Buried Treasure

Within walking distance of our lovely home, Villa Rebar, is Reef Bay. A beautiful arc that we estimate to be one mile across. All the land from the ocean to the mountain tops and beyond is part of St. John National Park, a gift of Laurence Rockefeller that covers two thirds of the island. The beach is one of our favorite places to go. It fronts the Atlantic so the surf is larger than the fine sandy beaches on the Caribbean Sea side of the island. However, the real reason we love this beach is the fact that it's at the very end of the island's road system and is free of pesky tourists—very rare. There are tour "buses," open air vehicles that are generally converted pickup trucks seating about 8 to 12 people. They are crawling all over the island looking a bit like a centipede due to cameras held in  arms extended along each side of the bus. We wouldn't mind their presence except for the fact that it is an apparent island custom for all the buses to be driven down the middle of the road. Since the roads here are narrow and very winding, and the buses are wide, driving is always an adventure. Even the citizens join in for the adrenalin pumping fun of risking a collision at every curve. We're certain there are numerous head on collisions and know there are endless close calls—we have at least one a day. We saw one jeep off a cliff nested in the trees, and recently a man ran head on into a car, which happened to be driven by  the chief of police. Back to Reef Bay. The locals, mostly "surfers mon," access the beach through a hole in a fence and down a path through the woods. Along the way one might get a peek at Dr. Dangle, a very overweight jumbo-sized artist who sits on his deck painting or takes strolls through the woods au naturel. When we visit Reef Bay I generally sit in the sand knitting and listening to the surf while Bob combs the beach for shells. Over the past four months he has accumulated a collection of black and white sea snails. Last week he decided to hike from the far end of the beach up the mountainside, through the forest on a National Park trail to the site of petroglyphs that are estimated to be over 2,000 years old. On his way home he struck beachcombers gold: conch shells. Digging in the sand he discovered eight perfect shells which we plan to grace the coffee table in our future St. John home.