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by Sharmagne Leland-St. John In your DNA memory can you picture a little blonde girl named Alice Liddell in a blue dress with a white pinafore and shiny black patent leather shoes trying to play croquet with you or one of your ancestors? Must have been quite a headache! Not to mention how the hedgehog felt. In Patagonia, burned into my long-term memory, is the image of a flamboyance of flamingos lifting up as one from a glimmer-glass lake and taking flight in a cacophony of cackles. The only flamingos I had ever seen were pink plastic lawn decorations residing amidst the stubble of burnt grass in my neighbour's front yard. Years later I bought several of these whimsical ornaments to sprinkle around the terraced gardens at Treetops, and after a time the sun bleached them bone white.
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