Agrifest, Roots & Reason - A Love Letter to St. Croix

Shemariah Pradia
12 minutes ago
4 min read

There is a certain sound you never forget if you were born in the Virgin Islands.

Before you even see the grounds… you hear it.

Steel pan echoing through the valley.

Goats calling. Children laughing.

Vendors shouting, “Fresh coconut water!”

And somewhere in the distance — quadrille keeping time with history itself.

This year, standing beneath the bold AgriFest 26 sign, I didn’t just feel like a visitor at an event.

I felt like I was standing inside memory.

The Heart of the Island

St. Croix’s Agriculture and Food Fair didn’t begin as a festival — it began as survival.

Back in the 1930s, what we now call Agrifest started as simple agricultural field days at Estate Anna’s Hope. Farmers gathered to show crops, share knowledge, trade livestock, and strengthen community. Today, over half a century later at the Rudolph Shulterbrandt Agricultural Complex, it has grown into one of the Caribbean’s most important cultural gatherings — but its purpose has never changed.

It reminds us who we are.

St. Croix has always been the breadbasket of the Virgin Islands — sugar cane fields, dairy farms, provision grounds, and herbal medicine passed down through generations. Long before supermarkets, our ancestors understood the land fed the body and protected the spirit.

And you feel that truth walking through Agrifest.

Not just agriculture — identity.

Culture You Don’t Watch — You Belong To

You don’t attend Agrifest quietly.

You move with it.

Steel pan rhythms carry across the fairgrounds while dancers step into quadrille — not performance, but inheritance.

Quadrille came to the Caribbean during European colonial rule, originally a formal ballroom dance from France and England performed by plantation elites. But after Emancipation, our ancestors transformed it. What was once stiff and aristocratic became expressive, communal, and deeply African-Caribbean. The steps stayed structured, but the spirit changed — it became storytelling.

The caller guides the dancers in Creole rhythm, and suddenly generations are speaking through movement.

The music pulls you backward in time.

You hear the scratch band — the heartbeat of Crucian folk tradition:

Banjo carrying melody

Guitar grounding harmony

Accordion breathing life into the rhythm

Squash (gourd scraper) marking time

Triangle cutting sharp through the air

Tambourine and drum pushing the feet forward

Those instruments don’t just accompany the dance — they transport you. For a moment, electricity disappears and you’re standing in a yard after Emancipation, neighbors gathered, elders smiling, children learning steps they don’t yet realize they’ll remember forever.

Food booths represent every island, every migration, every story that shaped Caribbean life. Seasonings you smell are recipes older than borders.

The House of Memories stands like a time capsule — kitchens, tools, and traditions that built families before electricity ever did.

Jewelry carved from earth.

Medicinal herbs tied in bundles.

Clothes patterned in heritage.

Food made the way grandparents never measured — only knew.

Even the car races, the sleepless music nights, the laughter — they all exist for one purpose:

To keep culture alive.

Because in the Caribbean, culture isn’t preserved in museums.

It lives through participation.

Land That Holds Stories

While on island, we traveled into the northwest rainforest to Caledonia Waterfall — a place older Crucians speak of almost like legend.

Long before hiking trails, it was a refuge for Maroons — enslaved Africans who escaped plantations and survived off this very land. Fresh water, fish, and dense forest gave them protection. Later, naturalists documented its wildlife and ecosystem, but the land already had witnesses long before science.

And then the island showed another side of itself — the coastline.

We hiked out to the Annaly Bay Tide Pools, where the Atlantic carves natural bathtubs into volcanic rock. Waves crash against the cliffs while the pools remain calm, clear, and almost impossibly still. It feels sacred there — ocean power surrounding a pocket of peace. A reminder that St. Croix isn’t just gentle beaches… it’s raw nature, shaped by time and patience.

Standing in both places — rainforest and coastline — you understand:

The island is not just beautiful.

It remembers.

St. Croix has lived under seven flags. Colonization tried to rename it many times — but the culture never left. That is why Agrifest exists: not just celebration, but protection of memory.

From Cane Fields to Craft — The Distillery Legacy

Agriculture on St. Croix didn’t only feed people — it built an industry that connected the island to the world.

Sugar cane once covered this land, and today its legacy lives on through the island’s distilleries. Touring them is like walking through history in motion.

At the Cruzan Rum Distillery, you see generations of craftsmanship where molasses, fermentation, and Caribbean climate transform into one of the Virgin Islands’ most recognized exports. Nearby, the Captain Morgan distillery continues the same story on a larger scale — modern production rooted in the same soil that fueled plantations centuries ago.

Then there’s the smaller, more intimate craft spaces like Sion Farm Distillery, where innovation meets tradition and reminds you rum isn’t just a drink here — it’s heritage.

You quickly realize: rum on St. Croix is agriculture, chemistry, survival, and culture all in one.

From sugar cane fields to aging barrels, the land still provides — just in a different form.

More Than Paradise

People call St. Croix a vacation.

But it’s really layers:

Morning snorkeling at Buck Island

Historic streets in Christiansted

Sunset in Frederiksted

Rainforest hikes and tide pools carved by the Atlantic

Agriculture feeding generations

And distilleries telling the economic story of the island

This island teaches balance: progress without forgetting origin.