In prior posts I have told you about new families that have moved in to North Andros and have asked us to start coming up there. Needless to say we are going!

Mastic Point is at the far northern end of Andros, a good hours ride through mangrove swamps and pine forests. Adding this to our Sunday makes for a full Sunday. Usually, Sunday starts here at St. John Chrysostom in Fresh Creek with people arriving around 7:30 to open up the church, put up the hymn numbers, do one final sweeping of the rugs, etc. The first liturgy is at 8:30, then we clean up, pack up and leave by 10:00 to head south and starting picking up people for the 11:15 at Christ the King in Cargill Creek. After that liturgy the bus makes a run dropping off local folks, then we head back to Fresh Creek.

We usually get back around 2-2:30, grab a sandwich and then go out and do communion calls, but now adding Mastic Point communion calls wait till Monday and now we pack up the car and try to leave for Mastic Point. The church in Mastic Point was reclaimed by the bush long ago so we are meeting in the Primary School. This means when I say we pack up - I mean it. We pack everything from missalettes, candles, the Lectionary, Sacramentary, altar cloth, a crucifix and a large pix filled with consecrated hosts. Then we hit the road.

Roads on Andros come in various stages of pot-hole decay. You can go for miles with nothing then all of a sudden its an unexpected strip of 15 potholes within a 200 foot span of road. We have learned to weave our way around these obstacles, however this is particularly difficult in the rain. Rain creates puddles, puddles creates places for potholes to hide - just waiting to grab your car and rip off whatever wheel they happen to trap. Hitting one of these can actually jar your fillings right out of your head. So far we've been lucky.

During this past trip to Mastic Point however we (make that I) experienced something totally new. We are cruising down the road at about 50 mph, the windows down in the 90 degree heat as we enjoy the breeze. My elbow in on the window and my short-sleeve shirt is flapping in the wind. Suddenly I feel a small sharp sting around my shoulder, then another - I rub my shoulder, brush it off -sting-, I slide my hand up my shirt sleeve and feel nothing -sting-, I reach around my shoulder almost to my back and I feel a hard lump -sting-, so I squeeze it, feeling the crunchy sensation of an insect -sting-, an insect being crushes inside my shirt.

While driving, my shirtsleeve innocently flapping in the breeze had inadvertently trapped some sort of insect and, once inside my shirt, its defensive instincts kicked in and badda-boom-badda-bang, I am scratching away at God-knows what.

Now all this happens while Ginni is sitting there with her eyes closed, enjoying the breeze. We get to Mastic Point, people are waiting, we do the service, then spend some time reviewing the sacrament of reconciliation with a boy who has started home schooling with his mother preparing for 1st communion. We pack up and head back to Fresh Creek. Now for the first time I explain about the bug to Ginni and she says "So that's what the stain is on your shoulder!"

It turns out the bug was rather large and when I did finally kill it there was a blotch of goo absorbed by my shirt as a rather dark brown/yellow stain. The shoulder on the other hand had about 4-5 welts that have since passed.

Yet another part of our island life adventure.