How Do We Provide Effective Writing Instruction?

I recently had the good fortune to work with a group of Graduate teachers about to embark on their initial teaching appointments in January 2010. They presented with that expected blend of enthusiasm and trepidation. Along with some fellow consultants we spent a week together at Victoria University examining how best to deliver literacy in the classroom. They watched keenly as classroom visitations to a variety of schools provided demonstrations of the literacy block and the reading, writing connection. They witnessed explicit teaching of literacy strategies, where students practiced authentic reading and writing. They had opportunities to observe how quality conversations enhance understanding for literacy learners. They came back with questions and wonderings…

I trust, as a result of this experience, these eager graduates will carry with them these important messages about the teaching of writing:

Effective Teachers Develop A Sense of Community for Student Writers!
This important element requires teachers to devote lots of time and effort to establish routines and rituals for procedural matters, rules of engagement, furniture arrangement and expectations. Unless student learn to respect and care for one another, it will prove difficult to develop writing for sustained periods and that essential self direction that is a hallmark of effective writing classrooms. Quality conversations at every step of the writing process is therefore a non negotiable!

Writing teachers need to write!
Our students need to see us grapple with the challenges associated with being a writer. We need to think aloud, revise, edit and write in front of them. They need to see us making connections between our reading and the writing we do. They need see us gather craft ideas from other writers. This enhances the chance that they will take away from our demonstrations something of value.

Writers need daily opportunities to practice
Place a value on the writing, you and your students undertake and in time your classroom will reflect the attitudes and thinking required to manage the challenging work of being a writer. Great writing requires consistent effort.

Encourage writing (and Reading!) across a range of genres
Use the best literature available (fiction and non fiction) to notice what authors do. Reading widely is essential. Encourage young writers to venture from their writing comfort zone too. Too much focus on such practices as journal writing for primary students leads to formulaic, predictable writing. Writing becomes a chore. Think broadly about writing possibilities and encourage risk taking.

Spend More Time with Revision
Revision is not a punishment. It is an opportunity. It is the magic behind great writing. Be realistic about your expectations for revision. If the writing has real purpose, the likelihood of a student engaging in revision is enhanced. Revision needs to be taught as something all writers who care about their writing take part in. Don’t expect our youngest writers to do a lot of revising. Keep modelling how you as a proficient writer, reshape your writing for meet the needs of your audience.

Teach grammar and conventions in context
The way to go about teaching conventions and grammatical features is to look to the writing of others to inform us how to make our writing reader friendly. Following conventions makes for clear, crisp thought, so developing writers need to be taught how best to use these language elements. Shared and interactive writing are excellent instructional strategies for teaching into this important area of language.

Model Meaningful Sharing and Response
Young writers need to be shown how to effectively confer with each other. Share time, at the conclusion of the writing lesson provides an excellent opportunity to model effective and helpful responses to issues arising from student writing. Using this time to reinforce teaching points, gather feedback and clarify misunderstandings is most important. It also provides a chance to tie the learning threads together and provide students with a sense of closure.

Lifting the Quality of Writing

To lift the quality of writing among student writers there are some strategic things we need to do with our teaching.

Firstly, we need to expose them to quality writing! Encourage them to find mentors they admire. Once they have identified their personal mentor, we then challenge them to consciously write in the style of that particular writer.

To support the growth and awareness of quality writing we should use extracts from the work of trusted authors and have students identify just exactly what the author did with language; with ideas. Discussion should focus on identifying the writer’s purpose in relation to craft and how that affects the writing. Try to name what the mentor author has done.
To further support the concept of mentor authors, we need to model for them how we would utilize an aspect of the writing craft gleaned from a selected mentor. We need to do this in our very own writing. This is a critical step in the process. It provides powerful modelling how we, ourselves, read as writers. We see potential in the writing and respond to it. Invite students to make a comparison between the two pieces. –What have I been able to use in my writing that you first noticed in the mentor text?
What is the same? What is different?
Following this, we should invite our students to imitate this writing style in an entry of their own.

This step encourages them to internalize the craft before practicing the technique in their own writing

It is at this point that teachers frequently express concern that young writers will merely copy what has been already written. From my experience, students generally make the connection that it is about style rather than content. They frequently apply the craft to a completely different context. How re-assuring is that? It is further proof that they are imitating the craft, rather than merely lifting the content. We can see what they have learnt from the mentor.

It is important for our students to do such focused work in their writer’s notebook. It’s a chance to develop some writing strength –a chance to lift the quality of writing through authentic practice that has long term consequences for the way they write.

Slice of Life Story- Early Morning Adventures

In Melbourne, Australia we are experiencing an early summer with temperatures sizzling into the mid thirties (97degrees Fahrenheit) for almost a week. This has been the hottest November weather since 1925, we are told. Each morning I have walked to the beach with our dog Boo in an attempt to cool us both off. The temperature of the water has not caught up with the air temperature. It lags behind significantly. No warm currents to warm the bay. It is still bone chilling cold, particularly in the early part of the day. It is a struggle with the mind to overcome the knowledge that the water will smack you into life. Self talk is needed. I have to challenge myself to dive in. Contact with the water is stunning and refreshing in equal doses. My body buzzes with the shock of the cold water.I feel a sense of achievement having overcome my reticence. I stand up and then feel the urge to dive under again. This is great way to begin the day. I am alive in every sense of the word.

It will be hot and crowded here later in the day as tired and bothered folk descend onto the popular beach in search of some cooling relief. Right now its just Boo and I and some other people in the distance walking their dogs.

Boo sits at the shoreline watching me. I sense she is suspicious. Maybe she thinks I will take her beyond her depth. I would never force her to swim beyond what is confident to do. She is a Staffordshire terrier and not a great swimmer. She swims like a brick. She paddles near the water’s edge and ventures no further forward than her chest. For Boo this is enough. She loves to chase seagulls but there are none about this morning. She scampers back and forth beside the water’s edge watching her mad master frolic in the icy waters of the bay. I think she wishes she were brave enough to join me. She is relieved when I return to the water’s edge. We walk back home, a man and his dog, ready to face the heat of the day. Mundane matters await us at home.

Back to work tomorrow. The day will begin quite early. -Hot schools, hot and tired kids, frazzled teachers. No beach treat until Saturday. By then the water should be a little warmer- I hope!

Think Before Ink!

“Think Before Ink!” I read that heading in Mark Treddinick’s book, ‘The Little Red Writing Book' and it reminded me that writing is essentially a process, most of which happens when you are not writing

From experience we learn that writing is clearer, shorter and more engaging for the reader when it has been thought through first. We don’t want the reader to stumble along with us as we try to make sense of the true purpose of our writing. The reader wants the story, not the sketchy details, or uncertain ramblings.
Successful writing is about thinking and design. It is the rehearsal before the grand performance.

This has real implications for the way writing is presented in the classroom. Developing writers need time and space to rehearse and refine their writing intentions. Talking through ideas, making plans, considering the content, and generally sorting out where they want the piece to go. Katie Wood Ray talks about the need to have vision before revision, well writers need to develop that vision from the outset. It is a kind of GPS for the writing journey.

It was always re-assuring when the students I taught would enter the classroom in the morning and state quite definitely, - “I know what I’m going to write about today.” It was an indicator that they had been engaging in writing rehearsal beyond the confines of the classroom. It was a milestone in their development as writers, and a cause for celebration. Writing had become something more than an assignment given by an adult.

I vividly recall walking to PS 20 in Brooklyn’s Fort Greene one crisp morning to work with Erica Marshall’s Grade 3. Our brief that day was to help these young writers to practice the critical skill of generating ideas. A student from Erica’s class sidled up along side me and announced, “I took my writer’s notebook home over the weekend and wrote three stories. I’ve got another one to write today. Do you want me to tell you about it?
“Absolutely,” I replied, barely able to conceal my delight. In the space of little more than one hundred steps, out tumbled all his thoughts and ideas about his writing idea. His excitement was palpable. This young writer was locked and loaded.

I read recently that writing is a work in three movements:
• Thinking about it
• Doing it
• Doing it again.

It is the thinking that comes first. -And it maintains a presence throughout the process. Thinking represents the writer’s purposeful journey. The writing is what the thinking produces.

So the message is clear. Time needs to be provided for thinking and talking about writing. Rehearsal for writing needs to an essential element of your writing program. Talking about writing intentions as well as the work in progress are vital to progress. Equally, the role of the teacher is to talk about the thinking that goes into the writing produced as an example for students. Ideas and thinking grow as writers talk through them with others.

Slice of Life Story -Delve Into Twelve

What is it about the number 12 that so many people have difficulty with? Twelve is a most intriguing number. Most calendar systems have twelve months in a year. The Western zodiac has twelve signs, as does the Chinese zodiac. There are twenty-four hours in a day in all, with twelve hours for a half a day. A new day starts with the stroke of midnight. Furthermore, the basic units of time (60 seconds, 60 minutes, 24 hours) can all perfectly divide by twelve. Twelve squared is 144, also known as a gross. Twelve is a great number!

The concept of a dozen however seems to elude many of my fellow citizens it seems. Today I was standing in the supermarket line patiently awaiting my turn at the checkout, and it became obvious that the customers in front of me had so blatantly exceeded the ’12 items or less’ message despite the fact that it is so clearly displayed for all to read.

Not a big deal? Well the first few times it happened I let it roll by. Then I started silently counting just to confirm my suspicions. Then I ruminated on this a little more- maybe they figured if two of them strolled up to the checkout they were entitled to present at least 24 items (a multiple of 12) But I them noticed that one person did all the handling of the items while the other stood silently by like a potted plant making no discernable contribution to the entire process. Others I figured had reconciled that seven tins of cat food counted as one item –cat food!

Mostly though, I figured they didn’t really give a flying fig what anybody else thought. For them, it was just a matter of convenience and it sure beat standing in line behind a shopping trolley laden with enough produce to get a family of four through the winter, let alone a normal week.

Normally, I wait in the queue, gathering ideas about characters and dialogue or merely observing human interactions.- Kids grabbing at sweet temptations strategically placed within grasping distance, disaffected teens thumbing through trashy magazines as they wait, harassed mothers trying to will their errant toddlers through the stainless steel corral, or tired robotic workers shuffling home with a few last minute items.

As I stand in line, my mind has turned perversely to solutions to this problem of presenting more than 12 items. Maybe an alarm could ring when the magic number is exceeded and the shameful shopper would then stand in the lonely square for five minutes while others tut- tutted as they hurried by. Maybe their excess items could be donated to charity. Maybe they could be slapped with a ‘twelve’ day ban. –oh the possibilities!

As you can understand, I am not good at supermarket shopping. I am a most reluctant hunter and gatherer. It is an act of last resort. I think I need to unwind; forget about the number twelve, savour a coffee and enjoy a good read.

Writing Magic - Switching Genres!

The final term of the school year provides an excellent opportunity for students to revisit a genre explored earlier. They could rework a piece of writing published earlier in the year or rework a writing piece in a different genre than was originally attempted. I.e. non- fiction piece could be transformed into a realistic fiction piece, a poem, a play, a fiction piece. The possibilities are many. Such a study provides students with an opportunity to develop the understanding that one writing idea can be represented in different forms. It also allows students to progress further in their understanding of how writing is a fluid form of communication.

To begin, ask students to consider questions such as:
• What genre are you most comfortable writing?
• Which of your previously published writing pieces would you like to revisit?
• What does changing the genre of a piece allow you, the author, to do?

We can provide student writers with an opportunity to demonstrate through writing, a working knowledge of the two genres selected for this project. The aim in creating a new piece of writing is to retain elements similar to the original theme, using a different genre.

As writing teachers we can support students by:
• Activating prior knowledge about genre switching.
• Immersing students in a discussion (whole class/small group) that reviews the various genres covered in writing across the school year. Scanning their writer’s notebook/writing folio is a logical place for students to begin.
• Providing models of writing about the same topic /idea across a range of genres.
• Providing models of genre switch Example –Narrative to play. Non –fiction piece to imaginative writing.
• Brainstorming ways that genre switches can be achieved

I would be keen to know if a student is able to write an effective piece that demonstrates a genre switch. Can they incorporate a range of literary elements and specific vocabulary in their new piece?

In my planning I would need to consider if the models provided were appropriate for student learning to occur. I would also need to provide examples from my own writing where I have written about the same ideas across more than one genre. I would need to clearly demonstrate the code switch that has occurred in my writing. I would ask my students to compare and contrast my writing pieces.

Another consideration would be the delivery of my explicit teaching focus. In all likelihood I would have a number of groups and therefore my teaching focus would be small group and individual more so than whole class.

How do I relate this study to authentic writing purposes? Well, think of how adaptations take place quite commonly. A poem transformed into a song or a longer narrative. A story can be transformed into a play, or a screenplay. The classic poem by A B Paterson, ‘The Man from Snowy River’, became a screenplay and a movie. Genre switches are quite common.

Finally, as part of my evaluation of this writing study, I would need to ask myself- Has the learning sequence used in the planned study, supported students in gaining a clearer understanding of this form of writing?

Memoir Monday -The Great Potato Heist

When a boy is only nine years old, he can do strange things. This was a time when a field of potatoes caused me loads of trouble…

My friend Robert and I decided to take our billy-cart with us as we set off to explore the local neighbourhood. We were hoping to find a half decent hill to descend. The billy cart had been the product of the previous weekend’s efforts. A construction strung together using a mixture of scrounged odds and ends. A lettuce box atop a

wooden frame, a set of disused pram wheels and a piece of rope nailed to the front for steering purposes, made up this rickety downhill racer. The only modification to the lettuce box was to knock the front panel out so that the driver could extend their legs forward to help steer the cart on its wild descent. No brakes, and the lettuce box carriage was so rough it guaranteed to give you splinters almost every time some part of body made contact.

We pushed past went Les Blake's house, but he wasn't home so we pressed on towards Boundary Road. We then pushed our way past Mr. Porter's horse paddock towards the great expanse of market gardens. A forlorn looking brown and white Clydesdale hung its enormous head over the fence and snorted a greeting. We jumped at the sudden appearance of the huge snorting head. Snot dripped from its nostrils and huge hairs sprouted in different directions from the tip of its long nose. Horse snorts continued to sniff the air, as we settled ourselves in the presence of the giant horse.

Clydesdales were rarely seen working the paddocks anymore. This accounted for their sad appearance. They weren't needed and somehow they knew it. They remained a curiosity though. We rarely rode past without stopping to pat the gentle giants.

A huge crop of potatoes planted on the land beside the horse paddock grabbed our attention. They made quite an impressive sight with their mass of yellow and white potato flowers contrasting the plain green potato plant leaves. Away in the distance stood a paling fence, that formed the border of the constantly advancing houses.

Market gardens like Mr. Porter's were being crowded out as the neighborhood took on a new appearance. The market gardens found themselves surrounded by homes, as new streets were drawn in and new houses constructed. These new houses seemed to appear almost overnight and the market gardens looked more and more like an endangered species.

Some of the rows near the road had been unearthed and the potatoes lay exposed on the soil. The rising sun had crusted the sandy soil on their skin. There were potatoes of varying sizes. Fresh, new potatoes, with thin skins. Tiny chats, no bigger than marbles. It was love at first sight for both of us. I could barely contain myself. I saw images of potato heaven. My mind was filled with visions of potatoes chipped, boiled, baked, mashed, with lashings of melted butter. "Looks like someone forgot to pick up those potatoes," said Robert interrupting my potato dreams.

Without another spoken word we both took snuck a glimpse. A full turn of the head revealed not one living soul, save the two of us. It was just two boys, a billy-cart and a patch of apparently deserted potatoes. It was at this precise moment good judgment and all the parent tapes that normally looped around in our heads, telling us to do the right thing, left us stranded in the dark zone.

"Let's just take a few" I said." We could cook chips for lunch!"
Robert maintained his silence. He immediately stepped closer to the potato bounty. Picking up a handful and clutching them to his chest, he walked back to the billy cart and tipped them into the cart where the driver normally sat. I followed like the sorcerer's apprentice, step for step.

We were actually potato-knapping, but at that precise moment both of us had our consciences switched off. The billy cart filled quickly and away we scampered, neither quite sure what we were going to do with the loot. That would come later.
"Let's go to your place, " said Robert eventually.
"Why?"
"Oh well, we could cook chips"
"We've got enough potatoes to cook a mountain of chips"
"Maybe we'll think of a good idea while we're cutting up the chips"
"So, we're re going to your place then?"
"S'pose so" I added reluctantly.
When we arrived at my place we pushed the billy-cart down the driveway that ran beside the house and entered the backyard. While Robert began cleaning the stolen bounty, I slipped inside to get a knife to chop the potatoes into chips.

My Mother was ironing and singing when I entered the house. The air was thick with starch, the hiss of steam and Mum’s enthusiastic singing. She often sang when she did the ironing. In fact she was the only person I knew who actually seemed to enjoy ironing. As she sprinkled the clothes with a mixture of starch and water to make them extra stiff, the hissing of the iron provided an accompaniment to her singing. She sang joyfully like the birds of the morning.

"Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy
A kid’ll eat ivy too, wouldn't you ?

"What have you been doing my darling boy?" my mother enquired in a matter of fact voice, as the iron continued to hiss in her hand. Even as she spoke, her eyes never lifted from her ironing board task.
"Not much,” I said, trying my best to sound offhand.

I was now relying on a voice I used when I had no wish for people to ask questions. My Mother knew this voice well. Superior wisdom that only comes from living alerted her to the fact that she needed to do something immediately - like ask more questions.

The sound of someone knocking on the front door distracted her before she could activate further enquiries. It seemed that someone was looking out for me. I dived my hand into the kitchen drawer, snatched a knife and a vegetable peeler, then lingered momentarily at the back door. I was curious to know whom it was who had saved me from his mother’s potentially embarrassing questions. Questions that usually made me blush and squirm and feel intolerably hot.

To my absolute horror the voice at the front door introduced itself to my mother as Mr. Porter. I didn't need to hear the rest. Instantly my mind raced to the panic zone. I bolted from the house, and squealed at the unsuspecting Robert something like. "Mr. Potato is here about the..... Porter must have seen us....He's talking to my Mum. Hide the spuds quick!"
"What?"
"Come on, hide the damn potatoes"
"Sure. Where? -Up my jumper?"
"Very funny. Come on, use your brain"
Robert stood before me his head turning left and right like a carnival clown. His mouth remained agape. He uttered not a single sound.
I suddenly had what I thought was a great idea and without hesitating shared it
"Chuck the lot !" I spluttered.
"Where?" said my uninspired accomplice. He then resumed his clown pose. Robert obviously needed more information.
"Anywhere" I said.
“What does that mean? Anywhere!”
“Anywhere, anywhere. Just get rid of them. Chuck them anywhere"
So we began throwing the potatoes over the fence. Throwing them as far as we possibly could. We were attempting to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and the hot potatoes.

About half the loot had been successfully launched over the nearest fence, when my Mother appeared at the back door.
"Come in here at once, both of you, there's someone at the door who is very keen to have a word with you"
We looked at each other, looked down at the billy-cart and immediately dropped the potatoes they were holding. We had been caught in the act of disposing of the evidence. It was obviously time to face the not so sweet music.

Mr. Porter, a tall, thin, man with a ruddy weather beaten face stood in the doorway blocking out the sunlight. The air around us was heavy with impending doom.

As it turned out, Mr. Porter was quite forgiving. His manner was gruff, but not unreasonable given the situation. He had been able to track the potato pinchers because of the trail of tiny potatoes we had left as they journeyed home. We had succeeded where Hansel and Gretel had failed.

Mr. Porter asked for an assurance that we would never steal his potatoes again and we stood before him, shaking our heads in all the right places. He also asked for his potatoes back and it was at this point we wished they could immediately make themselves invisible, or at the very least turn back time. We exchanged knowing glances and my Mum assured Mr. Porter that his wishes would be met.

We dragged our tails from the scene and retired to the back yard to think of a solution. At this point both of us managed to recover the ability to draw breath. We sat at the base of the washing line, surrounded by the family washing, pondering our collective gloom.

Pondering on this problem didn't last long. Our fate was sealed by the untimely arrival of Mrs. Dodd at the front door. Mrs Dodd lived two doors up from our house. She appeared most anxious. It was turning out to be a bad day for visitors.

A tiny, energetic woman with the harsh, raspy voice of a smoker she appeared quite agitated when Mum opened the door. She had arrived with a strong sense of urgency about a minute after the disgruntled Mr. Porter. She spluttered and coughed as she told a story about potatoes raining down on her back yard. Her voice became more shrill as she told my mother "I thought I was going to get bopped on the noggin.-and my poor cat - well she fled under the house like she’d been shot from a cannon ! "

-And so we copped it for a second time in the same day. Robert was sent home in disgrace. I got the "Wait till your father hears about this, he'll be mortified " routine and spent some more time in my room.

Both households imposed lifetime bans on either of us playing anywhere near one another. This was later shortened to one week, which still seemed like a lifetime. I survived his father's wrath by agreeing with everything that was said.
"You've behaved like an idiot Alan. What are you?"
"I'm a idiot" I replied.
"You're a foolish boy !"
"I'm a fool as well Dad"

Well, despite this unfortunate event, an event which has burned itself into my conscience memory, I still love potatoes, and to this day I have never ever gone potato-knapping again. It's good when we learn from our mistakes.

What We Can Learn From Studying Writing

I have recently purchased Katie Wood Ray’s Study Driven –A Framework for Planning Units of Study in the Writing Workshop. I have long been a fan of Katie’s writing messages. Several of her books stand proudly on my library shelves. In Study Driven, Ray spells out some strong messages about how writing needs to be approached. To quote the author,

“Framing instruction as study represents an essential stance to teaching and learning, an enquiry stance, characterized by repositioning curriculum as the outcome of instruction rather than the starting point…”

Katie Wood Ray contends:

Texts should be used to mentor students to write real things in the ways real writers write. This makes teaching ‘authentic’
Writing needs to be 'studied' and not 'taught.' This requires teachers to read like writers – along held belief of the author.
Teachers need to be writers and gatherers of mentor texts, but curriculum can not be determined before the students begin to study. It requires a flexible approach, so that teaching is informed by the needs of the developing writers.

For teachers who want their students to write well, this is a text that lays out options for letting this happen. This is a thought provoking book, and like a glass of fine red wine, needs to be savoured and considered. I would suggest that all serious teachers of writing spend the summer reading it and thinking deeply about the messages contained within. That way, when school recommences in the new year, you'll be more than ready to proceed with some inspired teaching throughout 2010.

It is unusual for a book to speak so comprehensively to all teachers, but this book reaches across the broad expanses of the teaching spectrum. Whether you are working with our youngest writers or dealing with adolescents who are moving into their ‘whatever’ phase, this book delivers some critical messages about what matters about teaching writing effectively. I suggest you put it on your must read list.

Bring The Writing Centre to Life!

Setting up a writing centre in the classroom is a great idea. However, its a great idea that needs regular commitment and maintenance if its potential is to be realized. Writing centres often become museum pieces if young writers aren’t encouraged to use the allotted space. You know the scene – it looks great, it looks glitzy, but rarely do you see students actually occupying the space. What a waste of a great space! It’s a bit like Nana’s special dining set –constantly admired, rarely used. It may as well be covered in plastic to protect it from stains.

A writing centre set up with the requisite supports, such as computer, printer, camera, an assortment of pens, markers, papers, book making materials, writing reminders and ideas, photographs, books on writing, etc provides great stimulus to developing writers. To give this space added appeal young writers need to be shuffled through this special classroom space each day. You could either set up a sign in sheet, or a schedule, so that students could prepare themselves for writing time in the centre. We can set up the conditions that afford the writing centre a prominent place in the grand scheme of your writing program.

I know how I feel about my special writing space at home. I can sit, think and compose, surrounded by the books and artefacts that stimulate ideas for writing. I am comfortable in this space. My writing energies are easily released. Many young writers may not enjoy the luxury of such a space for writing at home. Maybe by creating a classroom space that is stimulating and inviting we can further encourage the writing development of our students.

Memoir Monday -An Island Adventure

In San Juan we waited for some time for our connecting flight to St Kitts. Repeated announcements through muffled speakers informed in-transit travelers that flights were delayed -and, in some instances oversubscribed. Weight restrictions meant that only twenty-four passengers could be carried on planes originally designed to carry forty-two. A standard offer of $300 was presented to any passenger who would willingly ‘jump off’ and take a later flight. The announcer kept reminding everyone that weight restrictions were the cause of the problem. A man sitting opposite me continued tucking into a pizza. A quick glance around the lounge confirmed that there was in fact, an oversupply of fat tourists.

We finally boarded for St Kitts and then spent an hour in a hot, cramped plane with a hairy-armed hostess who dispensed miserable bags of cheese and onion chips to passengers who only wanted to escape the heat of the cabin. I desperately wanted to tell her that she could keep her Fokker Friendship!

The view of the island as you approach St Kitts is spectacular. Volcanic peaks (Mt Liamuiga 3792 feet is the tallest) and the rich blue of the Caribbean Sea make for an impressive introduction.

Negotiating immigration proved to be agonizingly slow. In fact, it made getting through JFK airport like life in the fast lane. St Kitts International Airport is not exactly under passenger pressure, yet it took us thirty minutes to be processed. Three officials, forty passengers (I had time to count them) and yet it took a brain burning amount of time. It was like getting a bike for Christmas and then being told you couldn’t ride it until Easter! We were in the lane that moves the slowest. My good friend Schmidt would say that only happens to the world’s unluckiest man. The processing officer made glaziers look speedy. What a classic example of operating on island time. Methodical is not the word for the painfully slow checking process everyone was put through. The archetypal ‘i’ dotter! I felt I was going to be admonished when it was pointed out to me that I had forgotten to include the zip code on my Brooklyn address. Here I was, just hoping to be a warm and happy tourist, and instead I was being made to feel like a naughty boy.

It was mercifully a short drive to ‘Papillion’ The air warm and breezy. Palms and bougainvillea flourishing in abundance. The island was in the midst of a prolonged dry spell. As we drove, two items keep recurring in my mind. Goats and cactus! The island appears to have an over supply of goats and cactus. Given the goats renowned ability to eat almost anything maybe they could be set loose on the cactus? The resort faced onto the Atlantic Ocean at a point known as North Frigate Bay. The wind harasses the ocean, and buffets you, but its warmth is relaxing and you could feel your body giving into it.
A short walk across the island and you are standing on the shore of the more tranquil Caribbean Sea at a location known as Timothy Beach. Such a short walk between two large bodies of water.

When you sit beside the water’s edge you can hear the small rocks- crack, crack, crack as they are tumbled about by the waves. I found myself waiting for it to happen. I was fully entertained by this action, as the waves spilled over the rocky shoreline. The beach on this side of the island was actually a bit disappointing. Plenty of rocks and very little sand. Not at all what one expects from the Caribbean.

Originally called Liamuiga by the first inhabitants, this tiny small island was renamed San Christobel by Columbus and St Christopher by the British. Officially that remains the island’s name, but it is more commonly referred by its nickname, St.Kitts. Situated about 1600 miles from New York, it lies in the north east Caribbean on the shoulder of the island chain. Apart from the three groups of steep volcanic peaks, its foothills feature sugar cane and assorted grasslands. There is also a small area of rainforest. Approximately 45000 people live here and on the neighboring island of Nevis.

Mother nature is perverse at times. She creates a touch of paradise to which people are naturally drawn and then she litters the beach with enough stringy seaweed to tastefully clothe a myriad of mermaids. Swimming in the Atlantic waters means that apart from being bashed and splashed by each set of white capped waves, you find yourself emerging from the surging seas draped in green stringy weed and resembling a sea creature. Maybe that’s why people prefer the safety and tranquility of the swimming pool when staying in island resorts? Personally, I like the challenge of the ocean. It says, this is the way it is –take it or leave it! I feel I have to at least try and get involved. -Even if it’s just for a few minutes. I know I am going to be pummeled, tumbled and spat out, but at least I can hold your head up and say – I tried. It’s like standing up to a bully.

In London they say you are never further than eight feet from a rat at any one time. In the Caribbean you are never more than eight feet from the sound of a Bob Marley song! Bob may not be with us any more, but his melodies strongly represent him wherever you go. Bob kept confessing that it was he who shot the sheriff. After seven days I wanted to shoot the sound system! It was the perfect excuse to lose myself in a pina colada or two. Island time is always a memorable adventure...