mae bucknor: in memorium

A month or two ago, I felt a sudden, strong pang of missing Mae and Leonard, the couple who cared for the house my father once owned in Jamaica. I knew they were getting older, and I missed them. (There is independent verification of that, as I mentioned it to several people.) It turns out that at about that time, Mae suffered a stroke. Last Sunday, she died.
Mae glided through Castle Gorden, Jamaica, between her house and ours, like a ship under full sail. She did battle with the vegetable vendors at the market in Port Maria and commanded her flotilla of family absolutely. She also commanded us, though so subtly that we hardly suspected. Two households now feel the loss of her steady hand at the helm.
OK, enough with the maritime metaphors.
She could laugh. This is a great boon, and her laugh was wonderful to hear. She could yell—never at us and we could never understand what she was saying to Leonard. She could cook, and she liked it. And when a person cooks who likes to cook—oh my! I loved her ackee and salt fish, kalilu, chocho, plantain, rice and peas. I cook bluefish the way she cooked fish and first used curry under her aegis. I would never have ever eaten goat but for her curried goat specialty. I sat on the counter and watched her cook and listened to her stories.
Mae taught me about Jamaica. She was my interpreter—linguistically, socially and culturally. Without her I would have been a tourist terrified of the street hawkers in Ocho Rios. Under her instruction, I came to love the people of her neighborhood and her country. I am deeply sorry that now I will never be able to share mine with her.
Two families, hers and ours, became one family, now bereft.

Pictures from Jan Jenner's diary of the last time we visited Jamaica—maybe in 2000?
link to pictures of Dowling House in Jamaica