VIE MORATZ

I do not know if this is the correct spelling or where the name came from, but evidently it has been in the family, at least among the men, for a long time. Our family probably acquired the name when we acquired the property. Sounds French doesn’t it? I previously mentioned the name Upper Land as one of the pieces of land we owned and where we kept our milking cows as it was closer to our home. Well, Vie Moratz was an area in the far reaches of this pasture and at times was isolated from the rest of the land during the rain season and at such times you walked through water up to your knees to get there. In the middle of this was an open area not more than 200 feet in diameter. Access to this amphitheater- like place was through a tunnel arbor of black mangrove trees with two thatch-palm trees (one on each side) standing guard like sentinels at the entrance. The ground of the open area was very shallow and the only thing that would grow there was a very rare and strange vine that covered the earth. I have never seen this vine anywhere else and it was truly strange. The leaf of the vine was probably 2” wide and consisted entirely of pulp that resembled jelly-beans (but about half their size) strung together in such a way that the whole leaf looked very much like a man’s hand. When you walked on this ground-cover the jellybeans would break making a squishy sound. What is even more curious about this place is that in the hundreds of times I went there I never once saw another living creature, including birds and insects.

It was very rare for the cattle to wonder off that way as there was no food for them there but I would invariably go there, as though drawn by a magnet because it was a special place for me. I came to think of it as my cathedral and my thoughts could be focused easily on God it was so quiet and peaceful. It was a very wonderful place to let God talk to you (“Be still and know that I am God”). There were times when I half expected God to speak as He spoke to Moses at the burning bush (“Moses, Moses, take off the shoes on your feet for the ground on which you stand is holy ground”).

The next time you go to Cayman and come to the West Bay Cemetery, look directly North (about 90 degrees to the right) and you will see the remnant of the old highway to Georgetown. Where it now disappears in the distance (not more than 200 yards) it would have turned to the West and would have joined the new highway somewhere around our old homestead. In taking our cattle to Upper Land we followed the old highway East until it turned South toward the cemetery. There we continued on to the East along a dirt trail. This trail went all the way along the edge of the swamp (morass) and in the wet season of the year the water overflowed across this trail from the swamp making for a very muddy and slippery trip either way. The trail which was approximately ¾ mile long ended at our property we called Upper Land. Before I forget it, that short stretch of highway is all that’s left of the old highway, which in my day was called the Cemetery Road, is a memorial and tribute to my father for he was in charge of constructing the Georgetown highway some 90 years ago.

Incidentally, when I lived in Cayman the swamp extended all the way from the eastern end of West Bay to the western end of Georgetown. It was a natural catch basin for water run-off but in recent times there has been quite a bit of clearing and filling, as well as dredging especially in the more central and eastern parts of the swamp (morass is the better word because swamp implies moving water from either rivers, ocean or springs Caymanians pronounced it “mo ross”.) Because of all the filling and clearing that has been going on, all the beautiful pastures that we owned are no more because of the lack of proper drainage.

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End of Installment Ten