by Vanessa

She Shack

February 5, 2016 in BAHA STYLES by Vanessa

Chairish asked if I would curate a collection inspired by my very own woman cave. Naturally, I leapt at the invitation. But rather than a dim room tucked in the corner of our home, I envisioned a ‘She Shack’: a one story, one room, thatched structure a few steps from the beach. After all, it’s a romantic, not entirely realistic, idea my husband and I’ve casually toyed with. I can see it now, creating a modest spot of refuge from the burning sun, where a moment, or even a better part of the day could be enjoyed with a chilled libation in hand; what I can’t see however is being able to keep the husband, and eventually children, out.

1. Travel backgammon set for those days that mother nature requires we spend them indoors ($40)

2. 1960s woven peackcock chair ($129)

3. Brass shells to hold trinkets and treasures ($79)

4. A boho chic hanging rattan chair to suspend in a corner ($360)

5. For the walls, some dark, tongue in cheek, humor in the form of an original 1975 ‘Jaws’ Film Poster ($695)

6. A set of 4 highball glasses that toast piracy and a long storied past ($250)

7. A Mid-century 1960s rattan-rolling bar cart that begs to be layered with #8-#11 + #14 ($475)

8. Grasscloth ice bucket with bamboo tongs ($75)

9. Vintage water pitcher ($75)

10. Silver plated julep cups ($199)

11. Vintage silver palm tray ($75)

12. A rattan basket for discarded dirty towels ($90)

13. A cast iron sign that will surely get the point across ($60)

14. Spanish woven glass decanter ($200)

15. A rattan rectangular basket for clean rolled-towels ($100)

16. French red stripe lumbar pillows to bring comfort to #2 + #4 ($243)

17. The pineapple, my talisman, in the form of a brass box ($115)

18. A Vintage 1950s wooden pie storage crate, to display my ever growing collection of shells ($150.00)

by Vanessa

Elevating The Experience

February 5, 2016 in PERSONAL POSTS by Vanessa

Entrepreneurship has long been a part of my family’s story.

In 1929, at the time of depression, when the stock market fell and the Bahamas experienced its worst hurricane ever, my great-grandfather, Sir Asa Pritchard, opened ‘John Bull’ – then, an Old English Tobacco House. It was certainly not a time to start a business, nevertheless it’s one that continues to go from strength-to-strength to this day.

When I set out to be an entrepreneur at twenty-six, nearly four years ago, I knew I longed to create a decidedly different life: one not ruled by a nine-to-five, corporate conundrums, or heavily laden with a safety blanket. I knew I wanted to live squarely outside my comfort zone, test my limits, and in turn recognize my full potential.

In 2012, during this interview with India Hicks, a woman of similar entrepreneurial spirit, India pointedly asked why I’d yet to find my place in the family business – the same my great-grandfather was knighted by her majesty, the Queen for. Like a toddler finding their footing, I stumbled to find an answer. Truthfully, I had not given it a great deal of thought. Now, looking back, I realize I’ve always been driven by intuitive wisdom. I’ve always known I didn’t want to walk the secure, beaten path, laid by my great-grandfather –  irregardless of how successful he was.

Similarly, mere months after the launch of The 700 Experience in 2012 – at a time when Damianos Sotheby’s International Realty purchased the exclusive license to the brand – I was offered the secure position of real estate agent. Then, I respectually declined.  Viewing the brand as an extension of myself I wanted to evolve on my own terms, in my own time.

Now it’s time to elevate the experience, and expand my business. It’s time I take it to the next level.

Like my great-grandfather in the late 1920s, it’s time I take a risk.

P.S.
For hints of whats to come sign up for The 700 Experience eNewsletter, to be sent out this afternoon, and the First Friday of every month.

by Vanessa

Preacher’s Cave

September 1, 2015 in ELEUTHERA by Vanessa

There will come a day, sooner rather than later my mum hopes, when the pitter patter of little feet is heard scurrying across wooden floor-boards, and the speed at which we navigate the islands will suddenly need to slow. Lately it’s a change we’ve thought about more often than not, especially now that we call the island of Eleuthera our second home. At 110 miles long, a stretch in comparison to our 21 mile capital outpost, I wonder, how ever will we get our child to sit still for so long and what bribe will need to be cleverly bartered?

 In those first, formative years, I look forward to nurturing our child’s curiosity. With that in mind, comparing Hatchet Bay Cave and Preacher’s Cave, the drive to the latter is a longer one, but the landmark destination is more suited for a child’s feet that have yet to find a confident hold. That, and Preacher’s Cave is an open-top cave, whereas Hatchet Bay is a deep, dark, underground cavern. Regardless, both possess an equal abundance of history deserving of being told.

I imagine upon our arrival to Preacher’s Cave I would speak of Captain William Sayle’s quest for religious freedom, and his ship which had felt its way south from Bermuda to the Bahamas with a small six ton shallop fastened by a rope to its stern. In a theatrical tone I would talk of once calm weather that suddenly kicked up in tune with the tantrum of a small child, of sideways rain and bouncing seas that resulted in the ship wrecking on the jagged teeth of the Devil’s Backbone, a reef not far from shore. With the detailed sweep of a brush I’d paint the picture of the crews exhausted crawl to shore. I would carefully explain that they were not met by natives, as two centuries before Sayle’s arrival Columbus had stripped the islands of the original people. I would also leave out the bit about the Lucayan Indian body that had recently been discovered, beheaded and buried face down. Inside, I would point to a rope that when climbed leads to a blue hole at the rear, and the placard that reads “William Sayle shipwrecked at Devil Backbone found refuge here. Sermons held 100 years”. Crooking our necks we would look up to the holes which allow light to pool through, and let our imaginations run wild with thoughts of them being used as shower heads on rainy days. Finally, we would climb the carved stone steps to what was rumored to be a pulpit and grooves that once held a bible.

Afterwards we’d retreat to the nearby pink-sand Tay Bay Beach to fulfill the promise of once frozen popsicles.