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The paintings of Italian-born artist Agostino Brunias, who made a profession of depicting the island in subdued, stylized settings that covered up the harsh realities of colonial control, were my first visual introduction to Dominica. However, as soon as I step onto its winding roads, which begin to twist shortly after I arrive, it becomes evident that this region, which is situated in the center of the Lesser Antilles’ curve, is anything but tame. The two-toned leaves of its bois canot trees, which change color from green to white when they sway in the wind, shimmer and bristle with the power of the volcano. It lulls with the erratic sound of its numerous waterfalls, scatters rainbows haphazardly across its breathtaking horizons, and enchants from the depths with its vibrant coral reefs. And it roars come storm season.
The indigenous Kalinago people of Dominica survived invasion by the French and British, who imposed slavery on the Africans who now make up four-fifths of the island’s population and left a linguistic legacy of English and French-based Creole, by mastering the lush tropical rainforest that covers more than 60% of the island. If you visit Trinidad for roti and Jamaica for jerk, you should travel to Dominica for green things like bush rum and flower teas. There are a ton of medicinal herbs in the forest.
The Jungle Bay Dominica resort, located smack dab in the center of the Soufrière jungles, leans into nature instead, maybe realizing the futility of fighting against the earth’s generosity. When I finally get there, the kitchen is closed. Joanne Hilaire, the operations manager, tells me that they never let guests go hungry, though, so I can feel the warmth of Dominica’s welcome. The cook is preparing an excellently stewed dish of beans with taro, rice, and plantain for our late dinner, off the menu, while I have a refreshing ginger-lime cocktail that is a local favorite. When I wake up the following morning, I find that my villa’s doors open onto a private veranda that faces southwest toward Soufrière Bay, where the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean converge. I let the light wake me for the remainder of my stay by leaving my blinds open.
This small artifact has a huge role in the home
Imagine yourself in the cozy embrace of a 1970s living room, where the walls are painted in earthy hues and the shag carpet sprawls out in bold, funky patterns.
Amidst this retro-chic setting, a slender, unassuming object rests in the groove of a vinyl record sleeve.
What is it, you ask? Well, it’s none other than a humble hook — a relic of domestic life from days gone by. Keep reading to find out more!
Cast your mind back to a time when windows were adorned with their Sunday best — pleated curtains hanging proudly, framing views of idyllic suburban landscapes or the bustling streets of the city. In the background, the curtain hook quietly performed its duties, ensuring that the fabric cascaded in graceful folds, casting mesmerizing patterns of light and shadow across the room.
But as the sands of time shifted, so too did the mechanisms of home decor. The once-ubiquitous curtain hook gradually faded into obscurity, replaced by more modern fixtures. Yet, despite its diminished role, the curtain hook remains a poignant reminder of an era characterized by meticulous attention to detail — a time when even the smallest adornments spoke volumes about a homeowner’s taste and care.
“Fell out of one of my dad’s record sleeves… dangerous roach clip or dated 70s hair accessory?”via: BroccoliBastard/reddit
In a world where technology reigns supreme and trends come and go with dizzying speed, the curtain hook stands as a steadfast symbol of simplicity and tradition. Its very existence serves as a gentle reminder that amidst the ever-changing landscape of modern living, there is always beauty to be found in the timeless elegance of the past.
So, the next time you come across a curtain hook tucked away in a forgotten corner of an antique shop or buried beneath a pile of household odds and ends, take a moment. For in that unassuming piece of metal lies not just a functional fixture, but a piece of history — a humble testament to the enduring charm of days gone by.
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