Consider the tomato

My cabin smells of sweet sticky ripening mango. The pineapple and papaya can't compete with the blushing orbs starting to secrete juice from their stems. The oranges are green and juicy (many oranges aren't orange here. They're green. It makes for confusing shopping and surprised slicing at times), the avocado hard as a rock. But the tomatoes! I bought ten pounds from Michael in Bequia. "How are you beautiful girl?" He said, a look of concern soon clouding his thin smiling face. Several gold veneers sparkled in the gaps between where teeth once were. "I am tired. Seven weeks without a day off!" Michael gave me a sympathetic look. Sure he was about to get a fistful of money from me, no bargaining, no questions asked, but he seemed genuinely concerned. "I can see that my dear. Now you promise me you will rest yourself today. You need to rest!" He loaded up a big plastic bag full of green tomatoes, a sunrise of pinkish red forming on some of the crowns. "Two more weeks," I said. He pointed to the delicate red tomatoes in front of him while giving me another 'I've been there' look. "Good for tomato salad," he said as I nodded for him to fill up another bag. He weighed them and charged me $100 EC (about $40US). "I'll give you some ginger too. It's a gift." I smiled and carefully placed the tomatoes in my shopping bag, the final purchase before heading back to the boat to cook dinner. "You rest!" Michael said as I scurried out the door of the fresh market calling my goodbyes and made my way to the dinghy dock.

The ripe tomatoes barely lasted their journey, a few squished and split by the time I piled them into the fridge. (I know. You're not supposed to refrigerate tomatoes. I don't when they are ripening but as soon as they are tender and I don't have immediate use- into the fridge they go with all the other overly ripe fruits and veggies.) I have made salsas and stuffed sandwiches. I have adorned salad and blackened them under the broiler for sauce. I am not a huge fan of tomatoes, but these are fresh and local and very tasty. Everyone on board agrees that Caribbean tomatoes are amazing. Here it is April and we have eat-like-an-apple worthy tomatoes bursting from our pantry (my cabin sole).

I just started (and devoured so quickly I just finished) Barry Estabrook's Tomatoland. Talk about a frightening book. I had nightmares last night about the crew bosses of tomato fields in Florida hunting me down and beating me, as some of them have been convicted of doing with their modern day slaves that pick our fruit.
In his riveting book about the tasteless, pesticide-laden commercial tomatoes and the labor force that picks them under horrifying conditions, Estabrook writes that in 1893 the Supreme Court of the United States declared tomatoes a vegetable instead of a fruit so that it would fall under the Tariff Act of June 3, 1883. He doesn't go into detail but the gist is that declaration protected American farmers from the competition they faced from Caribbean growers during the winter season. Florida, a totally inhospitable place for tomatoes, scored then and scored again in the 1960s when the embargo was placed on Cuba and their apparently delicious tomato crops.

So my questions are seeing as I am kind of into this farming thing:

How much could Caribbean agriculture provide for the United States?
Not that we want to take away jobs or increase competition with small farms in the US, but seeing as we are already getting cheap tomatoes from Mexico and Canada would it affect it that much?

Can the Caribbean even provide for itself?
On St. Vincent they grow a huge range of fruits and vegetables from broccoli to avocados to pineapple. Other islands don't have the microclimates and/or rainfall for a huge variety but could probably still grow some things. (Conversation with Roots: "So do you grow anything on Mayreau?" I ask as he hands me a grapefruit. "Not really, not much rain most of the year. We grow ganja though." No doubt. It may be the largest money crop in the Eastern Caribbean. (They do send a lot of bananas to Europe but I have a feeling Bob Marley is more profitable. Certainly on St. Vincent where there is supposedly a grower's collective even though on the rest of the island it is technically illegal.))

Could the islands be self sufficient if there were more young farmers?
On many islands land is available if you are a resident who wants to farm. On the Dominica Carib reservation you are entitled to it if you work it. On Antigua you can get an acre deeded to you from the land trust if you use it for agriculture. You could probably lease more according to my friend who lives there.

Why aren't young West Indians interested in farming? If they are, what are the barriers and challenges unique to the islands?
I have heard that on some islands slavery is still relatively recent in the collective memory and therefore working the fields is rejected by the youth as a sort of retroactive defiance of that forced labor.

Is agriculture or tourism better for the communities of the West Indies?
It is hard to group all of the diverse islands and their cultural backgrounds together, but as a whole what would West Indians chose? There are certainly more opportunities for tourist driven independent businesses in Bequia but what about on a place like Mayreau? It's tiny and hilly but the terracing I've seen down here (& around the world) is proof that you can grow almost anywhere. Maybe dry farming techniques could be implemented?Would people choose less tourists or less money but perhaps a higher quality of life? What does a "higher quality of life" entail?

My pantry is emptying. The last days of my service are here. The fruit plates and salsas are soon to be simply words written in my notebook rather than sweetness on a plate.
Barbuda is off the bow. It is actually a place of community owned land. A community of descendants of former slaves who have held out against development, pushed construction trailers over cliffs in protest, resisted the convenience of KFC. Are they happier?
If only I could get on land to find out- but my own servitude binds me to the boat.

I will get answers someday soon but for now I will bite into one of these juicy mangoes and contemplate what I want to plant in my own garden, on land, out of service.