Nutmeg, waterfall and lime time

A nutmeg scents my palm, the dark red flames of mace clinging to the glossy brown surface--as though Aubrey Beardsley on ganja had taken his brush to them. I hold it tightly as Vaughan says, "95% of the nutmeg crop was wiped out by Hurricane Ivan in 2004-- and a tree take 7 years to bear after planting. But we are resilient." He guides us through the nutmeg and banana cooperative plantations enroute to our hike to St. Margaret's Falls, first of the Seven Sisters in Grand Etang National Park.

Four of us have torn ourselves from the siren arms of the luxury resort on Pink Gin Beach to explore the precipitous verdant mountainsides of Grenada's interior. The road winds through forests of palm,

mahogany, and the few giant gommier trees spared both in 2004, and the sucker punch of Hurricane Emily the following year. We passed homes on stilts, some newer and in good repair, others rust-riven and bearing the clawmarks of hurricanes. Many have hibiscus-rimmed gardens with paw paw (papaya), a few cacao, nutmegs, sweet potatoes, corn, pigeon peas and callaloo, a dark vegetable that looks and tastes like bok choi. Plants flourish

in this rich volcanic and humus-dense soil. They say if you spit a watermelon seed, a vine bearing fruits will appear the next day.

Vaughan tells us about the traditionally cooperative nature of

the Grenada's cocoa, banana and nutmeg industries. "But the IMF aid after Ivan was a double-edged sword. It helped some more than others, and tested the bonds of the community." We walk past a colorful farm with beautiful golden cows, staked to keep them out of the crops. "We have a strong belief that we are not like crabs in a barrel who climb on each other's backs to escape from the bottom. Here, if one succeeds, he tries to pull the rest up with him."

His words spread warmth through my limbs like the balmy morning air, as we pass ginger, heliconia, and begonia blooming along the path. We reach Mitchell's Bar, closed but watched over by Bob Marley, and work our way through the giant bamboo and down rock steps, built in the 18th century to make carrying the harvest over this mountain a bit easier.

After boulder-hopping across a river, Vaughan points to a narrow muddy uphill track, and says we can carry on to St. Margaret's or take this side path to Honeymoon Falls. Happily, the others agree to head upriver to Honeymoon, which we reach in short order after Vaughan splits the river with his body to show us where to climb. We reach the pool at the bottom of the

50-meter falls and plunge into chill water. Without question, this is one of the most exhilarating moments of my life. The crashing sound and power of the waterfall were tremendous and swimming towards it, took all my strength to tread in place.

Resting on sun-struck boulders, we eat bananas and hear about "hashing," a local sport where the hasher blazes a trail with a cutlass, and the crowd follows, running, walking, however they want to ambulate to the finish line, which is nearly always a rum shack. "It's not a race, and the hasher always makes a route that everyone can manage. It's really all about what happens after everyone arrives."

On the way back, we meet Mitchell, struggling up the hill with the first trip to provision for the day. He smiles and tells us he started this outpost bar recently, and it's going well, but adds, "It's hard to do this all by myself, mon."

Perhaps he won't have to for long.

(For another sweet glimpse of this island, here's a video on the organic Grenada Chocolate Company, started by a guy in a hut and eleven others working with 18th-century equipment.

http://rococochocolates.com/blog/trevor-macdonald-meets-grenada-chocolate-mott/