A short ride up into the hills from Bluefields Beach brings you to Bluefields Organic Fruit Farm and Tours.
“Watch it! Stop–stop–stop!”
Keith rushes closer to where I’m standing, beside a small, prickly bush I had failed to notice at the start of our hike.
“Did I step on something? Agh! I stepped on a plant.”
“No, no, no, no, it’s more than that. It’s a scratchy bush. I should’ve warned you about that one.”
I feel an immediate burning sensation on my ankles, right above the sock line, but I don’t panic because Keith tells me it’s harmless.
The prickly bush that greeted me.
“It’s medicinal bush, but it scratches!”
The tingle continues but it’s bearable and I move on, knowing time is ticking and sensing a lot to discover with the farmer teacher I had just met.
“You can tell I’m not on farms that often,” I joked.
It was the first of many lessons on my two-hour tour of Keith’s farm — officially called the Bluefields Organic Fruit Farm, Vegetables, Herbs and Tours, located just an hour southeast of Negril, in the hills of Bluefields’ small coastal and fishing community. Lessons about fruits, medicinal plants, and the benefits of organic farming–all born out of a family’s passion and vision.
Meeting Keith Wedderburn, founder of Bluefields Organic Fruit Farm
When I first called Keith Wedderburn, at the suggestion of Diana McIntyre-Pike, renowned founder of community tourism in Jamaica and in the Caribbean, he immediately agreed to show me around his organic farm, and even offered to drive me there. We would meet on a Saturday morning at a—>
“You either love Curaçao, or you hate it!” said Frans, the driver and guide from my guesthouse, as we began our hike along a craggly clifftop. An intense sun whipped our faces, while the sea breeze cooled us sporadically and waves splashed furiously our way as if trying to reach us.
Love is more of what I felt for Curaçao after glancing at the immigration arrival form postcard that the flight attendant handed me on the flight. With a pink and white background, one side requested my basic traveler data while the other promised: “Life is better at the beach.”
Dushi! I said under my breath–the local papiamentu word for sweet that I had read was popular on the island. I wished all of my Caribbean destinations had the same delightful approach to entry.
The next two weeks I spent breathing, tasting, and feeling Korsou confirmed my initial instincts.
When gregarious Frans picked me up, I’d already been waiting on the curb for him. But it wasn’t his fault. The lightning process of getting through immigration (remember the dushi form), coupled with Copa Airlines’ swift luggage unloading meant that I had >>