Photography by Ashley Miiles In the late 1970s my husband Steve and I stumbled on an unspoiled Caribbean Island. It had everything we wanted: no tall buildings, no gambling, no golf, no tennis. No cruise ships. No crowds. It did have unspoiled beaches, where we’d often be the only people all day long. It had a 12-room hotel run by an eccentric Bostonian, who chain-smoked and made sure all the guests got along. It was filled with people from all over the world, who seemed to get more and more interesting as the week rolled on. It had space and light and…
