I grew up in Bermuda

“Do people actually live there?”

I love telling people that I was born and raised in Bermuda.  About 70% of people have no idea where it is and lump it in with the other “B” islands, Barbados, Bahamas, British Virgin Islands. Bermuda is not even in the Caribbean at all! It is a series of islands atop an extinct volcano 600 nautical miles off the coast of North Carolina in the Sargasso Sea part of the Atlantic Ocean.

The majority of people also don’t think anyone gets to be born there or live there! I imagine that their minds go right to poolside frozen daiquiris and snorkelling and everyone being barefoot all the time.

To be fair, I was barefoot a lot. And sweaty! As a child, my school uniforms had permanent marks on the arm from wiping my sweaty face all day. After school, I would go and play in the back yard where we had grapefruit, orange, lime and avocado trees. My mom would go down and grab a grapefruit for breakfast. My dad grew tomatoes and carrots and was often found with fresh squeezed orange juice pulp in his moustache. After a hurricane had shaken the trees in 130 mph winds, he would put a wheelbarrow-full of avocados outside of his dental office for folks to help themselves to. Imagine this now with the price of avocados! He also transported me to school with me sitting side-saddle on the crossbar of his 10-speed bike.

On weekends we would go out in the boat, heading to “The Lakes” (the scene of the last ghostly tale), Frick’s Point, Cambridge Beaches or Pompano. The crystal blue water seemed almost too good to be true but we spent entire summers in it so I guarantee you, it’s no lie.

My daughter at Frick’s

Sunscreen in the late 70’s was a joke; either you had zinc oxide on your nose, a thick, white paste with no ray of sun getting in, or it was Coppertone SPF 2 (“suntan” lotion). So to say we have had a little sun damage to our skin is an understatement!  We were white blonde kids of Irish descent in the sun every day.

We rode our bikes all over the place, with no helmets.  The islandwide speed limit was 40km/hr and people drove toy-like cars with very small engines and the mopeds were slow! So one got around, but not very fast at all. It was delightful.

The naughtiest thing we got up to as kids was throwing loquats at cars from our treehouse. And even that was short lived because a large man turned around once and came looking for us! We raced into the back yard and never did that again.

Bermudians are naturally very in touch with the weather. Living on a rock in the middle of the Atlantic with no land for 600 miles means that you have to take care of yourself. When a hurricane is on its way, we know exactly what to do: fill the bathtub with water for when the power goes out, stock up on food, candles, gas for the car, scooter and maybe generator if you’re lucky. You get your boat sorted out (either hauled or very well secured) and stock the booze cabinet just in case the storm is not severe and it turns into a party!

We batten down the hatches the day before the wind starts. All Bermudian houses have shutters that protect the windows and doors and all outdoor things are either brought in or tied down. And then we wait. Once the wind starts, you keep an eye on the wind direction, cracking the windows on the “lee” side of the house. This allegedly stops the roof from being ripped off by the pressure. Otherwise we just play games, usually in the dark with candles, and try to sleep. Once we are in the eye of the storm when the wind has dropped out, we all go outside to assess the damage, chat with the neighbours, take the dog for a pee, and then hunker down for round 2.

The wind generally changes direction now so we crack a window on the other side of the house and get ready for what is sometimes 10-12 more hours of the island being pummelled by wind, rain and salt spray. Once the hurricane has passed, Bermuda always pulls together to clean up. Neighbours help neighbours and it always feels like a bit of a reset for the morale of our community.

My ancestry dates back to the late 1600’s when the Trott family came from England and started a tobacco and cedar business on the island. Bermuda is a melting pot of British, West Indian and West African, Portuguese and Native American cultures. Like everywhere, the dark past of racism and marginalization has resurfaced over the last 20 years. There is plenty of generational trauma to acknowledge and try to heal.

Without fail, and no matter how long I’ve been away, as soon as I land on the island I feel instantly welcomed and at home. Bermudians have a warmth and a charm like nowhere else- always happy to share directions or recommendations to visitors, and in general we love others appreciating our island home.

Despite loving the West Coast and where we are just south of Vancouver, I do miss many things about Bermuda. Besides my peeps, the warm sand and ocean, there are these little tree frogs who sing every night, all night! I miss swimming in the secret caves in Tom Moore’s tavern, feeling salt and sun kissed at the end of a day in the boat, bumping into a childhood friend on the street, riding on a scooter in the warm, sea breeze. My mother always says “Bermuda gets in your blood”. This is true, and we ache for it when we haven’t been home in a while.

I am extremely grateful to call these two beautiful places home.

More about Bermuda here !

https://www.whereig.com/bermuda/