After 25 years in public life, including two terms as premier of the Cayman Islands and a final chapter as speaker of Parliament, Sir Alden McLaughlin has traded Cabinet papers for mango trees, parliamentary debates for produce stalls, and the relentless pace of politics for farming, real estate and the freedom.
If retirement conjures images of slowing down, McLaughlin’s version looks very different.
Since retiring in April 2025, McLaughlin has settled into a new routine on his 23-acre East End farm. He spends many of his days tending more than 1,000 fruit trees, checking on the pigs, inspecting avocado blossoms, keeping a watchful eye on the irrigation system and stopping to chat with farm workers who, after years of working side by side, have become like family.
Six days a week, produce harvested from the farm is sold from his market truck, where customers stop for locally grown fruit, vegetables and fresh juices. Other days, he swaps muddy sneakers for dress shoes as a real estate agent with Century 21 while also overseeing a small development project on family land.
Retired, yes. Idle? Not even close.
“Retirement is sweet,” he says with a smile. “It’s the ability to choose what you want to do.”
The sentiment reflects a philosophy shaped by decades in public life. These days, McLaughlin says, life is defined less by obligation and more by the freedom to spend his time doing what he loves.
“I am a voracious reader. I love the gym. I love my bike. I mean, I just have such a great life now,” he says.
Life on the farm
When asked what happiness looks like today, McLaughlin pauses. He opens his WhatsApp profile and points to a quote he has chosen to represent this chapter of his life.
“The older I get, the more I realise that happiness is quiet mornings, good health, paid bills, a safe home and people who don’t drain my energy.”
For McLaughlin, those ‘quiet mornings’ are usually spent on land that has belonged to his family for generations.
“I always tell people I grew up in the bush,” McLaughlin says. “From the time I could walk without stumbling, my father had me in the bush.”
Although he grew up farming, adulthood took him in a different direction. Law school, a legal firm and eventually a career in politics left little room for life in the bush.
It was not until 2009, after the People’s Progressive Movement lost the general election and following the death of his mother, that he found his way back.
His father, grieving the loss of his wife of nearly 60 years while recovering from serious illness, had lost interest in the farm that had long been at the centre of his life.
“I said, ‘Daddy, let’s do this together,'” he recalls.
What began as an effort to give his father renewed purpose became a passion of his own and now that he is retired, he farms with rekindled devotion while also selling his own produce from his CPG Market truck outside Gusto restaurant on Shamrock Road.
The truck has also become an outlet for other local farmers.
“I buy from any farmer,” he says. “Even backyard farmers. Only two conditions: It must be good quality, and it’s got to be locally grown.”
The venture has exceeded expectations.
“I’m absolutely amazed and so happy that my thing is actually working,” he says. “I’ve got it to a point now where the sales on that wagon are paying my staff.”
Connecting with people
For a man who once described himself as painfully shy, retirement has given McLaughlin more time to do something he has come to love: connecting with people.
Alongside farming, he has embraced an unexpected second career in real estate. Last September, on his birthday, he joined Century 21, discovering that the skills he honed over a quarter-century in public life translated naturally into helping people buy and sell property.
“I like to succeed in anything I do,” he says. “I enjoy it. I can apply so many of the skill sets that I have, including leveraging my contacts.”
One morning each week is spent at the Century 21 office, while the rest of his real estate work is handled from his home office or on the road meeting clients.
“I sell real estate, but I also talk to people. And I hang out a lot,” he laughs.
It is a role that reflects how much he has changed over the years. As a young man, he recalls struggling with shyness. Decades in politics forced him out of his shell, and now he relishes the chance to strike up conversations with almost anyone.
“I’ve always been a local boy,” he says. “I know just about everybody.”
Many Caymanians, however, have not entirely accepted his retirement.
“I get scolded quite often,” he says. “So many people say, ‘You’re too young. You shouldn’t have left. We need you back.'”
For now, though, he appears content exactly where he is.
The soundtrack to his life hasn’t changed. He still listens to the classic country music he has always loved. But these days, instead of competing with the thump of desks in Parliament, Alan Jackson’s “Meat and Potato Man” drifts from the speakers of what he affectionately calls his “pretty white truck” as it makes its way along the quiet backroads of East End.
It feels like the perfect theme song for a man who has traded politics for a life rooted in the land, human connection and the simple pleasures he spent decades putting on hold.
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