Breakfast at the Higueron

Gallinazos blooming at El Tigre



Trees flowering much earlier this year than last and this will be a banner year for seeds. Everything that did not seed last year, now flowering.
Where to begin? That cascade of yellow, blooming trees brightening up the entire Rodeo canopy is mostly Gallinazo (Schizolobium parahyba f.frijol); also Vainillo (Tecoma stans f.Bignoniac), Stemmadenia obovata (also fruiting), and Senna emarginata (2prs parapinnate leaves and gorgeous yellow flowers). The stunning, orange blossoms you see in El Rodeo belong to the rare, Bernoullia flammea (f. Bombacac.) - the Yuco Tree - which grows here at El Tigre, and which we have committed to protect. Also blooming/fruiting: a slew of Fabaceaes, especially Bauhinea species; Luehea speciosa; Eugenias; Lysilomas; and also a slew of vines and herbaceous plants too numerous to list - including Passifloras, Philodendrons, Tradescantias, Sweet Peas, Tithonias, Cleomes, Daisies, Morning Glories, Begonias, Solanums and, of course, the bright Heliconias, Musas, Costus, Calatheas, Gingers… The show is just getting started.

Photographed just a few curiosities that birds et al brought into the garden.
Aechmea sp. (mariae-reginae???), f. Bromeliac. Rescued from fallen tree and brought back to the garden.





Aristolochia sp. F.Aristolochiac. Look what a bird dropped into the garden! Armando found this in the driveway underneath the agaves.


Jose shows one of Marcia’s blooming Oncidiums.

The forest is a place of childlike wonder, joy and awe. I hike every morning with 7 or 8 dogs in tow and, usually, end up carrying Lula, the tiny Chihuahua, because the other dogs roughhouse too much out in the pastures - Sol has already broken one of Lula’s legs twice… In the forest, we move quietly but, if Eddie the Beagle loses sight of his girl, Chispa, he will raise a huge racket baying and howling. Hikers! If you hear that beagle baying, he’s not hunting prey in the forest - he’s hot on Chispa’s scent. Chispa is this small Chihuahua mix, who loves to dart and chase butterflies and can easily outrun Eddie. But in the end, Eddie always catches up to his girl. Sometimes, he gets to howling so loud that our neighbor’s Rotweilers join in, and then Eddie responds to them by howling even louder. At that point, you’ve got a bunch of dogs howling back and forth at each other all over the mountain. All because Eddie still hasn’t caught up to his girl, Chispa. Once he catches up to her, they settle down quietly and forest life once again takes over the senses.

This morning, we all settled down and watched White-nosed Coatis and White-throated Capuchin monkeys feeding together in the big Higueron tree. I’ve never seen these two species interact together before and they provided quite a spectacle. A young monkey scrambled around the branches of the huge tree with a young Coati following behind him like a pet dog. A male and a female monkey spent time grooming their baby right next to a large Coati on the same branch. The monkey family let the Coati ramble right past them, but then the male money reached out and pulled the Coati’s tail - kind of like teasing him - making the Coati squeal, mostly in indignation. Then they all fed on the figs companionably together for a while, before a monkey teased a Coati some more.
But they weren’t the only critters having breakfast on the higueron. The most colorful to my eye today: Fiery-billed Aricari, Montezuma’s Oropendulas, Yellow-crowned Euphonia, Blue-gray Tanager, Red Tanager (not sure which one), Blue-crowned Motmot, Lineated Woodpecker, and the usual fluttering of Flycatchers, Wrens, Vireos, Warblers, and…
Yes, Polly, we saw a slew of butterflies.

Polly reminded me never to forget the butterflies. So, I think of her whenever I see a strange new butterfly - a common occurrence at El Tigre. This morning on the Lantana plants, I spotted something like a large white Swallowtail - kind of like Eurytides protesilaus, but more white than black stripes, with lime-green body and no red spot seen.
Two great ladies deserve a toast at our next Obituary Cocktail:

Polly Ivenz of Easton, PA, sadly passed on recently. Her obituary was published in the Express Times, Easton, PA in November this year.

Polly inspired me many years ago to go into the woods, open up my eyes, and SEE. It was a pivotal moment for me that day in the Mariton Preserve in Pennsylvania: awakening, life-changing, even though my friends knew it was a time of some internal suffering in my life. Polly brought me back to life using nature as a conduit. How many more lives did she inspire?

Another gifted naturalist and humanist also recently left us - Margot Frisius - whose life’s mission was to help repopulate the forests of Costa Rica with green and scarlet macaws. Thanks to the work of Margot and her husband Richard, rescuing, hatching and releasing Macaws back into the wild, the population has noticeably increased. Armando has seen scarlet macaws visiting El Tigre to feed, although they always return before dusk to their home at Parque Carara. Armando pointed out that we already have a corridor connecting Hacienda El Rodeo to Parque Carara - via the waterways! Over the past 10 years, the national electrical company, CNFL, has planted thousands of trees to protect the watersheds, and you can now see the ribbon of trees growing up the canyons from El Rodeo all the way to the pacific coast, via the rivers! I have not personally seen macaws at El Tigre but the forest continues to grow, connecting with remnants along the river and forming the corridor. Someday, we shall see them more regularly and, yes, I will definitely think of Margot and Richard Frisius. You can support their Foundation by writing: Hatched to Fly Free c/o Richard Frisius, Apdo. 2306-4050, Costa Rica


Well, we’ve been back in Costa Rica now for a few weeks, but we weren’t back 24 hours before Gerry wanted to turn right around and return to the (in)sanity of New Orleans. We hadn’t even unpacked yet - take a look into the suitcase of the world’s best packer, once world traveler, now retired, and general schlepper, schlepping stuff from New Orleans to Costa Rica and vice versa: stuff like vet supplies (much cheaper bought in bulk online and shipped within the US). But it wasn’t a few fleas on Zinky that troubled Gerald. The cause of his foul mood lay elsewhere: the unfinished house, the country’s bureaucracy, the economic madness, just for a few examples…

And soon after returning, I took a bad fall. I slipped on a wet floor, my feet went up, and I slammed hard onto the Nicaraguan terra cotta tiles, flat on my back. Luckily, Gerald was with me when I fell. At first, I felt only shock waves rolling all through me, but I was still conscious and, from far away somewhere, I could sort of hear Gerry, who was leaning over me on the floor anxiously saying, “Are you seriously hurt? Have you broken anything?” I couldn’t speak, but managed to mouth the word, “No”.
“Oh!” he said, “You are only in shock then. Just rest there for a while and then we’ll move you over to the sofa.” Ever the British understatement but, at least, I knew even then, that I hadn’t broken anything and that meant NO HOSPITAL.

Why don’t I like going to the hospital? CIMA is not that far, and several visitors have had to pop in there for x-rays and other emergency care on the way home, after hiking at Reserva El Tigre.

I don’t like going to the hospital because they don’t always let you leave… One time, after my favorite cross-country horse, Matchi, threw a shoe, which sent us both sailing through the air (of course, we were at the time galloping at high speed) I went to CIMA to x-ray my scapula to see if it was broken. When the ER doc walked in with the x-ray in his hand, I asked, “Is it broken?” He said, “No”, and I was ready then to just jump off the table, go pay, and leave. But he wouldn’t let me! He wanted to talk about anti-inflammatories, shoulder slings, and so forth and I just had to sit there politely and listen to him. It cost me more money when I went out to pay, and I just ended up chucking the sling and pills in the first-aid kit back at home!


My back is flexible again now and I can resume riding, but not on Matchi, unfortunately. Several weeks ago, Matchi developed a persistent case of bursitis and was also diagnosed with a large bone spur. So, our vet urged us, for safety reasons - his and ours - not to ride him anymore for a long while. Apparently, he could fall suddenly and take his rider with him - my favorite sprinter Matchi! Years ago, I regularly raced my highly competitive Matchi with other horses, especially Francie’s also highly competitive mare, Xicha. We would fly like the wind for miles on end. Oh, how I loved to see the gleam in Matchi’s eye, when he would let an approaching horse come just within his sight and then we would surge off, leaving everybody in the dust. Al Romeo used to call us ‘the blonde streak’ and, one time, our horse trainer, Alan, saw us racing past him and tried to catch up on his Arabian mount, but he had no hope. We were long gone, leaving him in the dust.

Yes, I probably ruined Matchi racing, but he loved every minute of it too, and he is still very young - only 10 years old - with many years of happy pasture-living in front of him with his other horse pals. We took his shoes off him and now he pastures barefoot, like his stable-mate Lucero.
Lucero is a better horse now in many ways since we removed his shoes - more relaxed, more trusting, less jumpy. Perhaps the same will also hold true for Matchi - just give all his bony joints a nice long rest. We can already see that he delights in going barefoot. I visit the horses every day out in pasture, and already can see the change in Matchi. Just like Lucero, he moves even better - more balanced and more settled on his feet - than when he wore irons. Now, only Volcan and Solo have shoes - and, yes, on these horses we can still fly.

Krewe of Boo ‘Deboos’!

What a night…!


What an amazing debut for a new Halloween Krewe for ’08 New Orleans.



Imagined, created and organized by Blaine Kerne, the creator of the famous Mardi Gras floats, the parade of 16 Krewe of Boo floats, a few of them featured here, as only pictures can truly communicate the reality(?), came past our flat on N. Peters St. to the howling approval of thousands of partygoers.


Everybody came out to see the spectacle - people of all ages, colors, and persuasions… Forget the economy and the politics, this is Halloween!


It was an awesome Mardi Gras-style Parade - huge floats, marching bands, dancing girls, trotting horses - moving past an enormous, festive crowd.

Thousands of people came down to the Quarter to see it, most dressed, or undressed, in every imaginable costume.


Everybody was there: Barack Obama, Sarah Palin, Hilary Clinton, the Duchess of Devonshire - all walking along congenially with assorted witches, ghouls and cartoon characters; everything you can imagine (and much you couldn’t possibly unless you were there…).


Despite many hours out on the streets, we never managed to find our ghostly friends who we were supposed to meet, but did manage to connect up with some new ones. Everyone is your friend at the Parade. And yes, the joyful shrieking reached a fever pitch when a sudden shout went out, “Here comes the Queen!” And now it was all hailing the Queen! The Queen! And from high up on the Queen’s Float, her entourage showered us with beads and plastic glasses.

And still more floats and dancing girls came…

It was still early in the evening when the Krewe of Boo finished winding past us, but the famous, and so much more irreverent, traditional street parade was just getting started up at Molly’s on Decatur St. And after that riotous, outrageous display, the crowd, which seemed to just surge bigger as the night went on, began heading to parties, bars, music venues, and/or just meander amidst the huge party out on the streets.

We took the camera and collected beads back to the flat after the parades - but turned right around and plunged back into the madness out there, not getting to sleep until after 4am (and even then the streets still teamed with the hard-core hedonists).


It was a night for leaving everything behind; for replacing your actual identity with your imagination and then living it - being as goofy and silly as you want to be! Everyone was smiling, laughing and enjoying themselves, and so it was mostly good clean(?) fun. There was only one stabbing on Bourbon St. - well after 3am - when the kiddies were safely in bed.

Happily, we woke up this morning to find the front door of our apartment building still intact.

Take a look at the picture!


Last year, a couple of drunks smashed it to pieces at about 4am. We know the time when it happened, because a reveler recorded the culprits on his cell-phone. However, as he had imbibed a few too many adult beverages, he went home and forgot all about it, until a few days later when he looked at his phone. It took us weeks to get that door fixed. So much of this town reminds us of Costa Rica…

Why Swim Home to New Orleans?

When some say it will someday sink underwater like Atlantis! Thank God for the scuba gear!


When corruption is so widespread that…

…the local Navy intelligence is reputed to treat New Orleans like a 3rd world country (i.e. no sharing of info with local officials).
… voters keep reelecting the same guy that the feds found $90,000 in his refrigerator.
…ACORN is based here.
… corrupt councilmen refuse to name names of other corrupt councilmen because squealing on the mates is dishonorable.
…our Mayor is most famous for wise-cracks, like, my all time favorite – “I’m sick of helicopters overhead – I want to hear some jazz!”

Go to the Times-Picayune for the scandal du jour on the usual elected suspects. Hey! Kind of like the Scandal du Jour in La Nacion back in Costa Rica. Guess we all love what we know best!

Why swim home to New Orleans?

Well, where else would we go? From sea to shining sea there is no place like it! It’s not just the cuisine, music, art and entertainment to suit all tastes. It’s the people, the atmosphere, the joie du vivre and what else?

You shall just have to come on down and see for yourself! But remember, as a Costa Rican fan of jazz fest said of his more cynical friends – “If you come to the Big Easy looking for maggots, you will find them.”

Hey, you with the Ponytail! Have you got ID?

That was the scowling bartender yelling at me, as I took my first sip from the glass of wine that Carolyn had just bought me. That was it. She was serious. We were getting kicked out of the bar!

What could I say? All I could do was laugh, get up from my seat and walk out of there - along with about 15 other Obiters. We hastily poured our drinks in plastic cups and walked out en masse.

Now, I might have been wearing a girlish ponytail but, believe me, I, and everybody else in our party, looked - if maybe not acted - the 50 something that we all are! And yes, it was hysterical being tossed out of a bar for not having ID…

The group had dwindled somewhat from the big crowd that had gathered earlier at the Ohm Lounge in the Royal Charles Hotel for our first cocktail. This was a big night. The Grand & Secret Order of the Obituary Cocktail was embarking on a night of bar-hopping along the St. Charles Streetcar line. It was a large, raucous crowd that queued up for the Streetcar, unfinished cocktails in hand of course, as we all piled aboard, to the quizzical looks of commuters and tourists alike. I sat next to a woman sporting a martini glass tiara, a bit bleary-eyed, after just finishing her birthday lunch at Galatoire’s Restaurant. We all know that Friday lunches at Galatoire’s so easily turn into all-day affairs, and it was now well after 6pm...

The birthday girl had heard of us Obiters, but had never seen the crowd in action until watching us climb aboard that Streetcar and, a few minutes later, honor her with a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday to You’. Well, we managed to make good friends with everybody on board by the time we got off at our first stop - The Column’s Hotel - a beautiful place, where many of our crowd decided to settle in for the rest of the night.

Thus, we were far fewer in number when we departed an hour or so later for our next stop - Delachaise - and then lost more of the crowd when we departed later on for another Streetcar ride down to The Avenue Pub. This is where the absurdity really began. You can’t make this stuff up. I mentioned before, that about fifteen of us rolled in there, and were welcomed immediately by the bartender with the warm greeting, “You’ll need ID to get served in here! This is a video-poker bar”! We hooted at her joke and some of us sat down, while the others lined up to get served. We never carry ID with us around town, but we soon realized that the bartender wasn’t just flattering us or joking! She would not serve anyone - not even the really old wrinklies - without proper ID. I saw Gerry arguing with her up there, to no avail, but we finally got drinks from others in our party who did have ID and who kindly bought us our badly needed libations. But no, just as I took my first sip, she roused the entire bar when she yelled and pointed at me, “Hey, you with the Ponytail…!”

Well, we all found it just hysterical, getting thrown out of The Avenue Pub, and so remained in good humor (the prior beverages helped, of course). After all, in New Orleans, it’s perfectly legal to walk down the street with cocktails in hand (in plastic, not glass) so that’s exactly what we did, laughing at the whole thing and talking to the lawyers in the group - can bars legally throw out ‘senior citizens’ for not having ID? All our (admittedly not very sharp at that point in the evening…) legal minds could do was laugh at it some more. So we ended up over at Zea’s for a bite to eat. But those of us with plastic cups were not allowed in there either - tossed out of two bars within 10 minutes! Is that a record…?


It was obviously time to catch the Streetcar back to the French Quarter, where all is allowed - and then some. So we ate ravenously at Felipe’s Taqueria (excellent Margaritas to boot) and went home contentedly to bed.

P.S. Got an email today from somebody who was with us that night, about how everybody was meeting up at the Kirk apartment for Halloween. Apparently, after my third cocktail, I’d invited the whole gang over to watch the ‘Krewe of Boo’ parade down the street past our place! Better go buy some crackers and scrounge up a costume…

Fly Season Over!

Horses at Peace. Season lasted longer than normal but finally ended, making riding and pasture living glorious once again. We have all learned much, especially observed how horses themselves find repellant measures - like lots of mud baths! Hmmmm...
In any case all experiments - always on myself first - with fly & mosquito repellant now postponed until next season, expected around July, 2009.
Of course we would prefer to hope that the flies never return ever again but that's asking too much - insects of all sorts are part of forest living.

GRAK now busy with our immediate departure to New Orleans. All is well there so far. It's been a busy hurricane season and we so feel Galveston's pain...

Brujas de Escazu

A touch of Tigre Magic: A basketful of YELLOW LEMONS! We have three varieties of Yellow Lemons growing at Tigre. Most sour lemons available in Costa Rica come in green or even orange colors – rarely the classic yellow lemon, like you can find in the States.


Gerald often introduces me to people as, “a Pharmacist, turned Botanist, turned Witch”…
Well the truth is, I studied Botany, worked as a Licensed Pharmacist and now…
…play as a Witch. I play with herbs to work magic - healing, culinary, fly-repellents.
And in my quest to find a more effective horse-fly repellent for my beloved horses, I decided to review the whole area of ‘essential oils’. So, a few weeks ago, I attended an all-day Aromatherapy Workshop (“Aromaterapia: Exploracion a traves de los Sentidos”), led by Maria Fernandez - www.aromaflor.com . Maria conducted her Aromatherapy Taller in Escazu - a city known for Witches!
Locals know lots of legends about the Brujas de Escazu. Rosemary Rein gives talks on all the Costa Rican Legends - including the Brujas.

So I showed up for Maria’s Taller, and the first order of business was to meet everyone else in the group that day. We came from very different worlds: architect, life coach, accountant, physical/massage therapists, business people and others - all of them beautiful both inside and out, and all united in aromatherapy. I felt honored to find myself with such fascinating people. Maria described it as synchronicity - a group of women (and one man - a farmer, like me) coming together to learn a few of the ancient ways, by using our senses and, particularly, the primitive sense of smell.

Maria guided us through the Fragrance World in every sense/scent of the term. She helped us shift and center to Mind-Heart-Spirit, while also providing a review on distillation and compounding of essential oils extracted from plants. The Workshop then shifted from the spiritual/technical to the practical and, soon thereafter, we all got caught up in producing our own personal fragrances: for example, to energize, to relax, to entice or, in my case at least, to repel blood-sucking insects…

Everyone got involved, using all our senses to help each other: experimenting, suggesting, sharing, improving, synergizing, melding. At one point, as aromas filled the air all around us - Frankincense, Lavender, Conifer, Cedar wood, Citrus, Ylang Ylang, Eucalyptus, Patchouli - exotic fragrances all blending together in the air - it just caught us up and we all connected, concocting magic potions - like a coven of Witches in Escazu!

Thank you Maria Fernandez and, also, your charming Treasurer, General Helper, and daughter, Kristine, for a special day of filling up all the senses, centering, chakras…
…and for helping me concoct a wonderful new fly-repellent formula for the horses. I am conducting experiments right now - always on myself first. You very rightly reminded us of the first principle of Hippocrates -
- do no harm.

In other news,
Eddie the Beagle now has an official Novia. Her name is Chispa - a tiny zaguate less than half his size. Eddie loves to maul his girl, Chispa, all lovey-dovey, paws all over her. Chispa somehow puts up with her brutish boy and they sleep together, sometimes with Lula, all together in Eddie’s dog house outside on the terrace.
The stork has made the rounds again this year at El Tigre and environs. Jose’s wife, Marcia, is expecting her second child next April, and Armando’s daughter, Elena, is also expecting, all to the great joy of the Quiros-Parra clans here in Rodeo.
Armando has found the female Mora tree (Maclura tinctoria). Botanists - remember to ask him when you visit. It’s not easy to find and no longer fruiting. And yes, we have ONE plant sprouting from the last attempt to plant seeds.
Trees in El Tigre Gardens Now Fruiting: A slew of citrus of all sorts, sour and sweet; bananas as usual; and, also, Guayabas(Psidiums), Jocotes (Spondias purpura), and Jobos (S. mombin)
And in the Forest: Randia sps., Byrsonima crassifolia, Miconia sps., Bursera simarouba, Albizia niopoides, Acosmium panamense, Cassia and Senna sps., Inga sps., Siparuma sp. (f. Monimiac.), Thevetia sp., Godmanii sp.
High season for Higueron fruit expected mid-October... Plan your bird outings!

Obituary Cocktail, 2008 - Mexico

We all met for cocktails on Friday, at the usual time of 6 p.m., at the Hotel Casa de la Sierra Nevada, Parque Juarez, in San Miguel de Allende. Normally, ‘The Grande and Secret Order of the Obituary Cocktail’ meets for cocktails on Fridays somewhere in New Orleans - there are enough fascinating saloons in the Vieux Carre alone to keep us from circling back around to the same place much before two or three years of Fridays, although we do have a few favorites that get requested every year, like Tujagues. However, every year, our fearless Obit leader, John Murphy (who only occasionally imbibes alcoholic beverages himself) also organizes an Obituary Cocktail somewhere else in the world, outside of New Orleans. Last year, the gang went to China and reputedly had a blast.

This year, John set up the ‘Travelling Obit’ for Mexico, and the location was such a hit, that Obiters actually planned a full month of Obit Fridays there, starting July 15th , culminating in The Official Travelling Obituary Cocktail on August 8th at the Casa de la Sierra Nevada. We were there, with a big, boisterous crowd from New Orleans, and we met some great new people: Eleanor, the Irish nurse, who landed in New Orleans 20 years ago; my new friend, Carolyn, a New Orleans area Emergency Room physician; and her fascinating brother from Wichita, Kansas, to name just a few.
We are now all gung-ho to visit Wichita - not just to pass through on the way to skiing in Colorado either! Maybe Obit 2009?

John and Karen Murphy graciously hosted us in a beautiful house up in the Balcones Barrio - yes, as in a balcony neighborhood up the mountain overlooking the charming colonial town of San Miguel de Allende. We could taxi between the town and the house, but John preferred walking up the mountain. What a hiker he is. He wore us all out, but it kept us in shape (relatively…) and very much deserving of - a cocktail! By the way, Obituary Cocktail is named after a cocktail invented in New Orleans (like so many others): a Martini with a dash of Absinthe (which is now legally sold again, thanks to the intrepid, persistent lobbying of a New Orleanian, of course).

After leaving San Miguel, we spent a few days in Mexico City - I especially wanted to return to see the incredible Anthropology Museum after renovations a few years back. Gerald drove around Mexico City, with all the unpronounceable Aztec name road signs, with the same aplomb as he did in Wales (equally unpronounceable place names, although in a totally different way…). Except this was Mexico City - a big sprawling capital city, with Chaos, Contamination and Secuestros. I admit sitting next to him at times, as he drove merrily along, with my mouth dry with fear. Como si nada for Gerald. He did have to ask directions a few times to get us to the Presidente Intercontinental, but prudently only stopped to talk to police officers - yeah, possibly part of a gang, but the street taxi drivers are even less safe. We had a fun time in Mexico City though - great food and incredible museums, especially if you have an interest in Mexican history and archaeology.

We returned home last night, and I recovered from the Distrito Federal by eating a basketful of citrus - a nice assortment of lemons, limes and oranges. It was so good to get back home again. Everything was okay at Tigre, except that Flopsy had been bitten by a snake. After Samantha died from a Terciopelo bite a little while ago, we got more organized. William (one of the builders) noticed Flopsy reacting to the bite - somersaulting and howling in pain - and Janet and Jose jumped into action. They got Flopsy to the Vet and an IV started with serum in less than 45 minutes. When Gerald went to pay the Vet, Jorge said that he didn’t think it was a normal Terciopelo bite - else little Flopsy would almost certainly have died; perhaps a less venomous snake, or even a baby Terciopelo. Normally, the cats kill baby snakes, and Jose and the other guys take care of the adults, but you can never be sure - it’s definitely a jungle out there…

When we first bought Reserva El Tigre in 2004, Jose, Hugo and Armando killed well over 40 Terciopelos in the charral below the gardens (they produce around 90 eggs at a time!). We put a bounty on them and, the next year, the number dropped to the low teens. Last year, Jose only killed a few down in the charral and also a Coral Snake that moved in too close to Janet’s apartment. The reason for this, besides simple elimination, is that the guys have also reduced the breeding grounds near the house. We keep the gardens and trails groomed and tidy - sometimes too tidy, however.

I went down the main trail today, and noticed that they had cut back some plants that I had hoped to see in bloom - two piper species and a Kohleria species in the Gesneriaceae family. The latter was just about to bloom as we left for Mexico but I wanted to nail the species, so I went down there today to take pictures - and found them all cut back by Hugo’s machete… Apparently, they were growing too close to the horse trails where Jose tries to eliminate Terciopelo breeding sites. Thus, I agreed (grudgingly) that he did the right thing - safety first.

However, apart from the slaughtered plants, I had much entertainment in store. The horses all looked great, despite the fly season. The citronella cream helps them a lot, and I only saw a fly here and there. Thankfully, the fly season (most intense in July - Mid August) is coming to an end and we will have a respite until next year. Meanwhile, I hope to develop, before the next fly season, a longer-lasting repellent ointment for the horses. It’s a matter of ‘trial and error’, learning lessons, and then more trial and error…

All the other animals are fine - our ancient Persian cat, Fea (named so, as Gerald likes to say, because she is…) is still with us, and Eddie the Beagle is doing just great! He follows me everywhere. Now, I find myself hiking with 3 to 5 dogs: Flopsy (always), Lula, Chispa, Spotty and Eddie and sometimes Sol. Tigger and Zinc rarely ever hike any more, and the only cat who comes with us is Grisela. And she only joins us if Eddie doesn’t, and Eddie almost always comes now, so poor Grisela is gaining weight again.

Eddie is a smart dog, contrary to popular belief… He doesn’t bark at the monkeys. And now that the other dogs - especially Spotty - have stopped barking at the monkeys too, I can observe them, and be observed, in peace. They actually observe me a lot more than I observe them. As it should be! I understand White-Faced monkeys from several sources that I’ve read. But the monkeys have not read anything, and can only understand me better by observing me. I first noticed being observed by a monkey several weeks ago. Not the whole tribe - just a male moving along behind me. I detect his presence by a snapped twig and for a second can see him - before he drops his head behind the foliage and, thus, becomes completely camouflaged. But I know he’s there - and he knows that I know. The rest of the tribe, including the females and babies, normally just ignore other mammalian species, and go about their business grooming each other and eating whatever fruit is in season.

The exception is when humans happen to stop for a snack below the particular tree that the monkeys want to sit in and eat fruit - like the huge Ficus tree down by Tiger Hill. If I sit with the dogs quietly some distance away from the fig tree, the monkeys will feed quietly and we kind of observe each other. However, if the guys insist upon sitting directly under the tree while taking their breakfast break, then the monkeys will shriek at them and throw fig seeds and branches down at them. One time Hugo came back and said, “My God, those damned monkeys wouldn’t let us sip our coffee in peace - shrieks and branches crashing down all around us!”
The monkeys never shriek or rabblerouse at me. Sometimes I can hear them “eerrrrk” quietly to each other - probably saying something like, “It’s okay, this human controls her dogs…”

While I’m happily out in the forest, Gerald is busy managing the construction and admin; and booking flights for us back to New Orleans. He can’t leave the country before his residency papers have been renewed on September 26th but I imagine it won’t be more than a few days afterwards that we’re flying back to the Vieux Carre. He found a great fare for only $410 just before we left for Mexico - I thought the fare was too good to be true, considering the oil price increases earlier this summer- so we wanted to lock it in as soon as possible. Turns out the great fare was only out-going, for a one-way-ticket…
The phone line was really bad when he explained this to me, and all I could hear was that he was purchasing a one-way ticket back to New Orleans. The call got disconnected at that point and I really panicked! I know he’s sick of eating in Janet’s kitchen, with animals and kids, but our kitchen will be done as soon as the weather improves and the carpenter can finish the cabinets without staining them with humidity…
Luckily, he returned home and explained what he really meant: that the fare for the roundtrip will cost us over $900 each. Now I’m howling about the expense but he won’t hear it. We’re going, y punto.

Walkers and Hikers

Photo from last Saturday: Kids and dogs hike the Waterfalls at El Tigre

We learned how to categorize hikers while on the ship, Mare Australis, going around Tierra del Fuego, through the Straits of Magellan, and up the Beagle Channel to Punta Arenas, Chile. En route, twice daily, almost everyone, except the most hung-over of passengers, ferried over to the glaciers on Zodiac boats. There, the crew divided the passengers into groups: first by language - English, French and Spanish - and then again by ‘walker type’. Advanced Walkers got to scramble up onto the glaciers, Intermediate Walkers did the botanical walks on trails and, finally, there were those who didn’t walk at all - coined by GRAK as “Johnny Walkers” - who stayed back at the beach, sipping whiskey over glacier ice!

We ran into fellow Horseman, War (aka Tim Hodgson), on the day we disembarked. I just happened to glance out the window and saw - “My God, it’s an Englishman” - a tall, lanky fellow, with cape billowing in the wind. War couldn’t get passage with us, so settled for the next cruise out. As a fellow sailor, we introduced our mate to the Captain and got him seated at the Captain’s Table. However, he told us later that the passengers seated at the other tables had a lot more fun! Mare Australis attracts an international group of interesting, mostly fit people. Having said that, on some days, we were Advanced Walkers but, on other days, we weren’t up for walking at all. The difference mostly depended on what had happened the night before, as the party scene continued every night, all cruise long. We met a German athlete on his way to hike a mountain in Antarctica, and this guy did it all - partied all night and managed to get up at dawn every morning in time to catch the Zodiac over to the glaciers. At the other extreme, a few people never even left the ship. But most of us fell someplace in between.

That’s how it is with hiking, it depends on how you feel - perhaps a twinge in the knee - and you may not feel up to the hike that you’d scheduled to do with a group of friends.

No problem. At El Tigre, all the hikes are beautiful. In fact, some pals don't walk at all - they just settle down on the terrace with binoculars and spend the morning quite splendidly, just looking around at what comes calling in the gardens. Rainy season is the best time of the year for butterflies (in the dry season, they are mostly up in the trees or in other stages of butterfly life) but birding is always awesome. Dry season brings in the migrants passing through from the north, as well as the usual residents. And there are a slew of them!

In any case, fellow hiker, Abby, put it best - categorizing Hikes and Hikers is relative, and depends on your perspective. What’s Easy for Armando, like scrambling about the Waterfalls, is actually an Advanced Hike - only for fit hikers who feel at ease scaling mountains and rock climbing. The Waterfalls is actually my favorite hike and I love to go down there whenever possible. We just went down there the other day with the kids and three of the dogs, and had a blast. I have observed that kids have natural balance and can skip over rocks with the greatest of ease - sickening, isn’t it…

Do you have natural balance? I don’t - as Gerald loves to point out whenever we foxtrot together - but the Taijiquan and dancing lessons helped me a lot. Natural balance - dancers, surfers, snow boarders…

You do need natural balance to go along with us on the Advanced Hikes at El Tigre. We also go off-trail, with Armando roughing out the route in front of us with a machete. I have a group of girlfriends who love to go out exploring, even if it means returning home filthy and scuffed up: Robin Emigh, Penny Houghton, Kathryn Tanzi, Leigh Moynihan, Beth Crane, to name just a few. Beth and I hiked and botanized everywhere - even in forbidden places, like on a golf course. One time, her husband yelled at us to get off the golf course, when he spotted us botanizing out there around the seventh hole at Los Suenos. We sped off in the golf-cart, numerous leafy specimens scattering in our wake. But, another time, she played one of her best games while botanizing with me - so there, Greg. If only the husbands knew how we girls used to ramble all over the place, sometimes getting into trouble.

After a few accidents at El Tigre, Gerald began accusing me of trying to kill off all my friends. So I decided to make most of our hikes ‘intermediate hikes’ - strenuous but not scary. The guys have improved the trails, and we’ve taken other steps to minimize injuries.

But, a hike is a hike, and if you arrive at El Tigre feeling a twinge in your knee and not feeling up to, say, hiking down to the Mines, please just let me know! I am basically a lazy person, and will only too happily send your husband and other pals with Armando, while we go and enjoy the views over at Tiger Hill, or just stroll in the gardens and meet up with the other hikers at the swimming pool.

So what type of hiker is Gerald? Well, we’ve rambled all over: Torres del Paine; Patagonia; Highland Scotland; the English Lake District, where Wordsworth inspired me to return home to PA and plant a hillside of Daffodils; and many other fascinating places. However, the main thing that unites all of these hikes is that there is always a pub at the end of it. Gerald has hiked for hours, across miles of footpaths, in even the foulest of weather (I’ll never forget how he hauled us all the way up to Hadrian’s Wall in gale force winds) to reach - a pub he’d read about somewhere.

However, as there are no pubs at Reserva El Tigre and, after hiking, we always end up back in the housekeeper’s kitchen with the cats and various other fauna, what type of Walker do you think Gerald is here at the Finca?

People often ask me how we can keep all the animals around here in harmony. Normally, dogs and cats are at war. Well, it’s not harmony so much as a dynamic state of flux. Just look at where I come from. Even now, Mom and Cyril are planning their move from Michigan down to Florida in a van, together with, as mother says, “Picture this!” - Van occupants: Mom and Cy, 6 dogs, 2 birds, a new kitten (Avi their late, beloved, Maine Coon Cat is still very much missed), and Grandpa (now 93 years old!). My brother Al will drive them down in the van but, afterwards, will return back to Michigan. Some of the clan still likes the cold, but it was Cy’s last winter in Michigan after losing his big toe last winter.

And it’s a great buyers’ housing market right now, so they bought a house in Florida. And the whole animal herd will move with them and, of course, grandpa, who very much looks forward to it. However, I shall very much miss sitting in the hot-tub with Cy and grandpa back in Michigan, dogs lolling about all around.

Of Dogs and Kids

Kids play with Eddie in the hay barn. From left: Geovanna, Karla, Eddie the Beagle, and Danny.

In the Dog World, there are two kinds of people: ‘Dog People’ and ‘Not Dog People’. Everyone here at Reserva El Tigre is a ‘Dog Person’.

Currently, we have 8 dogs, now that Eddie the Beagle has been accepted into the pack. Eddie came to us last week from a very nice, French-speaking family who named him, Idée Fixée - Fixed Idea. They soon learned that Idée Fixée was ‘fixed’ on having lots of fun all day long! But he quickly grew into a bit of a handful for their small children. So they needed to find a home for their beloved pup that would give him a chance to run and play all day long! Somehow, through six-degrees-of-separation, especially S.A.S.Y.*, Idée Fixée landed at Reserva El Tigre.
And the Yank in the household renamed him Eddie. With my appalling accent (my Parisian boss in Madrid once begged me never to speak French again in his presence), Idée and Eddie sound mas o menos the same.

Normally, we only adopt mixed-breed dogs - muts, zaguates - because they are healthy, sweet and easy to train. We made an exception in accepting a Beagle because we thought he would fit into the pack - not too big, not too fragile and easy to train.

But, boy oh boy, is Eddie a handful! Yes mom, you are so right - Eddie is not for small children. He is rambunctious, avidly curious, and wants to play with any species at all! Gracias a Dios, the children are home on a two-week school vacation - they can help train and play with Eddie. The kids belong to the resident employees and are aged 12, 10, and 6 - perfect for romping with the dogs. And that’s what they’ve been doing pretty much non-stop since Eddie arrived last Saturday. Kids and dogs: hiking, walking, swimming, football, romping…
…Eddie even went along with them horseback riding this morning. The kids had to cut the ride short when they turned around and saw him ambling along behind them - he is just a 7-month old pup after all! But the horses still gave him a good run and, after they got back to the stables, Eddie needed a long nap. Later, he joined the kids and other dogs for a game of soccer, which everyone else in the world calls football. Eddie made the kids play better because, if he could get his nose on the ball, he would run off with it, bouncing the ball ahead of him with his nose, with everyone else after him in hot pursuit.

During school holidays, dog routines and habits change from normal - in my experience, dogs always prefer to hang out with the kids. I’m sure that’s true in most households everywhere.

Once the kids return to school, however, the dogs revert to normal - hanging out with us adult humans; not nearly as much fun as the kids, but any human will do - the guys down in the pastures, the gals in the gardens, and often with me pretty much anywhere. If not with humans, then the dogs lounge together with the cats, either at the stables or over at the house, depending on where someone might be around to give them some attention. We keep fresh food and water out all day in both places, moving dishes around continuously to keep the ants at bay. It’s just easier that way, so everybody learns to share.

You can always see all the dogs together at teatime - around 4pm - when Gerald likes to go out and give all of them something good to eat, sometimes leftover stuff, like pork chops or paella with the works! But Gerald won’t just give the dogs a treat willy-nilly. Oh no! They have to work for it! They have to sit! We can hear Gerald out there with the dogs all around him: “Sit! You sit you! Sit down Spotty! There’s a good girl”. And you look out the window and see him with all the dogs sitting ever so obediently around him, Gerald walking around and putting tasty morsels in their mouths! After that rather agreeable session, the dogs split up once again and return to their favorite hang-outs to lounge and nap for the afternoon.

I take my turn with Eddie to help train him to respond to voice commands: Heel…Sit…Come…Stay. He is a smart pup, and has quickly learned to heel and sit. With help from the kids, we should have him fully trained on the other commands by the end of this week. Training is essential for the dogs living out here in the forest. We think of it as giving them survival skills. Dogs like to nose around, and sometimes end up nosing around where they shouldn’t. So, hopefully, they will never bite down on a harsh dose of reality - say the fiery burn of a hortiga plant or an army ant or a porcupine or worse - and learn their lesson the hard way.

At night, we bring Spotty and Flopsy inside to the laundry room, because they are used to it and accept the confinement. The rest of the dogs want to stay outside, sleeping up on terrace chairs, over at the stables, or in their own special hiding places. Eddie tried out sleeping in the stables, and even spent a night in a hollowed out Guanacaste tree. I was a bit startled when Hugo found him all curled up inside the tree sleeping peacefully the next morning, and I feared for all the creepy night-crawlers around, but the guys assured me, in their own words, that the expression, ‘Let sleeping dogs lie’, is understood by species all the way back the evolutionary tree to worms and insects. The crawlies catch his scent and stay clear. Still, it’s funny how many animal expressions apply to human behavior.

Eddie has reminded us of another expression exclusive to the puppy world, ‘Anything you let drop to the ground instantly enters the dog’s domain’.

In any case, Eddie has lately developed a preference for sleeping outside the house in a big comfy box that we found for him.

Do our dogs wander into the forest? Well, they love to follow us humans down there, and we’ve trained them to stay with us on the trails. When I go out by myself hiking, Flopsy will almost always scent me out to catch up, even if I have an hour head start. The bigger dogs only go into the forest to follow the workers or to chase off other animals and even other dogs and cats (usually abandoned to the forest by their owners). Sometimes, however, our pack accepts an abandoned animal. The last to get accepted was a scrawny cat we named ‘Skinny Bones’. He disappeared some months afterwards, when a big cat - described as either a Jaguarundi or a Margay (Caucel) - started mauling our male cats. The dogs managed to chase it off, but they sure didn’t want to tangle with it. Luckily, the big cats have big territories, and there’s much to hunt in the forest, even small deer.

All the resident dogs and cats recognize each other and only chase each other to have some fun. Eddie already knows the others, and moves among them at this point without needing the leash. He was freed from the leash on Tuesday - and immediately got into trouble. We always have more difficulty getting new dogs to recognize our free-range chickens as litter-mates, and this has proved no exception with Eddie. We had to rescue a chicken he had in his mouth on Tuesday. Luckily, she survived, and Eddie learned his lesson from Marcia - a housekeeper with a very good voice, “NO, NO, NO!!!” - and Eddie got the message. It’s tough being a dog…

And chasing after prey is so much fun for dogs, but they really must overcome their instinct to hunt, and replace it with an instinct to please humans. That’s why we like mixed-breeds best. Hunting breeds, especially those genetically disposed, or bred, to hunt and kill - like the Poodle - have a killer instinct stronger than the instinct to please their master. And it’s almost impossible to completely train out that instinct. The only way, perhaps, would be to raise the pups in the hen house. The farmers we met in Spain and France did that with amazing success. The hens could even wander around the house without getting harassed, not even by the housekeepers!

However, the gals just won’t abide chickens in the kitchen in this day and age. Reminds me of what Armando’s mom, Dona Rosa said to me once:

“Kids today are just so lazy!”

Well, we’ve heard that line from all sorts of people over the years, and whenever we ask them the reason why, the answers are all different. But I shall never forget Dona Rosa’s answer:
“Kids are lazy today because they don’t know how to kill and pluck a hen!”

How could I fess up to her that I don’t have a clue how to do that either!

In any case, luckily, Eddie has a strong instinct to please and learns quickly. We are confident that he will do just fine with his merry pack of canines, felines, equines, etc. here at Tigre.

So, to the young man who seemed a bit glum about leaving his first beloved dog to a new family, please don’t worry. Eddie will always have you as his first best friend. Someday, you will have another pet to play with. In the meantime, if you ever find yourself hiking with your parents near Tigre, do call us up and come visit Eddie. I have a feeling he will remember you with great joy!

In other news, the road from Ciudad Colon to Rodeo closed again Friday at 10PM due to a landslide. I like saying goodbye to the outer world - kind of like blizzard days in the North - awesome! We would telecommute and go skiing or snow shoeing or build a snow fort…

Well, Gerald wasn’t happy about it at all! And when the workers plowed a kind of mucky lane open by Saturday afternoon, I still didn’t want to take the risk to go out, in case it closed again and we got stuck out there. Gerald really wanted to try out this new restaurant in Santa Ana, and was just furious that we were stuck - trapped, as he put it - here at Reserva El Tigre. And this was despite a delightful meal we prepared him, with ingredients all grown fresh here at the Finca. Gerald was not to be appeased, but did relent and relaxed a bit more after opening a bottle of Marques de Riscal Gran Reserva ‘95…

*S.A.S.Y.: What is it?
Stop Animal Suffering Yes! - run by a group of smart, stylish, accomplished, multi-cultural, DROP DEAD GORGEOUS women, who came together to stop animal cruelty here in Costa Rica. And within a few short years, S.A.S.Y. has become an amazing fundraising organization. Their 2005 Calendar of - you guessed it - gorgeous women posing in the buff with their favorite pet, has become quite a collectors’ item. The funds raised from S.A.S.Y. go to support various Costa Rican animal organizations that rescue, shelter and/or spay & neuter cats and dogs, and sometimes also help other animals like horses. They also support educational programs aimed at preventing animal cruelty and teaching kids how to care for their pets. Google their website for more information on the tremendous work they do.

Shrubbery

This shrubbery is located between stable and house
I have always loved shrubberies and the shrubbers who shrub. We first experienced the massive shrubberies, always the best, in England. Shrubs and hedgerows greeted us everywhere, as we meandered across the island doing one of our Pubs & Gardens tours. I still have the itineraries. Gerry chose the pubs and I picked the gardens. So we went from National Trust Garden to pub, to another garden in the afternoon, and then to the pub where we would stay the night. We did that every year during most of the 90’s, and I got to see a lot of shrubberies, not to mention the Mecca of all gardeners – the Chelsea Flower Show in London.
At that time, we lived in Upper Bucks County in Pennsylvania, and never missed the Philadelphia Flower Show in March – even if we had to drive through snow storms to get there. Those 90’s were heady gardening days when I would come back from the garden shows, head straight to the catalogs, and begin ordering for the season in our garden at Hessian House on County Line Road. I did the whole lot: formal flowering borders, parkland, culinary, woodland, wetland and, above all else, SHRUBBERIES! My favorite was the massive mixed shrubbery planted along the road - mostly Viburnum and Holly, but I also had a lot of fun with hydrangeas. I met gardening soulmates, Marj Swenson and Polly Ivenz (Polly, the butterflies are in full fluttering flight right now here at the Finca). We also lived next door to organic gardening experts, Ana and Ken Kodamos, doctorate level scientists associated with Rodale Press and Lehigh University. They inspired me to go totally organic, though it wasn’t easy with the golf course-style gardener we had in Pennsylvania. Even so, those were the gardening days. I thought I knew something.
Then we moved to Costa Rica, and I got blown away by all the biodiversity here in the Tropics and had to study all over again.
Now Armando is helping us to plant a series of shrubberies all over the place but, this time, I’m mixing function with beauty. Is it beautiful and edible? Then we will always find room for it! Gardening in the Tropics is very different from the Zone 6 in Pennsylvania, where the dormant winter season gives us a bit of a rest. In Costa Rica, the dry season causes some plants to go dormant, but not all the insects, and the war goes on! Right now we’re in the rainy season - my favorite in terms of beauty. But we’re also at the height of horsefly season. We’re using Citronella repellants for the horses (and ourselves…), trying experiment after experiment to improve the concoction. The cream is effective but too short in duration. Now we’re thinking of weaving the citronella grass right into the manes and tails - making a kind of grass-enhanced tail that our horses can use like a broom - whack! If the scent doesn’t keep the flies away, then use the tail! Of course, the horses can whack a fly dead with the tail anyway, so what the hell am I talking about? Well, maybe the whacking will release more citronella in the air every time the horse whacks and, thus he won’t need to whack so often?
Oh, just forget about the whacking and get back to shrubberies. Tropical shrubberies are not subtle things - you have lots of big leaves and bright colors. The butterfly gardens are actually shrubberies. Even the Lantana grows to become a big shrub here, and develops spines! - just part of its adaptation to the tropical world. You have to methodically prune and remove certain incorrigible plants, or else the shrubbery can become a monster in very short order. I have learned many lessons, and made some appalling mistakes. Now I consult Armando before buying anything - we probably have it already - and he chooses where to plant. All I do is the rough design, and he’s even getting the swing of that! There’s no greater joy than gardening with someone who really understands nature - going with it rather than fighting it. It’s the old indigenous way, which my northern gardening pals might recognize as elements of organic gardening – but new ways for a lot of people.
Happy gardening out there!

Drink of the Day

Okay, take a clean bottle like the one pictured here – which I use – and pop in a partly peeled lemon. The lemon – which must be sour not sweet – acts as a preservative. If you want a nice tang to your drink, give the lemon a squeeze before popping it in and you can even add more lemon if you’re a lemon freak like I am. Now, go out into the garden and pick nice fresh sprigs of whatever combo of herbs you like to make your Drink of the Day. I start the day out early, between 5 and 6 a.m., so I prefer a combination of mints, and maybe an allspice leaf or pineapple sage, but it varies each day. After adding a few sprigs of the herbs that you would like today, fill up the bottle with water and give it a shake.
That’s your Drink of the Day, and it will last you all through the day. Add fresh water to the bottle as necessary throughout the day, and you will notice that the flavor changes depending on whether you drink it all down at once, or you let it sit for an hour or so.
Remember:
Use sprigs – your herbs like a little pruning on a regular basis. Do not use individual leaves or anything that might come through the bottle and choke you. You want your herbs to last all day inside the bottle, not stuck in your teeth (or throat)!
Also, never add sugar to your Drink because it will ferment bacteria and the lemon-sweet mixture will rot your teeth! If you want a sweet taste, add a sprig of Stevia (slightly crushed to get it going) or maybe even a Miracle Fruit but, if you do, I would stick the berry deep inside the lemon so it doesn’t pop out and choke you! I have never used Miracle Fruit personally, although we grow it here, because I prefer more savory-lemony drinks, even early in the morning.
At 6 p.m. or so, empty out the bottle and select a clean one for your Drink of the Evening. Now you might want to play with more savory herbs like sages and even chili peppers.
However, after 6 p.m., my beverage of choice is red wine; GRAK prefers a gin & tonic; but whatever your choice…
…Salud!
And what does GRAK think of my Drink of the Day? He doesn’t like it at all! He even keeps our bottles separate, Kosher-style, because he hates the smell of that “herbal lemon shit” that’s left in my bottles. When Gerald wants water, he only wants the taste of water, not “some other weird crap”.
One time while walking the streets of New Orleans, I gave Gerald a Tic Tac, which he hates the flavor of, and he mindlessly put it in his mouth. A second later, he spat it out onto the sidewalk! He actually spat out the Tic Tac where he stood, and there we were looking down at it. “Don’t give me that shit again, please”, he growled, walking on. All I could do was laugh.
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Sort of home in the jungle

Finally, I can sit down.

Finally, I’m over the initial shock of returning from New Orleans to a house still unfinished. Yes Barry, I have learned anger management. There were lots of busy feet flying around here for the first few weeks after returning, including mine, but I remained, mostly, externally calm. Internally, it took longer to calm down and to readjust to reality, Taiji center, get in balance with gravity. Most of the final details for the house are now with the woodworkers: these very methodical, very precise, very slow - and also very sensitive - artisans.

Yes, we are still in TRANSITION INSANITY. At this point, the second floor of the house is ready to live in. And it really is a house you can live in! Okay, the second floor laundry still isn’t operational due to… oh you don’t want to get me started. But, apart from that, I am eager to break out into ALL the upper floor: three bedrooms, three bathrooms, sitting area, walk-in closet, laundry/utility room, and the most important room of the house after the kitchen, the library. But the process of organizing creates havoc - boxes and stuff strewn all over - and Gerry doesn’t like chronic chaos and would rather wait. He prefers to continue camping out in one of the guest rooms - using it like a hotel room, and taking meals over at the apartment with Janet, the kids, dogs, cats and sometimes chickens.

We’ve been camping out for a year and a half now. First, we got rooms at TexMex, then briefly lodged at the Intercontinental, then moved to the first guest room in the house/building site, then to the second guest room. In between all this, we (or more often Gerald…) would escape to New Orleans whenever possible.

We moved all of the antiques and valuables to our flat in New Orleans (yeah I know, to get whacked by the next hurricane) and left all the old, shabby furniture to decorate the house at El Tigre. And this has presented a bit of a decorating challenge to say the least. But, HEAR THIS THIEVES, LADRONES, HAMPA, we have no valuables at El Tigre - just junky stuff we’ve been hauling around for donkeys’ years!

We are now officially in Code Yellow at the Finca. A few nights a go, at around 11PM, Jose called and told us that a Blue Suzuki SUV with two guys in it had parked in the lot opposite the stables, and that they had begun moving quietly about, possibly casing the property. Everybody jumped into action as trained…floodlights, dogs, guns, phone calls, cars moving up the mountain to block, if necessary. Within minutes, Jose, the dogs, Armando, and then the muni police, chased that Blue Suzuki right out of El Rodeo. Even GRAK went out to join in the action. I stayed in bed. As GRAK likes to say, why keep a dog and bark yourself. We doubt those guys will be back anytime soon.

In New Orleans, security is all electronic and when the power’s out, they call in the National Guard.

GRAK is highly security conscious and I take the path of least resistance and just go along with him. Also, the training is a lot of fun. I’m becoming quite a sharp-shooter now that I’ve switched to my right hand, although I’m usually left-handed. One time, as I was stepping into an elevator after a job interview, the interviewer asked me to sign something and when I did, he exclaimed, “Oh, you’re left-handed!” My response was, “Do I still get the job?” The door closed before he could respond but, yes, I still got the job.

Gerald went to San Jose for appointments today, including renewing his concealed weapons license, and was told that the printing/picture on the new plastic license will deteriorate before it expires! They recommended that he protect the card with a plastic coating, but that he can’t use a hot plasticizing system because that would destroy it. However, after much discussion, the only cold system they knew about was a guy on a street down in San Jose somewhere.

Besides sorting out the household, we are also busy out in the gardens, expanding and diversifying the orchards, hortaleza and ornamental gardens. We’re now in the third season of garden design and it’s become a work in progress. People ask me how many workers it takes to maintain a garden like the one we’re creating at El Tigre. Answer: One good man.

Armando Parra is a master-gardener, trained by his father and grandfather in the old ways, e.g. to layer frijoles with garlic as a repellent, to rotate crops, and to observe and understand nature. Take grasshoppers. Armando just tolerates grasshopper season because they are fascinating insects to look at, they attract awesome birds as prey, and soon we go back into balance. We lose some brunfelsia leaves but the shrub leafs back out again. If I want to protect something, however, Armando makes a repellent spray of chili peppers and soap, and that tends to send the grasshoppers to the tastier plant further down in the shrubbery. Armando’s right. Just leave them be and nature will cycle around.

Even the kids spend time out in the gardens. I saw little Danny picking Madero Negro leaves and rubbing them over his arms as a repellent. Madero Negro (Gliricidia sepium) is often used as an insect repellent - the girls put satchels of it mixed with citronella grass in the drawers. Anyway, Danny was rubbing the plant over some itchy bites. He needed something for the itch, so I suggested he go apply ice wrapped in a wet cloth until the itching stops. Then we would look at another remedy if he needed it. He didn’t.
Danny is a clever kid. He won the Science Fair prize for his composting project. And his older cousin won 1st prize in his age category for his soap-making experiments. Both kids went on to compete in Ciudad Colon. I used to volunteer as one of the Science Fair judges, but when Armando’s grandkids kept winning - even though I abstained from evaluating anyone I knew - it was just getting too close.

In the afternoon, everybody stops for tea. We change it everyday! Today we mixed pineapple sage with lemon grass, infused for 5 minutes. Awesome! You could add a Stevia leaf or honey, but I prefer it savory.

It had to happen sooner or later. A big cat has moved up our way from the forest and has begun tormenting our animals, especially our male cats. It has already killed Skinny Bones and badly mauled Manchito and Sylvester - we treated both for bite abscesses and luckily they survived. Sylvester is already on his 5th life after a few close calls in Ciudad Colon. Some of you remember that we lost Beastie’s sister, Grisela to a Boa Constrictor. We’re not sure what the cat species is that is attacking our animals yet, perhaps a Jaguaruni (?). Janet described it as a grey-striped cat with huge paws the size of a medium-sized dog. She says that he is strikingly beautiful - majestic - rarely spotted but sometimes heard when he strikes - and then our dogs and cats come racing back home howling. Now the cats don’t stray far from the house and the dogs don’t want to tangle with that big cat either.

The good news is that the birds have returned to feed and nest in the lower gardens - no longer tormented by our cats. The forest gives us balance - death cycling into life. Trees die, fall, provide shelter for the living and compost for that yet to live. Cycles are all around us in the forest, easily observable.

Today was my first chance to escape the household duties and hike down into the forest. I went alone - not even Flopsy came with me – maybe still too scared of that big cat. But I saw the horses in pasture, and then the forest inhabitants. You are never alone in the forest - no doubt the monkeys and other animals spend far more time observing me from their bird’s eye view than I do them. But there is plenty to see. I enjoy walking by myself - even as a kid I mostly kept to myself.

I was bullied a lot as a kid. I was an ugly, scrawny kid, kept to my own company, and got teased and taunted a lot. Boys seem to outgrow bullying before girls, who are far crueler. I finally developed enough confidence to stand up to them. Even now, I prefer animals and other people who also love nature, generally introverted people.

In the forest, I feel connected and, at times, hyper-alert. For example when scaling a mountain or approaching a waterfall to fill the bottle, eyes and ears open for the Fer-de-Lance snake that might blend in with a fallen log. It’s a special way to look - like hunting for the elusive morel mushroom. You have to go hyper-alert with ‘soft-eyes’ alternating with ‘hard-eyes’. You need lots of hiking with the likes of Armando to learn the tropical forest ways. Once again, I notice that the guys have cleaned the trails. They’re not taking any chances. I’m alone but not lonely. The forest is magical, musical, Paradise on Earth.

Just saw a Coatimundo for the first time today! We were both startled, not expecting to see each other. Then I opened my big mouth and said: “Wow! Who are you?” And he turned around and went back where he came from. It’s possible that this big Coatimundo might also tangle with domestic pets. Also saw a pair of small deer on the road below Tiger hill. They darted back into the forest.

The forest is always teaching something new, sharing, solving mysteries.
Success in life has nothing to do with wealth. We could go back to work and buy that awesome new Toyota Hilux 4x4 Diesel Turbo Pickup Truck (GRAK would get a Land Rover, of course) but we are too busy living the life. Gerry retired over two years ago. I shifted from pharmacy and the pharmaceutical industry into plants back in the late 1980s and haven’t left the forest since. First studied medicinal plants in Pennsylvania, especially Black Cohosh (Cimicifuga racemosa) back at the farm in Pennsylvania, and then got into tropical botany when we moved to Costa Rica in 1997. I don’t write or study to publish – just learning and observing…

In fruit now in forest, just glimpsed today:
Guayacan (Acosmiun panamense), Caregres: Picramnia antidesma and P. latifolia, Guayaba (Psidium guajava), Eugenia species, Siparuna species f.Monimiaceae…all I can remember.

Of Bugs and Bourbon

Ever wonder what happens to the organic souvenirs that Customs confiscates from tourists upon returning from Costa Rica? We’ve all tried to get through Customs and have been relieved of our treasures over the years. I once met a catholic priest who actually got on a plane in Costa Rica with a parrot perched on his shoulder and almost made it all the way through to NYC– until he tried clearing Customs at Kennedy, where he was relieved of his companion. So, what do they do with all the butterflies, awesome spiders, sci-fi beetles and orchids (you bad boy!) that you tried so hard to smuggle across the border? Well, in New Orleans, they’ve taken the whole lot of them and put them on display in a museum, which just happens to be located next door to us here on N. Peters St!

The Feds have been renovating the massive granite Customs Building for years now, and we just thought that it would continue serving as the Customs Building. But Gerry learned from a very good source – taxi driver just arrived here from Nigeria – that the Feds have relocated Customs to a new building and that the building next door will soon open as an Insectarium!

Instantly, I had the answer to the question that has nagged us naughty naturalists for years! Gerry and I walked over there and peaked in the windows just to confirm and, sure enough, we could see big displays of butterflies and a whole range of insects sure to delight both entomologists and kids! We will soon have a wonderful place to go when we miss El Tigre. You might not see monkeys every day in the forest but you will definitely see a range of mouth-dropping insects! All thanks to you smuggling tourists! Okay, maybe I’m just speculating on how Customs got their hands on such a massive collection, but even the somewhat impaired logico-deductive thinking of a Bourbon Street drunk would lead to that conclusion.

Last night, we walked down Bourbon Street on our way home from the Erin Rose bar. It’s our place for a frozen Irish coffee, if we don’t have the energy to walk all the way down Decatur to Molly’s. The Frozen Irish is great at both places – a marvelous ice-cream dessert for the alcoholically inclined... Molly’s is also a must if you like cats – she has a beauty who sits on the bar.

Most residents avoid Bourbon Street – they head over to Frenchmen Street for good music and local crowds. But I still like wandering Bourbon Street and mingling with the tourists after dinner for one of the best free shows in the country. Some jack-ass wrote somewhere that Bourbon Street is one of the 10 top tourist traps in the country. What a load of crap! You don’t have to spend a nickel on Bourbon Street for entertainment, although the street performers do appreciate the tips. As the leader of a spectacular acrobatic-dance group said last night with a wicked smile on his face, “If you’re not generous with your tips, we’ll just have to go back to doing what we did before – visiting your homes when you’re not there…” After spending months in solitary tranquility in the forest, I feel that Bourbon gives me a chance to reconnect with humanity without actually, well, connecting. Gerald retorts: “Sure, if your idea of humanity is drunks, whores and thugs!”

Well, it’s true that you wouldn’t take your kids there after 6PM and, ladies, don’t go by yourself if you don’t want to get accosted (before 10PM) and assaulted (after midnight).

I’m starting to feel better. Still coughing a lot when I talk too much or stay up to late - as I found out last night…

‘Second-line’ cures what ails

Still sick and laying low in New Orleans. Reading a book about the demise of the Cathars – hardly the stuff of good cheer. Gerald’s gone out to buy me some more lemons for my herbal tea concoctions.

Suddenly, I hear a raucous brass band out in the street. I peer out the window of our 4th floor flat and see a big crowd approaching down the middle of the street. A second-line parade! Normally, I would rush down the stairs to join in with the festivity, but not this time. I decided not to push fate. Still, the second-line parades always have the same effect on people – just pure joy. So I stood at the window smiling and watching the whole thing – first the police escort motorcycles, clearing the road; then the big, spirited brass band; followed by the crowd, made bigger as it went on by with bystanders joining in. For the first time today, I felt this swell of good feeling. Still hacking and coughing, but heart filled with goodness. All is well. This virus too shall pass!

And when I die, like everybody else in this town, I want a second line funeral parade.

A Year with Carmen by Mavis Biesanz

Mavis Biesanz
Scholar, anthropologist, gifted writer and author of many books (last published and a must read: A Year with Carmen), philanthropist, teacher, naturalist, spiritual seeker, animal lover, devoted friend, mother and grandmother….

Remember the time you came over for lunch while my mom was visiting? I was rushing and, at the last minute, I cut some pink bougainvillea branches and laid them down on the table as a centerpiece. Then, just after everyone sat down at the table to eat, to my utter horror, a slew of ants started crawling out from the plant and began wandering around the table. You just calmly shooed them all back into the bracts as if it were perfectly natural to eat lunch with ants on the table.

That’s just like you – making even your hapless hostess feel that all was well in the world. Your big heart shared love like that with everyone around you, from dearest friends and family to all of your beloved Costa Ricans. You never spoke about all the Tico children you surreptitiously supported through University, nor of the many works you carried out to improve the lives of so many. I learned of your generosity in many ways – once, from the local seamstress in Ciudad Colon, who remembers you as the angel who personally provided supplies and money to local impoverished kids, helping them to ‘live the dream’. Another time, a taxi driver spoke of how you ‘adopted’ promising Costa Rican students and helped to educate them all the way through years of school. You never abandoned anyone.

And those of us with the good fortune to have known you personally, how we all gained from your understanding, your compassion, your wisdom and, oh yes, your quick wit - at times your acerbic wit! But only dished out to those who could truly appreciate it! Even now, I can see your eyes, sparkling with affectionate playfulness. There was no greater joy than sitting down with you and feeling like the most important person in the world. That’s how you made everyone feel.

We spent much more time together during my volunteer years. How important you were to me then – in so many ways – gently coaching, sometimes teasing but always encouraging. As the years went by, we saw each other less and less often, you moved from our Ciudad Colon neighborhood to the lovely home that Barry and Sarah built for you in Escazu. Even now, I recall the precious moments we shared together during the full moon gatherings – friends and family everywhere, playing music, singing and merry making – and you sitting near the fireplace, taking your turn with each and every most important person in the world.

Barry told me that he would never let you win at scrabble, not even at the end. You would not have abided it. At the hospital, he gave me a copy of the last book you wrote – A Year with Carmen. Is that you on the cover? What a beauty – like an auburn-haired Reese Witherspoon. I’ve learned a lot more about you from that book. You still speak to me through it. We discuss the gilded cage...how much of it is of our own making? You are the only one who could understand even breaching the topic!

I thought about you again the day after seeing the film, Atonement. That film had me crying like a baby – actually wept throughout most of it.

So much has been left unsaid, unasked, not done. But now I understand, Mavis, why you never invited me into your book club - officially closed to new members. All I ever had to do was ask.
Pax vobiscum

Sick in N'Awlins

Why Oh why does shit happen?
Sick and miserable, day after day, sitting in this flat, it gets mind-numbing. I feel like the walking dead. The world goes by outside, and all I can do is slouch on the sofa; putz aimlessly about; read; doze; all in a wretched haze of yuck.

I never get sick in the country. Nobody does. From eons past, people went to the country to avoid getting sick. If you live in the country and want to get sick, you simply go and spend a few weeks in town. Oftentimes, you can pick up the virus on the very first day by boarding a crowded aircraft. If you don’t get it during transport, then you will soon after arriving to the city - at the theatre or anywhere else where humans flock and crowd together.

Back when we lived in PA, we shared the countryside with likeminded escapees from NYC, also seeking town & country living. A favorite of ours – Hervey – a true urban Thoreau, would always get sick during his periodic visits to the city. I would harp on at him every time he made plans to leave his charming down-country cottage for the Big Apple. Especially in December! “Don’t go there Hervey, you’re going to get sick again - like you always do!” And he would always respond – “what’s the point of living if not to take in the latest Broadway show… share a fine repast with dear friends… wander café to gallery? And off he would go to Manhattan and, sure enough, upon his return, we would find him sitting in his overgrown boxwood gardens, sniffling and congested, beloved cat, Goya, on his lap. Guests would have to mix their own cocktails that day. Sadly, Hervey is no longer with us, but his legacy lives on, thanks to his Coffee Town Road neighbor, Christopher Boas, who did a film documentary of Hervey’s extraordinary life – from his youthful NY cultural bonhomie during the great depression, to decades of outrageous weekends in the country…the films…the countess, the opera singer, the scandalous widow... Someday I hope to see the film.

But I digress as I always do. And when you feel hideous and hollow from congestion, you can’t be expected to write even semi-coherently. The only reason that I’m writing at all is because there is nothing on Comedy Central, and my eyes ache too much to read. And the Democratic nomination battle has become too tedious to watch, even for the most fanatical news addicts.

I admit liking Obama Girl...Stephen Colbert…Jon Stewart and especially Bill Maher. The ‘You Tube’ world has turned the traditional news media conventions upside down. Like everybody else in New Orleans, we howled in protest when the National Debate Committee bypassed our city - they said that the city wasn’t ready. What a line of utter crap and they all knew it – and you can rest assured that they, both individually and collectively, heard very clearly and explicitly from New Orleans! So we were thrilled when You Tube/Google announced plans to bring the candidates here for a virtual debate later this summer. What a grand way to ‘stick it’ to the traditional powers that be!

All of this makes good entertainment for those of us too sick to go outside.

I usually don’t get sick in New Orleans. It’s a different kind of town – better ventilated. At least, it is during the months when we’re in residence – in Spring, from Mardi Gras through Jazz Fest, and then again in Autumn, when the weather is fine and parties pour out into the streets and really get revved up.

After the Storm, a lot of full-timers left the city. But to where? Where can you go from New Orleans? Well, some of them found their way to Costa Rica. People there think we want to meet the Katrina refugees but we don’t. It’s true that after the Storm, many people had no choice, but we kind of doubt that anyone who lost everything would have landed in paradise. Given a choice, why would anyone abandon our beloved city when it needs everyone to come back home? Could it be that they just needed an excuse? I don’t want to judge the choices made by others, but we love the Big Easy and make our passion known whenever we get a chance, always trying to promote the city. Both of our gas-guzzling jeeps in Costa Rica have the bumper sticker: “New Orleans – Proud to Swim Home!”

As one Katrina refugee put it to me recently at a cocktail party in Costa Rica, to where she high-tailed it after losing her Lakeview mansion home: “I grew up in New Orleans – went to all the Deb balls! I know that city better than you! I believe Hurricane Katrina was God’s retribution to a sinful city.” Actually, New Orleans has always been populated by such sinners as prostitutes and criminals – that’s why it has been, and always will be, such a fun town.

But nowhere is fun when you’re sick and sitting in a stupefying funk in the flat.

It didn’t start out this way. I arrived in New Orleans just in time for the second weekend of JazzFest. Gerry had escaped some weeks earlier. Gerry’s take on ‘town vs. country’ is far different from mine. The country makes him sick (mostly in the head) and New Orleans rejuvenates him. When he’s not in New Orleans, he’s grumpy and homesick and, at every chance he gets and for any old excuse, Gerald (aka Famine) will jump on a plane and come to our home here in the Crescent City, leaving me back at Finca El Tigre.
On this occasion, I arrived just as Famine’s fellow Horseman, Pestilence, also arrived to take in everything New Orleans and especially the music scene. The first week we partied like nobody was looking - and then Pestilence got sick - then a few days later, Famine got sick. So for the next several days, we’re all cooped up here together in the flat, while I tried nursing them back to health. Gerald said it first, and there’s just no better word describing it than this: stultifying. Pestilence finally recovered enough to get on a flight back to Costa Rica. Unfortunately, I got the first symptom – sore throat – the next day and it went downhill from there.
The best remedies for colds & flu don’t require a trip to the pharmacy. You just need lots of fluids and sleep and time. Drink chicken broth and/or hot tea with lemon & honey and rest, rest, rest. Wait a minute! We’re in New Orleans after all! Aren’t there any medicinal cocktails? Yes, thank God, there are! Somebody said that God invented beer because he loves us and wants us to be happy. But beer is not a good remedy unless you drink just one – try saying that to your British mate. Luckily, options abound!

When we all fell ill in Havana, we discovered the wonderful minty Mojito cocktail. Here in New Orleans, you can order the refreshing Pimm’s cocktail or go straight for the gold: a Sazerac or two at Tujagues! Does it help? You bet! You feel great all the way through dinner and fall straight into bed and sleep for 12 hours. Next morning you wake up feeling worse than ever. And you swear that you will stick to the chicken broth…lay low…until the bug is finally gone. And then evening swings around again and you could swear that you’re feeling a bit better…

So what about today? Will we stay home or will I rally and take Gerald to Restaurant August this evening for his long, overdue birthday dinner? What do you think? Do you have any idea what it took just to get a reservation in there? We love Chef John Besh so much, that when he lost out to somebody or other from Cleveland as the next, great IRON CHEF, I turned off the show in disgust and haven’t tuned it back on since!
Salud!