comes will also go. The whitewater that sprays into the air, jettisoning from the sharp rock face, shows no concern for my presence, or for any of the other creatures that cling to their cratered homes on this violently-formed beautiful façade. Yet it’s these wall-dwelling sea creatures — these Jamaican mussels and crabs — that taught me that we need to carve a small niche for ourselves, where we can brave the onslaught of life’s elements, if we want to survive in this otherwise unforgiving world.
We took a right out of Sundown Villa this morning for the first time on our Vespa, passing Rick’s Café among the other horribly named Americanized resorts like ‘The Palms’ and ‘Lover’s Paradise” as the wind whipped around our bodies on our way to a place called “Barney’s Hummingbird and Flower Sanctuary.” Heather clung to my back like a baby koala as we veered off the pavement onto a dirt road, her lips stammering through the worried words of her mind like mental pot holes. We passed a man walking down the road, sharpening a machete and were reminded of our cab driver who told us that all the goats that roam the island are owned by someone — and if you were to say, pick one up — you will find yourself on the wrong end of one of those blades. We swerved around the man and slowed as we approached two large, faded green doors that hung on rusted hinges.
“Hello!” Said a thin pale-skinned old man donning a worn trousers-and-suspenders outfit as he swung the gates open. “Welcome to my hummingbird and flower sanctuary. I am Barney, the proud German-Jamaican-English owner of this place,” he added. As he led us through the narrow walkways of his garden, the flutter of hummingbirds moved all around us, kind of like the sound of tiny handheld toy fans. Palms and large leaves hung down as geckos and other insects fed from the vibrant pink, red, and yellow flowers that boomed in contrast to the blue sky. Barney gave us all tiny bottles with punctured red caps that dripped with sugar water to lure the hummingbirds in. We held our outstretched arms in the air, mimicking the branches that reached over the garden’s pathways, hoping that the birds would come feed from our “flowers.” Patiently walking around, the birds began to trust us one at a time, holding fast in midair right in front of our faces, mother nature’s natural helicopters, hovering in place, wings effortlessly flapping seventy times a second. Barney grinned a grin that only a hummingbird expert could grin, or maybe it was because of the six-pack of Red Stripe.
Eager for local cuisine we stopped just up the road at a place called Just Natural Veggies. Simple enough, I thought. From there we ordered rum punch, a vegetable plate, lobster salad, sweet potato and plantain, and a bean and rice burrito. As we walked to the side of the restaurant we followed a path into the jungle, tables and chairs scattered about like a diner inside the woods. There were checker board tables that used plastic bottle caps and Red Stripe caps as checkers and each table had an orange bottle of locally made hot habanero hot sauce. We ate our freshly made dishes in the middle of the jungle, no one around but the smiling faces of the restaurant, who laughed and joked as they set down our plates. They could’ve been feeding us fried gecko for all we knew as we sat mesmerized in this restaurant that made rustic concepts back home look like four-star hotels. In the jungle and of the jungle, we walked out of there happy and full.
There are niches to be carved, if only we are wise enough to see them. These experiences will stick to my heart like the geckos on the flowers and the mussels on the rock wall. As the trip continues, I can only hope to unearth more things that I can learn from and grow closer to carving out my own crater I can call home.
Farewell Colorado (For Now)
Farewell Colorado (For Now) | Apollo Fields Heads Eastward | NYC Wedding Photographers
Both of our going away parties began on picnic blankets in parks, surrounded by fresh fruit, local beer, and our closest friends. There were games and laughs, children, and sunshine. But as the days wore on, Heather and I grew closer to the reality of leaving with each farewell embrace. Lucky for me, this time around, I managed to avoid the emotional minefield of “this is the last time I will [insert memorable experience ‘x’] in [insert city ‘y’],” recognizing it as a self-imposed trap set on disturbing the logic of ambition and transition. Despite my valiant effort, both parties ended with me in tears.
I’m a long way from being ashamed of crying in public and even further from trying to hide it. I mean, what’s wrong with coming toe-to-toe with your emotions and ceding to their validity when they creep up behind your eyes? I actually find a problem in trying to suppress them. Because if we try to hide our feelings from our closest friends, then who can we be vulnerable with? In times of happiness and sadness alike, it is in our best interest to try to understand why we feel the way we feel.
In Colorado, my tears finally came when I hugged my friend, Brandon. Although only a friendship of a couple of years, the density and depth of our interactions has stretched our connection over what seems like many more. There is a candor in our exchanges that reflects contemplation and curiosity, the bedrock of understanding. If there’s anything I’ve learned from him, it’s that homemade bread will always be better than store bought. Making goods by hand is more than artistry, it is a source of value beyond our taste buds and aesthetic eyes. Thank you for teaching me this and for your friendship, Brandon.
To all of the others who came to see us off, I’ll never forget those last couple of weeks in Colorado. The Great American Beer Festival, Lake Street Dive at Red Rocks, the Rockies game, and finding a home for all of our beloved furniture. Carya and Thomas, Andy and Elaina, and Shane and Lexi, you all showed up when we needed you most and we barely had to ask. Large events like moving or weddings always bring people together and we aren’t just lucky or #blessed, we are #inyourdebt. Not like the bad kind of debt like student loans but the good kind of debt like owing your neighbor a cup of sugar or carton of eggs. The kind of debt that includes open door policies, late night pickups, and sending you home with a Tupperware of leftovers despite a bevy of polite refusals. I hope to be in debt to you all for a long time to come.
Finally, thank you to Frances & Bryce for sending us on the road with delicious food in our bellies. Whenever I think of Denver I will think of the mountains we climbed and the friends we climbed them with. Here’s to the friendships in our lives that make the Rockies look like molehills.
Colorado Adventures That Make My Heart Smile
4.5.18 - Vital Root on Tennyson ~ 12 PM MT
We’re sitting at Vital Root after enjoying a well-crafted, fresh, lunch filled with flavor and crunch. There’s a woman breast-feeding out in the open and it’s kind of hard for me to focus, but here we go. Heather thinks that breast-feeding in public should be less stigmatized and a more common practice, and it does make sense in the same way that we should be more in tune with where our food comes from. As we distance ourselves or create social stigmas around human practices that have gotten us to where we are as a society, we are very literally losing some of the community associated with our humanity.
The last three days have felt like a vacation in Colorado: on Monday Heather and I lounged in the Mt. Princeton Hot Springs outside of Buena Vista; on Tuesday Heather rode Limbo and I climbed at Earth Treks in Golden; and on Wednesday David Miller and I carved down the slopes at Keystone and smiled and laughed in our descent. Each day contained moments of levity that are within a couple hours of our home in Arvada, providing us places of refuge and relaxation to panoramic summits and high speed descents with meandering roads and adventures in between.
The common thread running through all of them was a sense of gratitude that continuously left our lips. Heather and I were borderline tripping balls as we gazed to the sky in a creek side hot springs pool, thinking upon where we are both literally and psychologically. The strong sunrays, the quickly drifting clouds and the smell of the fresh green pines combined with the sound of the constant trickle of the cold creek over the warm rocks lured our minds towards serenity. The next day, clinking our glasses together at Kline’s Beer Hall after each of our endorphin sessions on horseback and climbing wall, respectively, made the pints go down that much easier. On the chair lifts and on the slopes, Miller and I smiled and laughed, asked and answered, and thought, felt and shared stories. When we plopped down into lounge chairs beneath the blinding high-noon sun we were billionaires, basking between snowcapped mountaintops gazing upon the best that the world has to offer. There is luxury and then there is gratitude and appreciation – without the latter, the former is empty and broken, but without the former, the heart can still smile.
It’s weird to think about a person meaning more to you than your longest friends, but David Miller has achieved such status. There is significance in the way he approaches conversations, welcoming the mundane and the magnanimous with an equal hand as if each holds equal importance. In a paradoxical way there is wisdom in understanding the whole spectrum and listening to each wavelength as you try to hone in on someone’s frequency. We all walk around with our own thoughts, suffering through our troughs and celebrating our crests, and it’s easy to forget that everyone around us has their own path but when you talk to Miller you feel like he’s listening in an attempt to sync up. Being completely in concert with another’s wavelength is more than likely impossible, but that’s how I felt on the mountain with Miller – and that’s what happens when you listen to a song that resonates with you; or when you somehow spend an hour or two in front of a piece in a museum. What I’m trying to say is when you find someone who tries to sync up with your wavelength, don’t let them go, because they don’t come around that often, and human connection is invaluable.
