We have grass on our island. Real live grass. Almost a dead ringer for what you might find in your own front yard. And while I realize it’s not what most people think of when they think of the Caribbean, it’s also not a total anomaly. Yet each and every day, I can attest without exaggeration, there are groups of otherwise intelligent-looking adults who spend their valuable vacation minutes hunched over our grass, deliberating over its realism.

island grass_WWLOR

Our grass is nice enough, but by no means does it compare to the pristine splendor of a stateside golf course’s lush emerald carpeting. It takes a beating from the intense Caribbean sun, gets blasted by sea-salted air, and is constantly trekked over by the plethora of tourists who traverse our island each day. It has its fair share of burnt brown patches and spots that have succumbed to a weed invasion. In other words, it’s not so perfect that you’d mistake it for Astroturf.

But mistake it, they do. I spend a considerable portion of my days either inside or near our toucan aviaries, which are surrounded by the grass in question. And as the token local within reach, tourists are constantly calling upon me as an expert to settle their Great Grass Debate tie-breakers.

“Is the grass real?!” they postulate, eyes wide.

“Yup.” – me

“No way! It just can’t be!” they shake their heads in baffled disbelief.

“Trust me. It is.” – me

“Well, then what kind is it? I’ve never  seen grass like this  before!” they demand supporting evidence to my atrocious claim.

“It’s Zoysia. Available commercially. Very popular in Florida.” – me

I hate that I know the genus of our grass. It’s taking up valuable mental space that I should be allotting to something much more useful. But I get asked far too often to not have it at the ready.

At this time you’re probably wondering – what is wrong with these people? Are they stupid? Do only morons come to your island on vacation? What knucklehead really spends their vacation contending over something as inconsequential as grass?

grass deliberations_WWLOR

It’s not that these people are stupid, I can tell you that much. Some of them are just as smart, if not smarter, than you and me. Recently, I had the above conversation – almost verbatim – with a group of men in their 40’s, clad in Harvard logo wear. They looked successful and like they didn’t work solely as Ivy League janitors. I remember this because before I answered, I looked around for camera crews, wondering just for a moment if this was all some elaborate hoax. But no, they were asking in earnest.

The only explanation that I can give you is what I like to call Paradise-Induced Mental Relapse. The beauty of our islands seem to both shock and stunt the tourists. To be fair, the excess alcohol doesn’t help, but I find that it’s really the picturesque quality of our landscape that blows their minds. They suddenly find themselves stumbling over their words like an ESL student, at a complete loss for adjectives to appropriately describe their surroundings other than “fake”. The water is so blue, it looks fake. The fish are so cool, they look fake. The grass is so pretty, it looks fake.

grass instagrammer_WWLOR

Believe me, vacations are notorious for dumbing me down, at least temporarily. Shiny things cause me to marvel. Everything seems to taste more delicious when I’m carefree (see: “This is the BEST salad EVER!”). I, too, have seen things in nature so spectacular, there was a part of me that believed them to be fabricated.

Should you ever find yourself under the influence of Paradise-Induced Mental Relapse (you will know immediately as soon as you start labeling things “fake”), I thought I’d share my own Guide to Grass that will keep you off your hands and knees, looking like a fool, and instead, on your feet, looking like the suave genius of the group you know you are.

Quick Tips for Determining the Realism of Grass

If it’s not all one distinct shade of green like the Astroturf at your local miniature golf course, chances are, it’s real.

If there are brown patches that appear to be dead, this is not the fake grass trying to fool you into believing it’s real. It is the real grass, dying, because it’s real.

Just because it doesn’t look exactly the same as the grass in your own front yard, that doesn’t mean it’s fake. In the same way that we have different trees than you do at home, there are also an array of species of grass. Isn’t nature incredible?

If the edges of the grass are incongruous and appear to be “growing” onto other surfaces nearby (sand, flower beds, rocks, etc.), it’s not just appearing to “grow”, it is really growing. Because it’s real.

If there are other green plants mixed in with the grass, as though they are a part of the grass, those are weeds. And weeds are growing in the grass because it’s real. In the same way that companies don’t produce artificial sewage, they also do not produce artificial weeds.

If someone tells you the grass is real, just accept it as fact and move on. At least outwardly pretend like you have other things to care about.

Then, like magic, you will.

island-style grass_WWLOR

Written By:

Current Rock of Residence:

Virgin Gorda, BVI

Island Girl Since:


Originally Hails From:


Chrissann’s home rock in the British Virgin Islands feels bigger to her than it actually is. Though after spending five years on a teensy one acre island, the current 13-mile long rock she’s residing on now IS ginormous, at least by comparison. As with everything in the tropics, it’s all about perspective.

Once upon a time she used to care about things like matching her purse to her pumps but these days, any activities that require a bra and shoes go under careful, is-this-even-worth-it consideration. If island life has taught her anything at all, it’s that few things are more rewarding than time spent in the pool with a cocktail in hand.

As the Editor in Chief of this site, she spends her days working from home with her blue-eyed sidekick, Island Dog Diego, writing, editing, and cultivating content in the hopes of bringing some laughter and lightness to her fellow island souls. She recently published her first children’s book, When You’re a Baby Who Lives on a Rock, and is pretty pumped to share it with all of the island mamas out there. Her days off are typically spent boating, hiking, and meeting up with the neighborhood’s imperious roadside goats, who she shamelessly bribes into friendship. While normalcy was never listed as one of her special skills, Caribbean life may indeed be responsible for new levels of madness. She attributes at least a smidge of her insanity to the amount of time she spends talking to drunk people.

If you’re somehow still reading this and feel inclined to find out more about this “Chrissann” of which we speak, you can also take a gander at her eponymous website or follow her daily escapades on Instagram @womanonarock.

Want to read more posts by this writer? Click here.

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