John McCarthy
ST. CROIX — There is a certain rhythm to life in the islands that you just don’t find in the Motor City. While Detroit might be grinding through another February, over at Aureo Diaz Heights in Kingshill, the only thing grinding was the saw cutting through a fresh “metal skin” for a storage building’s roof.
Under a sky so blue it looked painted, a crew of dedicated workers—decked out in high-visibility yellow sweatshirts that looked suspiciously like my own daily uniform—were busy shoring up the infrastructure. Seeing the precision of the standing seam metal being laid down, you realize that “American Paradise” doesn’t just happen; it’s maintained one sheet of steel at a time.
I took a moment to pull off my baseball cap and let the sun provide my daily Vitamin D, a Sheryl Crow melody playing in my head as the St. Croix Sun prepared to shine its own light on the community. It’s gritty, it’s hot, and it’s beautiful. It’s the kind of place where even a tech billionaire might look at a roof and see a perfect spot for a solar array—provided he can handle the “McCarthy Royalty” for the neon dress code.
