I haven't had much of anything stick lately. Sweep through and stick to the walls of my mind. Ideas have flown between and past, in one ear, out the other. Ideas have entered the unfurnished space and left as quickly as the planing speed boats zoom out of the dredged channel. This is a wake free zone, do not disturb! Did I forget to shut the windows again? So forgetful, I can be.
But back to the The Islands of Bimini, before that, too, slips past my tongue tip. A tarmac placed alongside shallow seas that bulb with paradaisical colors from sandy white to seagrass-tainted teal. Beware! Your wondered impression of isle idyll could soon crumble into a disappointment of dust, dirt, and neglect. Tourism has taken its toll. The initial island appeal vanishes with the overwhelming drums of passing gas-powered golf carts, a lack of shade and sidewalks, and after the seventh potato chip bag and plastic wrapper that one must trample or sidestep on his or her short stroll to the grocery store.
This blog is my honest recount after spending almost a year and a half in Bimini. More than any tourist dollar can buy, I believe Bimini requires a guiding, leading hand to redirect it from suffering the fates of its Miami neighbor, and other caribbean islands that fell victim to the human trap of development & destruction. Looking towards the elders for their wisdom. This pic peers through the unfinished 3rd floor pane of Ashley Saunders' Dolphin House, where the hope is not lost.
-Chris
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