Little Farmers Cay

Not quite sure why the call it Little Farmers Cay. There seemed to be no farming at all and very little employment. We did find a patch of wild cotton, however.

The town looked dusty and slow, the inhabitants were mostly descended from a former slave woman, who bought the island. The residents were all very proud of owning their own island. Between 50 and 70 people live there now, scrammbling to find work and idling the hours away. They aren't happy about the lack of work, but are  "happy to be living in the most beautiful place in the world."

We tried to reward those we could, buying produce and a carved African influenced tiki from the local wood carver, a man of medium talents, but great salesmanship and charm. The best job in town seemed to be held by the local policewoman, who drove past us at least 3 times within an hour, to ask, "Any problems?"  We  felt sure she was hopeful that we had a difficulty which might require her help.  Another interesting character was a lanky man, with a big smile, Mr. Brown, who we decided was a long lost cousin. He towered above us and chatted about the beauty of life in the Bahamas.

We anchored in Little Farmers Cay, just past the airfield in 7 feet of water and left early the following day on our way to Georgetown.