The Flowers of Jamaica

So where did I leave off? We were sitting in the dining room of our inn in the Adirondacks when I began to zone in on the conversation going on between a mother and her young son at the next table. I gather that they were taking a different approach to vacationing in the Adirondacks; one that was focused on sight-seeing and taking in the history of the area, rather than outdoor adventures.


The mother was reading to her son from a guide book about the history of the Champlain area. He was all of 5 years old, so she would read a couple of sentences and then stop to interpret what she had just read.  As I listened in, I couldn't help but wonder what the little guy was getting out of this exchange. At one point she was reading about the first settlers to the area, and she punctuated the discussion by exclaiming, "They came here in 1612! 1612! Can you imagine that?" I had to restrain myself from chipping in, "No, he can't imagine that. 1612, 1812, 1970 - they're all pretty much the same to him. For all he knows, 1612 was the year you were born!"


You'll be glad to know that I restrained myself from commenting for three very good reasons: first, my comment was judgmental and rude; second, my comment would give away that I was eavesdropping; and last but certainly not least, I was in no position to criticize because many years ago another vacationer was probably telling a very similar story about Emma and me.

We were on vacation in Jamaica. Emma was 3 1/2 at the time. We had a wonderful time, and I give Emma much of the credit.  The trip was somewhat ill-fated right from the beginning, but Emma remained an enthusiastic and flexible traveler through travel trials that would have broken down much older and more seasoned travelers - her parents, for example.

The first "surprise" came when we arrived in Jamaica and hailed a cab to go to our hotel. Somehow I hadn't picked up on the fact that the resort I had booked was almost two hours away from the airport. Our cab ride was hair-raising. We had no car seat for Emma and no seat belts for ourselves as we traveled at a wildly uneven pace over unpaved, windy roads that did not appear to be governed by any laws, rules, or even common courtesies. Fortunately, we arrived safely at our resort and it met all of our expectations.

Things were going swimmingly until about half way through the trip when I got a terrible virus, or food poisoning, or something really awful, that meant that all I saw of Jamaica for the next 2 days were the bed and the toilet in our room. The illness was additionally stressful because I was pregnant with Sarah. 

I got better in time to enjoy one final day at the resort with Emma and Peter before we had to head home. We thought the  ride back to the airport would be much better than our arrival ride because the resort provided a coach bus to the airport each morning. We made sure we were on that morning bus, even though it meant we would arrive at the airport much earlier than we needed to. There was no way we were getting in a cab again.  It was not long after the bus departed from the resort that we learned that the only thing scarier than riding in a taxi on those windy mountain roads was riding in a coach bus. Add to that a handful of bus-sick fellow travelers, and you have a bus ride you will never forget - unfortunately!


It doesn't end there, though. We got to the airport only to learn that our flight had been delayed because of snowfall in NYC. Mind you, we were already very early for our flight, so the delay meant we had several hours to kill. We immediately assessed the situation and made a plan. There was no way we were getting back in a taxi or on a bus, so we were going to have to stick it out at the airport. The first priority was finding something decent (and safe) to eat after our long bus ride. I was just barely back on solid food, and reasonably (I thought) cautious about what I put both in my stomach and in Emma's stomach. But,  we were also starving, so I had to be more flexible than I would have liked to have been. We found things we thought would be okay to eat and settled down for a snack. Emma had been completely unfazed by the harrowing bus ride and now seemed to find the airport picnic a fun distraction. 

When we finished eating, we needed to find a way to entertain Emma both in the airport and for the plane ride home. In the couple of hours we had already spent in the airport, we had completely exhausted all the books and games we had brought, so I told Emma I would buy her a book at the gift shop. I'm not sure why I thought there would be a child-appropriate book in a Jamaican airport gift shop, but, of course, there wasn't. Emma happily picked up prospective books and magazines and flipped through pictures. I vigilantly watched her, quickly teasing away the books and magazines with pictures I didn't want her to see. This seemed to be good entertainment even if we didn't find a book to buy. 


At some point during this exploration, Emma came across a book of Jamaican flowers. It was a horticulture book, with beautiful glossy color pictures and detailed descriptions of the plants, including their scientific names, their origins, the conditions they needed to grow, etc. She was immediately taken with the beautiful pictures and wanted the book. It was expensive and not the least bit age appropriate, but after everything she had put up with, I thought the least I could do was buy her the book, even if she only looked at the pictures.


Emma loved that book. She sat quietly flipping through the pages while we waited for our plane to board, and as soon as we got settled into our seats she asked me to pull it out and read it to her. And that is what I was reminded of when I overheard the conversation between the mother and son at our Adirondack inn. As I read that horticulture book to Emma on the plane, reciting page after page of scientific names and preferred climates, I admit that I was a bit self-conscious about who might be over-hearing and what they must think. It must have sounded utterly preposterous. What 3 year old wants to know the scientific name for a lily and whether it prefers a tropical or temperate climate?

But, hopefully, they also over-heard us when, time and time again, Emma would flip the page to a picture of a flower she really loved and say, "Now read to me about this one, mommy." 


I wonder where that book is. I'll have to find it.