HASKELL Family Reunion

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From Our Kitchen
Nine to Five in America's Paradise
by Jean Loesch Krauklin
(Continued from page 1)

While I'm typing for-sale ads, people keep coming in to pick up a copy of our St. Croix map or to ask questions. One young man appears at the door with wind-blown hair and dingy clothes, barefoot, asking, "What island is this? We just got off a boat. Can we get groceries in this town?" I set him straight, and then in comes a couple, honeymooners probably. They ask shyly, "Do you have a house on the beach for around $30,000?" I have to set them straight, too, but try not to discourage them too much. There is still plenty of land available here for sale, and houses too; just not so easy to find right on the beach! Besides, the beaches are all public now, and anyone can enjoy any beach he or she can get to. About eleven major ones ring this 25-mile long island.

Virgin Islands' map
We are asked to take a couple of customers to see a house on the western end of St. Croix. Out into the brilliant sunshine we go, and while walking to the car we notice Greek sailors, Danish retirees, Japanese travelers, all trying out their English as they shop for souvenirs.
On the route from Christiansted to Frederiksted, the other town, we pass a giant oil refinery on the south shore. It is one of the largest in the western hemisphere, but tucked away behind the hills its myriad stacks, storage tanks and maze of pipelines are hardly noticeable except when you take the road that goes right by it. At night the complex looks like a miniature Manhattan with its columns of bright lights blazing. Now we see tankers inline on the horizon, waiting their turn to bring in crude oil from the mid-east for processing. At the same time, across the road from the refinery a flock of sheep is grazing peacefully in the shade of an old tamarind tree. Incongruous sight! This is a place of contrasts, to be sure, and they are everywhere.

Sugar Cane Windmills Next we see the College of the Virgin Islands, set in a grove of royal palms far back from the road, and then we pass the Botanical Garden. We are entering an area of high hills rising behind the flat land around the airport. The air feels cooler, the trees are towering and exotic, the shade denser. Jungle vines sometimes trail on the road, brushing the car as we pass. The house we're looking for is a "great house," partially restored. It has the ruins of a windmill, slave quarters still standing, and a row of stately mahogany trees leading up to the house. We are high on a mountainside, and the view of the sea is breathtaking in all its colors from pale aqua to deep blue. We walk through the old house, almost hearing the voices from the past echoing in the tray-ceilinged rooms. St. Croix was a wealthy sugar-exporting island two hundred years ago. We wonder what the Danish landlords and their wives did after their candle-lit dinner. Did they have musicales for their neighbors? Did they play cards, or dance the quadrille, or just write letters that would be delivered months later to their relatives in Europe?
Our customers love the place but decide to see something more convenient to shopping and schools. On our way back we take a different road, winding along the seafront. It looks like the California coastline here, with switchbacks following the shore far below. As we go by small native settlements there are goats grazing by the roadside and chickens foraging busily in the yards. Now and then a mongoose scurries across the road.
Nearing town, we come to an abrupt halt as the car directly in front of us stops without warning right in the middle of the road. The driver has spotted a friend on the sidewalk whom he hasn't seen for a while, and the two of them shout greetings and make plans for a get-together on the weekend. It holds up a line of cars for a minute or two, but this custom is a relic of years ago that seems impossible to get rid of. Many people don't have telephones (or their phones aren't working), and they seize on any opportunity to communicate with their friends in this way.
Back in the office we find one broker talking with a pair of statesiders dressed in bathing suits with shirts on top. They will be teachers, living here year-round. Another salesman is conversing with a couple of dignified Cruzans who are formally dressed, he in a three-piece suit and she in a Sunday dress and heels. They are a local minister and his wife seeking to improve their lifestyle. A third broker is with a famous millionaire's widow who is looking for a hilltop retreat to use for part of the year. All of these customers share one quality, at least--they love the island and are determined to stay here, or to get a toe-hold anyway.
In spite of being a vacation resort, St. Croix does have opportunities for earning a living, especially if one can do something really well, be it secretarial work, plumbing, piano tuning, or running a restaurant, and will work hard at it and not succumb too much to the lure of the beach, the sailing, or maybe the fine rum that is made here.

Christiansted Lunch time, and we carry sandwiches and fruit down to the dock area a couple of blocks away. Here we find a bench under a huge rubber tree and spend a pleasant hour watching the boats and the busloads of people from a cruise ship that has docked this morning in Frederiksted, where there is a deep-water harbor. They make a bee-line for the free-port shopping and later will board these buses again, carrying their quota of liquor and perfume and presents for the grandchildren. It is a festive scene. All these people have looked forward avidly to their Caribbean holiday, and obviously they are not disappointed.
Back in the office again, we glance at the local newspaper, a daily, and greet the cleaning lady as she comes in, jolly and amply endowed, with a red flower in her hair. She goes about her duties with purpose and dignity, and when she needs to ask someone to move over, she does, whether it is one of the brokers at work, a customer, or the mailman. Pride is a characteristic of the West Indian, especially those born and raised in the British islands not far from here. Many of our residents migrated to the Virgin Islands during the 1960's to find work in our oil refinery, our aluminum manufacturing plant, and our construction industry.
The postman comes in with packages, and the brokers rise from their seats and rush to see if their shipment has come from Bloomingdale's or Neiman-Marcus or Sears. It could take almost two months for an order to come by ship, and it is cause for a celebration if it comes undamaged, correct, and before it goes out of style. Sometimes a friend in the States sends an item we often can't get here, such as pecans in the shell, chocolates, or maple syrup, and then we often share the bounty.
Much telephone answering, record keeping and talking with the customers makes the afternoon go by fast, and at 4:45 we close up the office. Still time for a little shopping, and we need a blouse for a party coming up on the weekend. We may have only a small choice of blouses to pick from. In the large city where I used to live, I was sometimes quite bewildered by the endless rows of blouses (and everything else). I admit I much prefer not having so much choice; it saves no end of time and indecision.

(Continued on page 3)

Any comments or questions? Contact
louise@loesch.net
S i t e d e s i g n b y W e b f a i r

Home Family History Family Tree Photo Album Reminiscing Reunion Info Family News Address Book From Our Kitchen		Nine to Five in America's Paradise by Jean Loesch Krauklin (Continued from page 1) While I'm typing for-sale ads, people keep coming in to pick up a copy of our St. Croix map or to ask questions. One young man appears at the door with wind-blown hair and dingy clothes, barefoot, asking, "What island is this? We just got off a boat. Can we get groceries in this town?" I set him straight, and then in comes a couple, honeymooners probably. They ask shyly, "Do you have a house on the beach for around $30,000?" I have to set them straight, too, but try not to discourage them too much. There is still plenty of land available here for sale, and houses too; just not so easy to find right on the beach! Besides, the beaches are all public now, and anyone can enjoy any beach he or she can get to. About eleven major ones ring this 25-mile long island. We are asked to take a couple of customers to see a house on the western end of St. Croix. Out into the brilliant sunshine we go, and while walking to the car we notice Greek sailors, Danish retirees, Japanese travelers, all trying out their English as they shop for souvenirs. On the route from Christiansted to Frederiksted, the other town, we pass a giant oil refinery on the south shore. It is one of the largest in the western hemisphere, but tucked away behind the hills its myriad stacks, storage tanks and maze of pipelines are hardly noticeable except when you take the road that goes right by it. At night the complex looks like a miniature Manhattan with its columns of bright lights blazing. Now we see tankers inline on the horizon, waiting their turn to bring in crude oil from the mid-east for processing. At the same time, across the road from the refinery a flock of sheep is grazing peacefully in the shade of an old tamarind tree. Incongruous sight! This is a place of contrasts, to be sure, and they are everywhere. Next we see the College of the Virgin Islands, set in a grove of royal palms far back from the road, and then we pass the Botanical Garden. We are entering an area of high hills rising behind the flat land around the airport. The air feels cooler, the trees are towering and exotic, the shade denser. Jungle vines sometimes trail on the road, brushing the car as we pass. The house we're looking for is a "great house," partially restored. It has the ruins of a windmill, slave quarters still standing, and a row of stately mahogany trees leading up to the house. We are high on a mountainside, and the view of the sea is breathtaking in all its colors from pale aqua to deep blue. We walk through the old house, almost hearing the voices from the past echoing in the tray-ceilinged rooms. St. Croix was a wealthy sugar-exporting island two hundred years ago. We wonder what the Danish landlords and their wives did after their candle-lit dinner. Did they have musicales for their neighbors? Did they play cards, or dance the quadrille, or just write letters that would be delivered months later to their relatives in Europe? Our customers love the place but decide to see something more convenient to shopping and schools. On our way back we take a different road, winding along the seafront. It looks like the California coastline here, with switchbacks following the shore far below. As we go by small native settlements there are goats grazing by the roadside and chickens foraging busily in the yards. Now and then a mongoose scurries across the road. Nearing town, we come to an abrupt halt as the car directly in front of us stops without warning right in the middle of the road. The driver has spotted a friend on the sidewalk whom he hasn't seen for a while, and the two of them shout greetings and make plans for a get-together on the weekend. It holds up a line of cars for a minute or two, but this custom is a relic of years ago that seems impossible to get rid of. Many people don't have telephones (or their phones aren't working), and they seize on any opportunity to communicate with their friends in this way. Back in the office we find one broker talking with a pair of statesiders dressed in bathing suits with shirts on top. They will be teachers, living here year-round. Another salesman is conversing with a couple of dignified Cruzans who are formally dressed, he in a three-piece suit and she in a Sunday dress and heels. They are a local minister and his wife seeking to improve their lifestyle. A third broker is with a famous millionaire's widow who is looking for a hilltop retreat to use for part of the year. All of these customers share one quality, at least--they love the island and are determined to stay here, or to get a toe-hold anyway. In spite of being a vacation resort, St. Croix does have opportunities for earning a living, especially if one can do something really well, be it secretarial work, plumbing, piano tuning, or running a restaurant, and will work hard at it and not succumb too much to the lure of the beach, the sailing, or maybe the fine rum that is made here. Lunch time, and we carry sandwiches and fruit down to the dock area a couple of blocks away. Here we find a bench under a huge rubber tree and spend a pleasant hour watching the boats and the busloads of people from a cruise ship that has docked this morning in Frederiksted, where there is a deep-water harbor. They make a bee-line for the free-port shopping and later will board these buses again, carrying their quota of liquor and perfume and presents for the grandchildren. It is a festive scene. All these people have looked forward avidly to their Caribbean holiday, and obviously they are not disappointed. Back in the office again, we glance at the local newspaper, a daily, and greet the cleaning lady as she comes in, jolly and amply endowed, with a red flower in her hair. She goes about her duties with purpose and dignity, and when she needs to ask someone to move over, she does, whether it is one of the brokers at work, a customer, or the mailman. Pride is a characteristic of the West Indian, especially those born and raised in the British islands not far from here. Many of our residents migrated to the Virgin Islands during the 1960's to find work in our oil refinery, our aluminum manufacturing plant, and our construction industry. The postman comes in with packages, and the brokers rise from their seats and rush to see if their shipment has come from Bloomingdale's or Neiman-Marcus or Sears. It could take almost two months for an order to come by ship, and it is cause for a celebration if it comes undamaged, correct, and before it goes out of style. Sometimes a friend in the States sends an item we often can't get here, such as pecans in the shell, chocolates, or maple syrup, and then we often share the bounty. Much telephone answering, record keeping and talking with the customers makes the afternoon go by fast, and at 4:45 we close up the office. Still time for a little shopping, and we need a blouse for a party coming up on the weekend. We may have only a small choice of blouses to pick from. In the large city where I used to live, I was sometimes quite bewildered by the endless rows of blouses (and everything else). I admit I much prefer not having so much choice; it saves no end of time and indecision. (Continued on page 3)
		Any comments or questions? Contact louise@loesch.net S i t e d e s i g n b y W e b f a i r