We often underestimate how significant our actions can be to others on any given day. Since we spend so much time focusing on our own lives, it’s easy to overlook the impact we can have on those around us. This is why it’s crucial to always practice kindness; compassion and goodwill are timeless virtues that play an essential role in our communities.
In 2017, Joyce Rhinehart was out for ice cream with her grandson when she noticed a family sitting nearby. They were also enjoying ice cream, and she felt a spontaneous urge to capture their moment.
In a subsequent Facebook post, Joyce recounted: “On June 8th, I was treating my grandson Blake to Rita’s Italian Ice after his tennis lesson. As we were about to leave, I saw a lovely family on a bench relishing custard cones. Something inspired me to ask if I could take their picture…”
Joyce took the photo and handed her phone to the young girl, encouraging her to text it to their family. Afterward, she explained to Blake that she often does this for families she sees sharing sweet moments, usually during her vacations.
Days later, while relaxing on her patio, Joyce received a message from an unfamiliar number. “This is what the message said”, Joyce shared.
“Dear madam, you took our picture in front of Rita’s on June 8th. My wife passed away yesterday, and this is the last photo we have as a family. I’m deeply grateful for your kindness; it means the world to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” Joyce later exchanged several messages with the man, learning that his wife had been ill for the past year.
“My heart aches for this family I don’t even know, and I’m in awe of the tremendous gift left to them simply because I listened to my instincts that day”, Joyce reflected. This touching act of kindness serves as a reminder that we should never underestimate the profound impact even a small gesture can have on someone else’s life!
This Caribbean Island Is Back From the Brink—and Ready To Share Its Treasures With the World
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The paintings of Italian-born artist Agostino Brunias, who made a profession of depicting the island in subdued, stylized settings that covered up the harsh realities of colonial control, were my first visual introduction to Dominica. However, as soon as I step onto its winding roads, which begin to twist shortly after I arrive, it becomes evident that this region, which is situated in the center of the Lesser Antilles’ curve, is anything but tame. The two-toned leaves of its bois canot trees, which change color from green to white when they sway in the wind, shimmer and bristle with the power of the volcano. It lulls with the erratic sound of its numerous waterfalls, scatters rainbows haphazardly across its breathtaking horizons, and enchants from the depths with its vibrant coral reefs. And it roars come storm season.
The indigenous Kalinago people of Dominica survived invasion by the French and British, who imposed slavery on the Africans who now make up four-fifths of the island’s population and left a linguistic legacy of English and French-based Creole, by mastering the lush tropical rainforest that covers more than 60% of the island. If you visit Trinidad for roti and Jamaica for jerk, you should travel to Dominica for green things like bush rum and flower teas. There are a ton of medicinal herbs in the forest.
The Jungle Bay Dominica resort, located smack dab in the center of the Soufrière jungles, leans into nature instead, maybe realizing the futility of fighting against the earth’s generosity. When I finally get there, the kitchen is closed. Joanne Hilaire, the operations manager, tells me that they never let guests go hungry, though, so I can feel the warmth of Dominica’s welcome. The cook is preparing an excellently stewed dish of beans with taro, rice, and plantain for our late dinner, off the menu, while I have a refreshing ginger-lime cocktail that is a local favorite. When I wake up the following morning, I find that my villa’s doors open onto a private veranda that faces southwest toward Soufrière Bay, where the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean converge. I let the light wake me for the remainder of my stay by leaving my blinds open.
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