Cut from 8 feet tall to the ground, the landscape transforms during the sugar cane harvest. Trees and houses, and undulating in the green hills are revealed after months hidden behind the cane. The broad palm leaves of coconut trees yellow. Grass is the color of straw.
Today is mi-Carême, the middle of the dry season late February-early May. The fields dry out except the few that are watered. We had 2 weeks without rain, but yesterday had a strong but brief, refreshing rain, which was then quickly forgotten. The sugar cane fields have grown sandy in color, with touches of green from leaves still vital. Where the cane has been cut, the ground is strewn with a layer of light straw. The rows where cane had grown are still pronounced. The cutting of the cane is beautiful and dramatic to see. Done in some places by hand, a few workers artfully cut the drying cane with swift swings of their long and razor sharp machetes. From what I’ve seen, in about half a day, 2 or 3 can clear an acre. Most (nearly all?) of the harvest is done by machine. The whole cane is cut to the ground, chopped and loaded, while the equipment moves briskly, at a fast walking pace. Later the cane is separated out from the lighter leaves. The cane is milled at distilleries, releasing cane juice. Cane juice is then fermented and distilled into inimitable Martinique rums. Locally produced raw sugar and fresh can juices, freshly crushed onsite at market stalls or roadside stands, are also treats to be enjoyed.
Days after the harvest, new shoots of cane leaves arise, new future brightly ready to grow, and within a couple weeks they are over a foot (30cm) tall. When cut by hand, new cane shoots emerge a bit more quickly and vigorously than where cut by machine.
The weather is slightly cooler in this season, and runs in the late afternoon are a delight. The 1000ft climb of 1st gear switchbacks is hot, but the humidity feels noticeably lower and the breeze quite pleasant. I passed several cows, of the local Charolais creole race, stationed in the hills, where they lowed loudly, perhaps not yet milked. Heading back down, looking out to sea, low rogue cumulus clouds several miles out were lit by the lowering afternoon sun, firing a wide rainbow in the shape of a mound beneath the clouds. The colors blended slowly over a wide area. As I descended, running down the winding turns, the rainbow reached upwards in the sky, and the clouds drew nearer and seemingly higher. In the veranda of a house, a dozen people enjoyed a long lunch. In a small field of dry grass, 11 leggy sheep stood side by side in a row eating and stepping forward, as if by consensus. Down and across the road, a loosely dispersed flock of mismatched goats, beautifully colored in whites, browns, and blacks, milled about, their stomachs full.
Though dryer than usual, it’s not parched. Freshly turned earth is rich red, and milk-chocolate and dark-chocolate brown, and in the fields towards the mature green banana trees, last harvested a month ago. This makes a lush scene in the quieting evening light. The rain clouds pass without leaving a drop. At dawn the next morning, there is a brief soaking rain. We, and the animals and plants, are glad.