A Love Letter to the Bay, the Beach, and the People Who Keep It Beautiful

She wasn’t meant to stay long. Just one night, maybe two.

It was 1975 when Allison first sailed into Cane Garden Bay. A 26-year-old traveller from Scotland with a salt-stained backpack and more questions than answers, she had joined a small charter crew to island-hop through the Caribbean.

She had heard the names before—St. Lucia, Antigua, Grenada. But she hadn’t heard of Cane Garden Bay.

That changed the moment they entered the curve of the bay, sails slackening as the breeze softened and the water shifted to a shade of aquamarine that seemed unreal—like someone had poured it from a bottle labeled “paradise.”

They dropped anchor just before dusk. As the sun slipped behind the mountains, it painted the sky in strokes of orange, gold, and plum, reflecting off the water like firelight on silk. Allison stood at the edge of the boat, barefoot and quiet, watching fishermen pull in the last of their lines while a few children splashed in the shallows.

"I’d never seen anything so gentle," she would say later. "It was like the whole bay was exhaling, inviting me to stay a while."

And she did.

Falling in Love With the Bay

Allison spent three weeks in Cane Garden Bay. She rented a simple room above a small rum shop, the kind with wooden shutters and no air conditioning, where the breeze did all the work. Days melted into one another—sunrises that glowed pink above the ridge, mornings swimming in water so clear she could see stingrays drifting along the sand, afternoons of laughter and mango juice shared with strangers who felt more like cousins.

She learned to fry johnny cakes with a local woman named Miss Elvie, who taught her that the secret to anything worth keeping was patience.

She helped fix nets with a man named Denzil, who told stories of storms and sunshine like they were the same thing.

She danced barefoot under a string of lights, hand in hand with a stranger, to a fungi band playing calypso by the sea.

It wasn’t a holiday anymore. It was a homecoming she didn’t know she needed.

A Bay That Stayed in Her Bones

Life carried Allison back to Scotland eventually—back to career paths, city trains, and the long grey winters. But Cane Garden Bay never left her. For years, she would find herself daydreaming at her desk about the scent of frangipani and fried plantain, the hush of the surf outside her window, and the feeling of being deeply, completely connected to a place. Not because it was hers. But because it had welcomed her like family.

She returned to the Bay again and again.

In her 30s with a newborn.

In her 40s after a divorce.

In her 50s when she finally wrote the novel she always meant to write.

Every visit, she saw changes. A few more buildings. A new beach bar. The road paved where once there was dirt. But the soul of the place never changed.

Until recently.

Seeing the Sea Rise

Now in her seventies, Allison returned again. The sea still shimmered. The mango trees still swayed. The laughter of children still echoed across the beach.

But the shoreline had crept closer. A few trees she remembered had fallen, their roots washed loose by surging tides. And in the eyes of some locals, she saw a new kind of concern—the quiet knowing that the beauty of this place now needed more than admiration. It needed protection.

And that’s when Allison understood something deeper than nostalgia.

Cane Garden Bay had always been beautiful because of the sea, the sun, the sand. But it had remained beautiful for fifty years because the community made it so.

They had planted trees. Hosted beach clean-ups. Educated visitors about protecting the coral reef. They taught their children to honour the sea. They supported local fishers and farmers. They advocated for sustainable tourism and held space for generations to share not just memories, but responsibility.

Cane Garden Bay wasn’t just being preserved.

It was being loved into resilience.

Keep Cane Garden Bay Beautiful

Inspired by that love, Allison wants your help.

She’s launching a call for stories—your stories.

She wants to hear from anyone whose life has been touched by this bay. If Cane Garden Bay ever made you pause, reflect, fall in love, find yourself, laugh with strangers, swim under moonlight, or dream a little bigger—tell us.

Write to us. Send us your stories, your photos, your old Polaroids. Tell us what this place means to you. Because your memories matter.

Your voice is part of the living legacy of this beach. And together, we can honour it.

The Power of Community

We believe in the power of people. People who show up for the places they love. People who carry stories like gifts. People who remind us that paradise isn’t just found—it’s nurtured.

If you believe that Cane Garden Bay is worth preserving for generations to come, join us.

Share your story. Inspire someone else. And help us keep Cane Garden Bay beautiful—together.