Harbour Island: Where the Chickens Roam

I arrived in Harbour Island by ferry on a Friday afternoon.

It had just stopped raining when I stepped off the boat, and the air was thick with that earthy sweetness that comes after a tropical rainfall.

There’s a word for it: petrichor.

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The port was small, but alive with movement — taxis idling, golf carts weaving through foot traffic, laughter rising above the shuffle of luggage wheels and chatter.

Just across Bay Street, one block from the ferry dock, The Landing rises behind a tall white wall. Near the gate is a silhouette graphic of a woman’s head — her voluminous afro like a halo.

The image, inspired by Brenda Barry — mother of Tracy Barry who owns and runs The Landing — became the signature emblem of the space. Proud, soulful, and full of quiet power, it embodies the spirit of The Landing: timeless, rooted, and refined.

The Landing is a restored colonial-era house overlooking the harbour, its wide verandahs and sun-worn charm echoing the grace of another time. Inside, the wood floors moaned softly beneath my steps and the walls were alive with art and photos.

At the reception desk, the bright-eyed, effervescent Stephanie welcomed me as warmly and cheerfully as if we were old friends.

She gave me a quick overview of the island, then handed me two sets of keys — one for my room, one for my golf cart.

My Mission

This trip was part of a team assignment for The Bahamian Project, a national portrait initiative capturing the spirit of the islands by documenting the lifestyles and faces of its people.

On this particular mission, I was dispatched to Harbour Island, while veteran photographer Donald Knowles and several-time volunteer for The Bahamian Project was now covering Spanish Wells, and Nicolas and Jane Popov, fresh from a mailboat excursion through the Exumas, were now photographing in North Eleuthera.

But before I lifted my camera, I needed to feel the rhythm of the place.

Baptism by Rain

Despite the grey skies I set off in my golf cart confident the rain was over.

It was not.

Twenty minutes into my expedition, the sky opened with theatrical flair, and the wind flung the rain sideways like it had a grudge.

In soggy surrender, I made it back to The Landing, ready to trade exploration for a long, hot bath. The deep luxurious tub in my room received me with compassion.

Afterwards, I curled up on the thick, cloud-mattressed bed and — cocooned in the cotton robe from the armoire — I settled, for a while, into a book I had snagged from the mini-library in the lobby.

Saturday: Sunshine and Conch Royalty

The next day promised bouts of sunshine between scattered showers. I rolled out early, still getting used to the steering on the golf cart, and took to the town with no plan beyond wandering.

Bay Street is the island’s main strip, where brightly coloured shacks and pastel-trimmed cottages lean into the sun. Chickens dart from beneath bougainvillea-lined fences.

Daily life was moving to its own rhythm — a loose choreography of golf carts, scooters, dogs, roosters, pedestrians in flip-flops weaving back and forth.

Conch King was already in full swing when I passed by. Marty was behind the counter —easygoing and quick with a joke. I stayed for a bit, watching him prepare a conch salad for a couple of tourists.

Not far away, Queen Conch was opening slowly, aquamarine shutters swinging out, a hand-lettered menu on a chalkboard out front.

Dominoes and Mermaid Murals

Just a few steps further, a cluster of men were playing dominoes, their competitive banter sharp-tongued but jesting. When they noticed me watching, the drama increased. I laughed at their jokes, then waved goodbye and went on my way.

By midday, Arthur’s Bakery was humming with life — orders being called out, pastries disappearing fast. I found a spot in the shuffle and ate something warm and flaky, glad to be among it all.

Harbour Island feels like stepping into an old photograph — sun-washed, rich with memory, and gently humming with life.

By now, I was one with my golf cart. I jostled along confidently.

Every corner holds something worth pausing for: pineapples carved into white picket fences, mermaid murals outside the Dilly Dally store, floral splashes at Arthur’s Bakery, vibrant colours everywhere, whimsical store names like Tip-Top General Store, and Piggly-Wiggly food store — even the telephone poles wore hand-painted signs. The charming, laid-back rhythm of Dunmore Town’s island style resonated as part fairytale, part scrapbook.

When the sky began to whisper rain again, I pulled into the family-owned Bluwatur Bakery for shelter and a hot cup of tea.

Sunday: Palms and Portraits

It was Palm Sunday, and I woke early to join the service at St. John’s Anglican Church — built in 1768 and still gracefully holding its place in time.

I was greeted warmly by the churchgoers and joined the slow, reverent procession — women in their Sunday best, hats, and soft dresses catching the breeze, palms in hand — including mine — as we moved down the sleepy road.

The reverend, Father Bryton Ward spoke with passion and conviction, reminding us how easily we drift from what matters. He offered a challenge to the congregation: to let God be more than a Sunday thought.

Don’t leave God at the altar, he said. Bring Him into the rush of daily life, and walk with Him — especially when the world gets loud.

After church, I made my way to the Princess Street Gallery, where I met the talented photographer Donna Whitfield DeCosta. Donna is a Harbour Island native whose natural-light portraits reflect the island’s quiet charm. Her work feels unposed and personal, shaped by a deep familiarity with the place and its people.

Donna also lent her talent to the Bahamian Project, creating an official portrait of Tracy Barry for the national collection.

The Princess Street Gallery proved an unexpected delight. From the outside it appears modest, but inside it’s a kaleidoscope of talent, every corner echoing the island’s spirit.

Secret Gardens and Chance Encounters

I returned to The Landing and met up with Tracy Barry, who oversees the property with quiet grace. The gardens at The Landing are a world of their own — lush and layered.

It feels like a place you discover.

The restaurant shares The Landing’s understated elegance — thoughtfully designed, effortlessly comfortable and full of small satisfying details.

Much of this magic is due to Tracy, who carries the soul of the place like a melody. She floats between guests and flowers and kitchen doors with a natural ease. There’s a kind of invisible hospitality at play here — where you feel cared for, even when no one’s looking.

With a few hours before the ferry back to Nassau I ventured off for one more adventure and stumbled upon Tingum Village, marked by a large sign claiming the title Home of the Original Cheeseburger in Paradise. I pulled in, intrigued.

That’s how I met the vivacious Juanita Percentie, who shared her story with enthusiasm and a kind of radiant humour that felt spontaneous even though she must have told it a thousand times. Read more about that here…

Harbour Island isn’t behind the times—it simply isn’t chasing them. Life unfolds slowly here, in a rhythm you feel more than hear. You don’t come to be entertained.

You come to remember what matters.

And the hens and roosters?

They roam freely, turning up where you least expect them — reminding you, perhaps, not to take life too seriously.

Article and Photography by Ana-Lisa Wells