Tropical depression

No, I'm not talking about how it feels when you discover the bar is out of your favorite cold beverage. Lest you think it's all fun and games here in paradise, let me introduce you to the humble beginnings of Hurricane Kyle. Before Kyle grew up and headed toward coastal Maine, he was a leettle baby disorganized low-pressure system. He hung around St. John for four straight days while he got his act together and organized into a tropical depression. Four days later, when the rains finally stopped, the road up to my house in one direction looked like this:


That's a tree across the paved portion; there are some bowling-ball-sized rocks around it. Note the river still running swiftly down the hillside at left, a full 24 hours after the rain ended!

Fortunately, there are two ways to access Cocoloba Trail (my street). Here's how things look on the other end -- this is more than a week after the rains:

Fortunately or unfortunately, while all this was going on, I was horribly sick with a cold and clueless about much of the world located more than six feet beyond my bed. My upstairs neighbors warned me that, should I one day feel well enough to leave the house again, I should not ride my scooter as I would surely meet impending doom. In fact, however, once I did venture forth, I found it far easier to go around the obstacles on two wheels that I would have on four.

On the upside, the hillsides are very, very green; everyone's cistern is full; and there are some beautiful waterfalls around the island.