Take a look at this huge, beautiful cactus bloom. I spotted it from inside the house just
before dawn and rushed out to take this picture. You can’t wait to photograph Hylocereus
costaricense because the dramatic show is all too brief. Some say the Hylocereus cactus only blooms
for one day, but that’s not true. In
fact, it only blooms for a few short hours, budding at night and completely
opening early in the morning! You can
see the stingless bees have already found it.
By mid-morning the flower has closed up completely – show’s over, folks
– and during the following weeks it transforms into the absolutely delicious
Pitahaya fruit.
On the other hand, the Cleome spinosa plant, which has
seeded itself all over the garden, blooms for many weeks. A few weeks ago, a visiting friend noted the
plant shooting up from our gravel driveway.
“That looks just like a marihuana plant!” she
exclaimed. Actually, lots of plants look
like cannabis, including this Cleome, until it bursts into bloom. I told her that presumably the FBI has
botanists who can tell the difference.
Many tropical plants are toxic to eat but the berries on
this Miconia costarricense taste a bit like blueberries, and I often eat them while
hiking along the trails. Most melastomes
are edible but this one actually tastes good.
Take a look at the venation on the leaves. That’s how you can identify plants in the
Melastomataceae Family.
On this same hike we had the good fortune to come across the
charming Casearia arborea tree in fruit.
Locals call it Cafecillo because the smaller trees look a bit like the
coffee plants. But a quick look at the
alternate leaves confirms that we are looking at the Flacourtiaceae Family. The red seed pods sparkle in the sunlight and
the whole tree glitters. If you want to
find birds, go look at a tree in fruit and you will hear the twittering birds
even before you see them. If you want to
find flowering trees, follow the sounds of the birds.
Gerry and I live in a dual world: Human and Nature
In Costa Rica, we live in a forest, called Zona Protectora
El Rodeo, located within and around the University for Peace. Our particular remnant of this last extant
primary forest in the Central Valley is called Reserva El Tigre. There is much to see and experience –
everyday brings new surprises and joys to those who stop and look.
Every morning, I walk out of the house and into the forest
with three or four dogs in tow. Zincy
always goes; he’s my constant companion, replacing Flopsy, who died a few years
ago. Down we go, past the orchards and
gardens, to the pastures, each one smallish in size and connected together via
a series of woodland paths. These
woodland trails have a network of springs and streams going through them and
feel fresh after the more sunny pastures.
There is so much to discover here; butterflies and damselflies flitter about,
and I always gasp in pleasure at seeing the first blue flash of a morpho
butterfly, even though we will see many more before the walk is through. Morphos are common here because they feed on
the Machaerium vines growing everywhere.
The birds become active at dawn and the symphony of twitters and songs
rise to a pleasing crescendo, mixing with the whirrs and buzzing of thousands
of insects. The low sounding ‘wooo…’ alerts
me to a tribe of capuchin monkeys just overhead. They don’t like me watching them directly, so
I avert my eyes and behave as if I can’t see them, even though I know they are
there (just as they know that I know...).
We play this little ‘you ignore me and I ignore you’ game and, by so
doing, the dogs and I can observe them for a while before moving on. And then I see the horses, escorted as always
by the Ani birds, which groom the horses, feeding on insects nearby. And the walk goes on…
The notion of duality hits us squarely when we arrive in New
Orleans, where we reside very much in the world of humankind. The transition from forest to city is
wrenching, and I usually get a cold or feel ill the first week back. Every morning in the city, I go up to the
roof to practice Taijiquan, and from there I can observe the enormous container
and cruise ships maneuvering around the crescent bend of the Mississippi River. From this bird’s eye view, I gaze at the
textured architecture of old and new New Orleans rising all around our building. I can hear the low hum of the city running
under my feet: the A/C units, traffic, construction, music… The most important, fundamental sound of all
is the music; this is, after all, New Orleans.
It’s a human world, eccentric and chaotic but, nature permitting, with a
somewhat functioning infrastructure.
Picture of harvest from the garden in Costa Rica.
In the kitchen of our flat in New Orleans, I peel the labels
off the tomatoes. Every piece of fruit
and vegetable comes with a label. In the
forest, the food comes to us in baskets – not nearly so grocery store perfect
in size and color – but organically grown by us and so very delicious to eat. If you wish to find biodiversity in the city,
go to the grocery store – there you will find a dazzling array of edibles
brought to you from all over the world. However,
we always try to buy local vegetables, when they are in season. When living in the Costa Rican forest, we eat
everything from the garden, determining our menus around what we have
harvested. In New Orleans, it’s the reverse:
we choose our menus and then find everything we need at the grocery store.
Outside the New Orleans flat, our closest glimpse of nature
is the narrow strip of the river-side park lining the Mississippi. Everyone flocks here to exercise and to seek
respite from the concrete. It’s not the
same as walking in a forest but it does provide solace to the city
dweller. It is a very sad human indeed
who has completely disconnected from nature, though he may not know the cause
of his emptiness. I feel it most
acutely. When in New Orleans, I pine for
the forest. When in Costa Rica, Gerry
pines for New Orleans. We try to bring
each other into the wonders of each world. This is our duality.
