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!

Moving Day

Moving day was yesterday, April 3rd, 2008. Yes, stating the year was absolutely necessary*. We survived the so long-awaited event and moved forward. But it was exhausting for everyone.
Over the years, we have moved many times – from packing everything we own into the car, to sorting out our major international moves. Moving day is always stressful, and having a lot of support doesn’t necessarily make it easier. We were officially repatriated from Costa Rica to New Orleans (retirement) shortly after Hurricane Katrina, and the only workers the moving company could find to help us were two sickly looking college kids and an old man with a limp. We were stronger than any of them and ended up helping to physically move in all the antiques and other furniture.
Our idea was to move all the valuable things to New Orleans and leave the older, less expensive stuff in storage in Costa Rica for the house at El Tigre. However, that’s still a lot of stuff that we’ve collected over the years, and the boxes filled up the container moving truck. No problem! The movers only had to drive the truck from their very own storage warehouse to our house out at El Tigre. A simple, local move – a piece of cake.
The moving company realized that they would not be able to get their container-sized moving truck up the mountain to Finca El Tigre, so they organized pick-up trucks to go back and forth between the container truck, which they parked at U.Paz, and El Tigre. However, those that arrived were definitely not All Terrain Vehicles, nor even 4x4s, so, of course, they couldn’t make it up the hill from the University for Peace. So now the moving guys go back to Ciudad Colon to look for any 4x4 pick-up truck they can find to do the move. There they are, unknown workers wearing company t-shirts, talking it up with the locals in sleepy Ciudad Colon. 4x4 pick-ups urgently needed! They tried everything to bribe any 4x4 truck driver just happening down the road. And, of course, most drivers obliged for the right price. So, before we knew it, our regular, local truck drivers started showing up with their trucks piled high with our stuff. At one point, our builders’ delivery truck showed up with a new, hand-made back door, fresh out of the carpenter’s workshop across town. However, since he just happened to be driving past the moving truck, heading straight for El Tigre, the movers commandeered his nice big 4x4 truck and piled it high with boxes. The driver looked extremely cross, as the moving guys at this end unpacked his truck. I suggested to Janet that perhaps we should give him a tip for his trouble, but she just jutted out her chin and said, “Poof! He didn’t lift a finger except to drive his truck as he always does. Life is such as it is!”
And the day wore on; the truck drivers bickering, the moving guys always thirsty, Janet barking out orders to everyone, “…up to the library... to the vestidor… watch out there… the water glasses are over there…”. And I’m everywhere, checking lists and managing the unpacking. Janet and Marcia had been prepped with lists and instructions, and performed splendidly as the boxes came through into the house. And we soon found ourselves in a routine - from checking off each box as it came off the truck - Gerald’s job - to the rest of us working with the un-packers to settle the contents into the house.
Now, make no mistake about it, stress definitely causes and/or exacerbates pain. That blasted snake gun I tried out a few days ago kicked like a mule and hurt my shoulder! For some reason, I never really noticed the ache until later in the week – on moving day. And by mid-afternoon, I could barely take the pain and had to sit down for a few minutes. I made the mistake of sitting down on the bench next to Gerald, who was busy checking in boxes - the moving guys queuing up in front of him to get checked off. Gerald would not be hurried.
And then I stupidly complained to him again that my shoulder still hurt. At that point, Gerald flashed his eyes at me - “You’re starting to worry me! Are you really hurt or is it just muscle ache?”
Gerald is used to my frequent scrapes and bruises and has little sympathy for me. I had to fess up. It was a mere muscle ache.
“Then shut up and deal with it”, he said irritably, and turned back to the inventory list and the queue.
It was time for a remedy!
I asked Janet what was the strongest analgesic in the house. She responded, Naproxen, 220mg. It would do nicely for me. So I asked for the bottle and swallowed two tablets, and next thing I know, everybody is passing around the bottle of Naproxen. Seems everybody had a headache or something aching somewhere. It wasn’t the physical work - it was the stress of moving 248 boxes from a large container, via a series of strange pick-up trucks/drivers, into the house.
Gerald, of course, would have none of it! Nothing seems to bother him physically, and if it does, he just bears up and deals with it - the proverbial English stiff upper lip - just shoulder your burden and carry on, lad. As to taking remedies, Gerald says: “I (used to) sell drugs, I don’t take them.”
Well, I used to sell drugs too but I’m no martyr. Still, I’ve now observed how stress amplifies pain. This morning, we all woke up feeling fine as usual, so we agreed that the moving day pain was mostly stress related, which, in our case, provoked old aches and pains.
On the bright side, it started raining – a major torrential rain – just minutes after the last truck pulled away. Amazingly, everything had made it safely inside.
It’s now official. It’s raining again at El Tigre. Raining in the Forest…a rain forest…mornings fresh and cool…in silence, sounds of chirping, twittering, chattering, hooting – nature’s symphony – Opus April 4th, 2008. The new leaves budding out…forest canopy now with fresh green texture…lacy guanacastes…earthy scents…cool mist rising, sun overhead…
I am late for breakfast again.
Gerald is busy making departure plans for New Orleans.

*Some people like to joke and equate me with the Widow Winchester, who might die if she ever finished her house construction. My brother once told me that some people talk and other people are talked about, and that I would always be one of those people that other people like to talk about - just a bit too far off the mainstream grid to stay under the radar. “Get used to it”, he said. That was back when I was 12 years old…

Binge Monday

Horses, Volcan and Lucero, graze in pasture below the house.
Today is Monday. And, unfortunately for us, today is Binge Monday. Well known here in Costa Rica, and much better tolerated than it would be pretty much anywhere else in the world - one of the joys of living the Pura Vida a la Tica.
Our horse trainer didn’t show up for work again today – coincidentally, once again on a Monday. He called Armando at 6am and said that his motorcycle was out of sorts, so couldn’t get to El Tigre to ride the horses. This time, Armando decided to call him on it, and insisted on going over to his house to pick him up. So Armando shows up at his house and finds him still drunk and so unsteady on his feet that he couldn’t mount his sofa much less a horse. Another day’s pay docked. Binge Monday! Everybody knows somebody who occasionally doesn’t show up for work because of too much ‘guaro’ (local booze) over the weekend. We hired an excellent woodworker a couple of years ago with the same problem.
Basically, if somebody pulls a Binge Monday, the employer will put up with it if the worker is talented, but not at all in a worthless good-for-nothing - and then there is the whole spectrum in between.
We are well aware of our man’s binge problem and dutifully dock his pay every time he pulls the stunt. We put up with it because he is the best horse-whisperer in our price range on this side of the valley. He never uses spurs or a whip – always has lots of patience and understanding. He trained my super-sprinter Arabian mix, Matchi, to take it easy when we speak to him through the bit. Now he responds quickly and settles down, even though he is still a very young, competitive racer. Before, sometimes, Matchi used to bite down on the bit and just take off. And I had the bumps and scrapes to prove it.
Horseback riders! Learn how to skydive! You learn how to fall and this comes in handy when your stallion takes off on you, biting down hard on the bit and galloping out of control at racing speed – you grab that mane, crouch close and hang on, waiting for your chance to regain control. If he stumbles and you’re going down or if you decide you want to bail off of him, push free and roll when you hit the ground. I learned the technique skydiving but it’s easy to learn. Just takes practice.
Anyway, I don’t have to bail off horses anymore because of our horse trainer.
He also trained our most difficult horse, Lucero. Nobody could ride Lucero. He would plant his two forward feet on the ground and stop. And that was it – he wasn’t going another step forward. And if we pushed him too much – and I’m only talking just coaxing him a wee bit too much with our legs, Lucero would rear up and try to buck us all off. Me, Jose, Armando, Francie…he was becoming dangerous. It was time to call in a professional horse trainer.
Within a few weeks, our man calmed Lucero, only using his voice, soothing him and giving him time to trust humans. Sometimes, when we were out riding together, he would tell me to continue riding Matchi on ahead because he needed a bit more time with Lucero and he quickly became more responsive and even happy about going out for rides. So, excellent progress was made with riding him but Lucero had another, equally dangerous problem.
Somebody once hurt Lucero whilst shoeing him, and to this day, he doesn’t want to see the farrier within 50 feet of him. At first, we tried to hold and calm him while the farrier attempted to work but Lucero would have none of it. He would fight us and, if we didn’t back away, send us all flying through the air. The first farrier recommended Lucero for the matadero (slaughter house)! The second one attempted using sedatives but, guess what? Lucero hates injections too and will send anyone flying who even approaches him with a syringe! Believe me, we tried everything – distracting him with food and sneaking up behind him with the syringe. That worked once. Only once – after that, Lucero’s eyes could just spot that syringe and then there was no hope. I remember the last time we attempted to give Lucero a shot. He’d had a terrible, chronic cough and the vet felt that an injection was really necessary to get him the dose of antibiotic needed. What a day. Three of our guys used ropes and all their strength to try to hold Lucero still just long enough for the shot, but no way! Lucero went crazy on us again – screaming, with his eyes wild with terror, tail swishing, head bobbing - trembling body wet with sweat - and somehow Lucero sent the syringe flying. Our disgusted vet had had enough. He told me that he would not give Lucero any more injections until we built a proper structure to secure him.
So what was our solution to this difficult horse? I took off his shoes, we stopped giving him injections for his chronic cough, and we gave him a vacation. His cough cleared up within days – we have now verified that his cough was essentially stress induced – his stress would flare up old pulmonary scar tissue. After his hooves hardened up nicely without shoes, our horse trainer resumed riding him and he is now my favorite horse – calm, responsive and full of health and energy. He loves to canter but also likes a nice long trot or even a pleasant walk along the forest trail.
The trainer also rides our frisky, white criollo, Solo – who really performs at barrel and needle racing as well as our beautiful baby boy, Volcan. At this point, we could easily survive without a horse trainer, and might have to for financial reasons someday, but I am grateful to him for turning around two difficult horses and making horseback riding much safer for me and the kids.
And who am I to judge anyone on Binge Monday? I remember pulling lots of boozy all-nighters back when we were in our 30’s living in Madrid. One time, we partied all night and drove to the airport next morning to pick up some friends coming in from New York. And then I got dressed and went to work. Couldn’t do that today. Now we’re in bed before 10PM!
Bird Alert: mangos and avocados all fruiting. Grab your binoculars for some good birding.
Lots of Morpho butterflies now! Tigre has Morphos all year but I’m seeing more of them and they are mating! – they pair up, flutter about the forest together, stopping and landing on leaves here and there.. If you want lots of Morphos, plant Machaeriums.
In seed and fruit:
Bumper crop of Ceiba pentandra! All around the massive Ceiba tree, white, fluffy cotton balls – laden with Ceiba seeds- cover the ground like snow. Armando had never seen anything like it in all his years working and living here. As we gathered the cotton, piling it into big bags, dozens of fluffy Ceiba cotton balls drifted lazily down all around us like a magical tropical snow storm. We took pictures of the whole scene but the floating cottonballs in the photos look more like light-filled flying fairies. Hey! Maybe this is how stories get started! Or maybe it’s just lousy photography. In any case, we have enough cotton to last us a lifetime and enough seeds for everyone! Just write me. Remember, Ceiba pentandra (f. Bombacaceae) is a massive, tropical tree that does best planted in a forest near water.
Also in fruit now at Reserva El Tigre: among others, I saw Myrtas, Eugenias, Aguacatillas, Cupanias, Thounidium, Cassias, Sennas, Malphighia, Roupala, Gliricidia species, and Maclura tinctoria (f. Moraceae) – we don’t know where the female is yet but we’re seeing a slew of males – still looking. Also flowering, are a slew of vines and herbaceous plants.
Lonchocarpus species just starting to bud but it’s all over for the Miconias. It rained today, so much more botanical action in store for us down in the forest tomorrow.

Semana Santa

Jose holds up a deadly Coral snake he killed just outside Janet’s apartment on Easter Sunday. Note the color bands: Red & Yellow May Kill a Fellow. Also found at Tigre: harmless false-corals with black separating yellow and red bands and they are not complete circles.

Holy Week. Traditionally celebrated in Costa Rica with huge, crowded Christian processions held in just about every Costa Rican village and town. Passion - they really get physical on Good Friday – in some towns, the designated Jesus actually drags a cross and gets hung up; then, on Saturday, he gets shrouded, hefted up by many hands and carried down the streets; and by the Resurrection on Sunday, just about everyone is carrying home some incoherent body from all the family fiestas… Everybody is on vacation - No work! No school! Off to the beach, river or mountains; camping, sporting and having a great time.

We stayed home the entire week except Wednesday, when the Four Horsemen celebrated their 9th Annual British Birthday Boys Party. This year it was a rather subdued affair. Pestilence continues to recover from surgery, and couldn’t party to excess, though he did manage to moon the camera… War’s family abandoned him for the beach. Death is taking more care what he eats and drinks these days. Famine was exhausted with a sore throat and coughing - and no, he would not accept any honey-lemony-herbal remedy from the likes of me; only a dose of Gin & Tonic would do. He is still readjusting to paradise after a week in pleasantly chilly (to him) Michigan.

Normally, during Semana Santa, our employees prefer to stay home and work, and get paid overtime - but not this year. Everybody wanted to go camping. Where did they go? Right here at Finca El Tigre’s Rancho Abajo. Why would Janet and the Parra gang prefer to sleep in the jungle with all those nocturnal creatures – big scary spiders and deadly snakes, when they could remain in the comfort of their own beds, just 500 meters up the road? Because camping is fun!

And what does that mean for us? We find ourselves with the whole place to ourselves. Home alone! No staff. Yippee! Let’s go all out and play one of our favorite games – Guard Patrol. So we don our N.O.L.A. S.W.A.T. caps and head out to do the rounds. Up at the water tanks we have a view of the entire Finca, and on out to the Nicoya Peninsula. The Guards meet for a tryst at the stable yard, where the dogs still laze around. The dogs take over night duty at dusk.

We visit the chickens. We watch Roger the Rooster pace back and forth just outside the hen house, strutting his stuff and puffing his feathers. Should we let the girls out and get a good show? Chicken watching is such fun – you definitely learn all about ‘pecking order’ - seems every animal has a behavior we can recognize in the human species. And Roger Rooster has such fun going after all his girls.

But it’s too late in the day and predators lurk about!

We finish patrol back in the kitchen for gin & tonics, glasses filled with ice. Solar living is good with modern, efficient appliances. The dogs take over the patrol for the night.

So much has suddenly burst into bloom! The entire countryside has fragrance in the air from blooming coffee and citrus and so much more…
…Solanaceae species are in bloom and fruit. Need I say more? The family of strong medicines, poisons, intoxicating fragrances and … mankind’s beloved tomato. In the garden, I associate the Solanac family with exotic scents and spices and sensory pleasures. Everywhere, the butterflies, birds and bees flutter all around the Actinus arborescens (Guittite) creating a mouth-dropping spectacle. You just stand there, paralyzed, watching the scene. Time seems to stand still. So many species of bees and wasps – an entomologist’s treasure trove. Other El Tigre Solanacs in bloom/fruit: Brugmansia candida, Datura species (Deadly Nightshade), Solanums (Naranjillas), Capsicums (Full range of peppers from Sweet to Piquant such as Tabasco, Habanero, Cayenne, etc.), Cestrum species (strong smells: sometimes enticing, sometimes stinky), Nicotiana tabacum (yes, the smoking kind but we don’t).

Achiotillo (Vismea baccifera CLUSIAC.) is also blooming and fruiting. A few of the white-faced monkeys at El Tigre rub the orange sap all over their faces as a kind of makeup. This morning, some of the monkeys were climbing all over the canopy of a huge Miconia argentea (Santa Maria) tree, feasting on the fruits and not paying any attention to Flopsy and me, sitting below. The dogs used to bark and harass the monkeys, and the monkeys responded by throwing sticks and fruits down at them. Now they just ignore each other. This is progress - becoming harmless to each other…

There’s great bird watching now with so much in fruit. It is said that to see the birds, look for the fruiting trees and insect habitats. At Tigre, just sit down near a fruiting tree and enjoy the show. It takes a few minutes for the birds to get used to your presence, but soon they come right back out and begin feeding again and you get a great show. If you want a list of bird species at El Tigre, then Google: bird list, Hacienda El Rodeo, Mora, Costa Rica. One of the best bird-watching trees in bloom right now is the Hortiga (Urera baccifera). Saw a kind of bright, orange-breasted warbler - not sure what - Skutches Book still in storage. What I’ve learned is that you don’t need to walk to find birds - sorry Bill and Cyndy! But Cyndy did it though, after battling and winning breast cancer – she hiked all the way to Tigre hill and back.

Billy B. Boa

Jose holding Billy B. Boa
The guys found Billy B. Boa heading for the hen house for a quick snack. Everybody came over for a look and all of the kids decided that they liked Billy B. He was so easy going that we could almost pick him up and drape him around our shoulders. But Jose quite rightly reminded us that Billy is a big boy and might constrict a bit too hard so they settled for just petting him for a while. Then we decided to relocate him away from the hen house. Jose found a branch for Billy to wrap around and then hoisted him up and hauled him off to his new home: a large Fig tree located just below the house.
What a parade. Jose led the way holding Billy aloft on the branch, Billy’s head bobbing around lazily, looking us over with aristocratic aplomb, as if this was quite the natural thing - to be treated with the proper pomp and circumstance accorded to his species. All of the kids followed behind, everyone all excited about our new pet - a very laid-back Boa Constrictor. Marcia and I darted around the scene taking photographs and Janet brought up the rear, bellowing her fury at us all - How Billy would eat the cats and small dogs. How she wanted that Boa down in the Charral, far, far away. How if animals went missing it would be our fault for adopting that blasted Boa. Janet was really pissed. Well, she need not have fretted.
Billy lasted one night and disappeared. We have not seen him back at the hen house. No hens have gone missing yet, even the wild ones wandering around the stable yard with their little chicks. I think Billy took Janet’s suggested and headed down to the Charral. A few months a go, I saw a huge Boa down there. Perhaps it will meet Billy and they can be friends. Or perhaps one will kill the other. Such is the way with the jungle. One thing is for sure, Janet utterly denies taking the machete to him!

Besides Billy B., another mascot has adopted us: Iggy, the Orchid Eating Iguana. We discovered Iggy the morning I had planned to photograph a magnificent cattleya orchid, just budding into bloom. The orchid suddenly disappeared from the night before – the flowers and the whole plant – gone! Was it those blasted Toucans? No, our orchid-eater was none other than Iggy, whom we had unwittingly dislodged from an old stone wall pulled down a few weeks before. So he moved to the big Guazuma tree located next to the house where we have a lot of orchids. Had.

March in Michigan…
…is still winter, make no mistake about it. The Lake-effect brings in the snow and, if you see the sun shining bright & sunny through your kitchen window, don’t go outside - not even for a minute - it’s even colder when the sun’s out. Freezing, tear-cicle making cold of the crying kind. Even the kids take regular breaks from ice skating to thaw out their frozen feet. They sit inside, sipping hot chocolate until their feet starts to burn, hot as fire, thawing out slowly, but the kids can’t take the burning pain so they go back out on the skating rink again and it feels better. I know that feeling well.
When it starts to snow, the temperature rises to around freezing point – perfect for skating, snow skiing and building snow forts - winter wonderland fun - the sort that kids live for. Not working adults. Not most adults and certainly Not Gerald.
So why is Gerald flying up to Michigan on March 11th - on his 59th birthday!!!
Because he is a Saint and I owe him. I don’t have my passport this week - our lawyer needed it for residency paperwork – and I can’t travel without it.
Mom is suffering from a horrible case of shingles! She feels intense pain alternating with prickly numbness and has lost mobility of her left hand. On top of that, Cyril is in the hospital with major vascular problems. So even if she could, mom isn’t allowed into the hospital because she is contagious for anyone who has not had Chicken Pox. Both are deeply depressed. Mom is usually a strong, straighten your back and carry on sort of pragmatic, self sufficient person but I could tell by her voice on the phone that we needed to go to Michigan immediately.
…but first I had to get my passport back and sort out construction decisions…and I was so upset by how my mom sounded that I couldn’t stay objective so Gerald agreed to go immediately.
You know that Elton John song: “When you are down, I’ll be your clown”. Oh how Gerald knows how to make us laugh!
So he will go to Michigan and get them howling over his latest batch of bawdy jokes, run errands for them, review health plans, cook lavish dinners, play scrabble, debate Atlantic magazine articles, gape at history unfolding on CNN, soak in the hot tub with grandpa…
Be a wonderful son-in-law. Thank you my love for getting up on your 59th birthday and exchanging paradise for a visit to your sick in-laws in Michigan. Yes, ladies, I am lucky…wait a minute…
…wasn’t that Gerald seen over at Ryan’s Pub in New Orleans? He was standing at the bar with a big crowd until well after midnight on, wasn’t that March 11th?
Well, yes it was. Gerald couldn’t get a direct flight from Costa Rica to Detroit and he needed to pickup some winter clothes anyway so decided to pop into New Orleans for an overnight. Well, two nights actually. And the party’s just getting started down in the French Quarter after midnight. So he had a happy end to his birthday after all!
He continued to Michigan Thursday and called me from Ann Arbor.
Turns out that the weather has turned the corner and Michigan is now basking in balmy temperatures approaching 50 degrees Fahrenheit! I can just see the Frat boys in Ann Arbor, sunbathing up on the roof, relishing the fine weather.
University of Michigan is my Alma Mater. I even send them money once in while, much to Gerald’s chagrin. “Why send them more money after spending thousands already in tuition?” Well, most of us alumni just do. I spent my formative years at U.M. College of Pharmacy, learning, growing, playing and recovering. Interesting, I use my pharmacy knowledge more just living here in the forest at El Tigre – mixing repellant lotions and the like – than working in the hospital or retail pharmacy, where it was more production-line work than truly helping people. I loved working in small, independent pharmacies where I could get to know everyone. Not many of those left now - gone the way of the corner grocery store.
Friday
Talked to mom yesterday and she and Cy already sound much better on the phone. Perhaps other family will also manage to dig out of snow storms and visit as well. Who knows? Gerry might end up with a house full of my relatives up there in Michigan.
Meanwhile, I’m managing El Tigre and dealing with the house renovation. We are well into the finishing phase with a lot of painting and furniture decisions. Can you imagine Gerald left in charge of selecting colors and textures? I’d end up coming home to something looking, at best, like Ye Olde English Pub. Or who knows what. He swears that he’s not color blind but his perception of green is not the same as mine, which he calls blue or grey. We are past the 15th deadline but not by much. April 2nd is moving day!
Latest at El Tigre:
La Tigre came home yesterday morning and she is beautiful. Thank you Sylvia for creating a magnificent Vitral Pintada that captures Finca El Tigre at sunset with a well-fed Jaguar lounging contentedly within a magical, colorful jungle. We have named the stained-glass work of art, what else? -- ‘La Tigre’. The scene changes continuously with the light and shading during the day – and the colors burst forth with backlighting, producing a breathtaking work of art. Sylvia Laks is definitely the artist you want if you’re looking for a stained-glass painted work of art, large or small.

In the forest, we have noted much less leaf drop this year due to the long rainy season. The trails feel much cooler and shadier than typical for the dry season and hiking is delightful. On the down side, we have seen far fewer flowers and seeds than previous, dryer seasons.
No/very few flowers/No seeds – Better luck next year! : Cedrelas, Brosimums, Cojoba arborea, Pseudobombax septenatum, Lysilomas, Terminalia oblonga, T. Amazonia, Bernoullia flammea, Gyrocarpus jatrophifolius, Hura crepitans
In bloom now: Species of Acacias, Bauhinia, Crotons, Cupanias, some Cassias and Sennas, Gliricidia sepium, Ingas, Enterolobium cyclocarpum, Albizia, Miconia argentea, Plumerias, Tabebuias, vines in Sapindac and Bignoniac families. Many herbaceous flowering now – gorgeous Hortiga blooms.
Fruits & Seeds: Thounidium decandrum, Ceiba pentandra, Hymenea courbaril, some legumes, Citrus, bananas, Jorcos- Garcinia intermedia, Luehea seemannii, Guazuma ulmifolia, Ocotea veraguensis, Picramnia antidesma & latifolia, Sloanea terniflora

Construction Sit-Com

How I missed you all at Rosemary’s party! Looks like you had an absolute blast and Jan filled me in on some of the details. Jan, I know everyone wants me to write about the toilet incident on Valentine’s Day. It really is funny and, someday, we shall recount the whole absurd episode to the world at large and laugh about it together - maybe in about 5 years…
Everyone in Costa Rica has hilarious construction and remodeling stories. Like the time some friends instructed workers to re-grout the pool tiles and returned home later to find the entire swimming pool slathered over in cement. Another friend recounted the time when she complained to construction workers about some building materials that had gone missing. As a result, the workers walked off the site in a huff. How dare you accuse us of stealing! Adios, gringos! And our furious friends had to apologize to the thieving bastards to get them to come back and finish the job.
Everybody has hilarious stories and so do we! I begged Gerry to let me upload a picture of him taken last week – his face contorted in utter disgust, as he pointed out a splendid example of a Tico solution to ‘correct’ a defective window installation in the library - but he absolutely refused.
Today, Gerry is relaxed and smiling. Why? Why else - he’s completing final details for his upcoming trip to New Orleans. He leaves early next week and returns in March. The primary purpose of his trip is to bring back vital materials to finish the house. A vital trip this is this is.
Therefore, if you find yourself in New Orleans sometime during the next couple of weeks, you will find Gerald most early evenings up the block at Ryan’s Pub, drinking a pint of Boddington’s and watching football (soccer to us Gringos) with his mates. Arsenal is his team but he will watch whatever is on the screen at the time. I rarely go to Ryan’s Pub with him, except for a quickie half pint before continuing elsewhere. On Halloween, however, we sat at Ryan’s waiting for the Parade. All the usual suspects were there: cats, witches, horny Draculas, transvestite ballerinas, trashy nuns, Willy Wonka Chocolate Nagins, everything that your perverse mind could imagine, and us, crowded together at the bar calmly sipping our favorite beverage.
In the meantime, I need to remain here to keep multiple plates spinning.
Other news:
- The horses broke into the gardens again last night. Kids rounded them up.
- Armando brought home 10 young hens to replace some of the older ones, which will now be retired to the soup pot. Life circles around.
- More hawk sightings now that I have learned how to hear them. Saw a big one just outside the bathroom this morning. Not sure which one because Skutche’s book still in storage. Also spotted several bright red Summer Tanagers in the citrus orchard.
- Tabebuias and Cordias now in full bloom, tons of vines, especially in the Bignoniac and Sapindac families, also many herbaceous, especially Hibiscus and Rubiacs. Many more. Go see the gardens!
- Kids started school. Trying to get Gerry to teach the little ragmuffins down in the Rodeo school proper, British English. He didn’t say no but everyone’s laughing about it around El Tigre

Missed Fat Tuesday

Rosemary looked at me in shock -
Why aren't you in New Orleans?

Construction.

No Fat Tuesday for us. We will likely miss French Quarter Fest as well. Why?

Construction.

We will get to New Orleans for Jazz Fest. No matter what.

2009 - We will be in New Orleans for Mardi Gras - Fat Tuesday - Best thing about Catholicism. They also go all out for the Patron Saints in Spain - Pamplona, Sevilla - the Catholics know how to party. But in the States, there's no party like Mardi Gras in New Orleans. 2009. We will be there.

Lil's 70-ish

The girls came from all over – Spain, Argentina, beach, town and country – to celebrate Lili Hale’s birthday in Escazu. A force to be reckoned with – larger than life – Auntie Mame - and so much more, lives within our dearest Lil. She is beautiful, yes, with sparkling eyes often flashing with mischief. She always knows what you are about. And if she doesn’t know, she wants to know! Lili loves all her children, and yes Lil, all your children love you!
You adopted me as one of your daughters 10 years ago. I’ve been more wayward and negligent than the others. I don’t phone you enough and have never show up to the bridge table, where we could so much more easily catch up with each other. But we never miss coming together for your birthday!

This year, you’ve invited a big bunch of admiring friends to dine with you today – close sisters all – Rosemary, Robin, Roni and Bonny – and other absent sisters in Atlanta and elsewhere, sending you congratulations . You touch so many lives! Who can forget the lovely Miss January in the SASY Calendar – Stop Animal Suffering Yes! So many beautiful animal lovers -– but the number one beauty who nobody shall ever forget is our own, dearest Lili at the piano – “If music be the food of love, play on”…
You had that picture with you in the hospital when you scared us all to death with that close call to your health. Days after surgery, you were still heavily sedated. One day, you motioned me with your hand to come close to you over at the bed. I had to lean over so you could whisper your first words to me after so many scary days of intensive care.
You whispered, “Julia Childs died”…
Obviously, you had picked up that news on the television. And I knew then that you were back with us. Even though you still don’t remember saying that to me, you were back!
And more beautiful than ever at your very young age of 70 - ish! So many lives you have lived! From raising your kids on your own as an Interior Designer for the well-heeled in Michigan, to living your life as only you can here in Costa Rica. You shared your life lessons with me early on when I needed to learn them most. Like during those volunteer days.
You said, “If you don’t wish to do something, don’t waffle and don’t try to please. Just say NO!”
You dish out criticisms to your ‘daughters’ as you see fit – trying to make us better people – and you can also take it! You definitely met your match in terms of intellect and energy with your daughter-in-law, Francie. She is also quite a force of nature and, now that you have smoothed over the bumps of getting to know each other, you two have turned into an amazing team. Who could have guessed that my horse buddy, Francie - who ruined her Peruvian mare by racing her with Matchi - oh how we flew like the wind, week after week, racing our horses up the road from Piedras Negras - would end up as your daughter-in-law. Now Francie has turned your son, Howard, into a horseman also, with the big arena and now the Hacienda in Nicaragua. You definitely attract larger than life people to you!
You once confessed that you can’t abide dullness, banality, stupidity. However, you can even take stupidity better than you can take boredom. Have you ever been bored even for one minute? I doubt it!
We girls sit and listen to you – your stories and your antics. You mesmerize us living life as you do - with your passion. Yes, I confess, we’ve said it to each other: “I can’t wait until I’m 70 and then I can just jump on the judge too and to the Devil with all the gossips!”
But you’re always a lady - impeccably dressed, and with impeccable manners - always. Always kind to people and animals; a bit pushy, perhaps, when you’re returning something - like that blouse you negotiated so hard for. A few days after buying it, you turn around and return it! I still can’t believe you talked me into accompanying you back into that dress shop!
Another lesson from you: life is a negotiation. Some battles aren’t worth fighting, but if they are, win!
Every person at your lunch today has many stories to share. And we shall all bring you precious gifts. I bring to you exotic flowers and herbs from the garden.
Happy Birthday Mom!
From V and all your girls.

Flowering Season has Arrived!

In bloom now: Species of Tabebuia with their blazing canopy of big flowers -yellow and pink blooms - Cortez Amarillo and Roble de Sabana - lighting up the forests and roadways; also, lacy blue Jacarandas, fragrant white Luehea speciosa, Sweet-pea pinkish Madero negro, and other trees ready to pop, especially species in the Melastrome Family and one of my favorite trees, Tucuico (Ardisia revoluto). Also, a slew of herbaceous plants are now in flower - bright orange daisies punctuating a delightful understory of Blue Ginger (Dichorisandra thrysiflora), among many others. Scores of butterflies flutter up around as you move through the pasture trails.

Now’s the time to go hiking or driving along country roads in Costa Rica for the flowering tree show, which continues through April. When the rains begin, other blooms emerge, so the show never really ends. The difference now is the far more dramatic displays put on by deciduous – leafless - tropical trees during the dry, summer months. Pictures abound on the web, so northerners, go check them out!
Notably absent once again this season: we have not seen any of the creamy white Quebracho flowers (Lysiloma sp.s). They haven’t bloomed for two seasons now. They did produce a bumper-crop of seeds back in 2005, so perhaps Lysiloma trees need seasons to rest between bumper-crops.

The horses are living in spa-heaven now, with pasture feed & seeds and NO FLIES. They drink fresh spring water and take mud baths. Life is good for them right now. We love to go out riding first thing in the morning while the air is still fresh. We can hear the Toucans and Trogons singing their certain - I feel rain in the air - sort of song. And always more butterflies fluttering up and around us as we trot through the pastures.

Down below, the charrals are beginning to take on a more orderly appearance, now that the herbaceous plants have started drying out. You can see the trees shooting up everywhere. We’re going on our third season of forest regeneration in these sections. I never tire of wandering the charral - they are places of continuous discovery...

…ring, ring, ring… Time for breakfast!
And then it’s run, run, run - time to keep all the plates spinning, so we can get finished with the house already!

Our neighbor, Gabriella, came over walking with me last week and her parting remark was: “You won’t be done with this by March 15th.”
“Oh, yes I will!” I said.
“No you won’t” she laughed back, and then turned and trotted up the driveway, long, blonde ponytail bouncing jauntily behind her.
Gabriela is this Swiss German beauty who reminds me of the grown-up Heidi image from one of my favorite childhood books. Remember the little Swiss girl who went to live with her grandfather in the mountains? There were a slew of those Heidi books – just like the Nancy Drew series – so we all know that Heidi grew up and went away to College, and received her grandfather’s smelly cheeses through the post!
And Gabriela sort of reminds me of that book-image of Heidi…
Except Gabriela doesn’t hike! She’s Swiss but doesn’t hike! She prefers golf, etc.
Well, all I can say after our morning hikes together is that she hikes the mountain better than most people who say they are hikers!
Always so understated, the Swiss. Gabriela’s married to an adorable grump- kind of like GRAK - who insists that he is only an amateur entomologist, even though he’s conserving the most impressive tropical butterfly collection outside of InBio I have ever seen! All collected at Finca Hamadryas over the years. He even has a butterfly named after Gabriella! If you read German, you can read all about Finca Hamadryas on their web page but best not to link up without getting permission first else notoriously private Paul is liable to set his Rottweilers on me!

The Horsemen go for Curry

Curious tree in bloom now: Rondeletia aspera(RUBIAC)-Panama Rose. You can get more fotos at Manuel and Yami's site: www.elmundoforestal.com

The Horsemen are meeting at Taj Mahal today for curry. That usually means a long boozy affair, which continues on to another pub or out for cards & rutting down at the Del Rey. Today, only 3 of the Horsemen meet at the restaurant, and then the party continues over at the home of Pestilence. I will call Marj occasionally throughout the day to keep tabs on when I can expect Famine home.
By the time you read this, the party will hopefully be over.

On the way out today, GRAK came across our green Jeep at ‘Lubricantes Willy.’ No kidding. You can’t make this stuff up. The greasy gringo working there told him that Janet dropped off the car to fix a low tire. The gringo moved here 42 years ago from California and now works for a local car mechanic. We never knew he existed until today; lots of people like that live all over the landscape here.
I’m staying back at Tigre today, as usual, to deal with tons of issues. For one, the tempered glass for the shower door broke yesterday during installation. One step forward, two steps back.
We’re still waiting for our tempered glass front door that some guy destroyed at our flat in New Orleans. That was 4 a.m. Halloween night. We know because some other merry-maker filmed the whole thing on his cellular phone. Then he went home and crashed and forgot about the whole thing until weeks later. Police now have a copy of the phone-film but the culprits will never get caught, and meanwhile we’re still waiting for the replacement door. Cest la vie in the Vieux Carre. We still love that town!
Wonder how long it will take for the replacement here in Costa Rica?
Okay - the March 14th construction deadline does not include the tempered glass or granite…

GRAK has taken a sudden interest in security. In a prior life, we lived more in a state of Yellow-Alert and even learned advanced driving and counter-surveillance measures. We had such fun bashing cars and shooting paint-balls. GRAK is a sharpshooter, but I’m not bad now that I’ve started using my right hand! Turns out I do some things better with my right hand, even though I’m left-handed. At our last training session, the firearms/security expert said that I was great shot! Not GRAK, but not bad!
Gerry wants the guy to come back in February for another training session. Saturday for the employees and Sunday for us gals! I don’t want to compete in target practice with the employees. No reason to make them feel bad. Hugo was such a lousy shot that GRAK won’t let him near a firearm now. We’re trying to do everything legally and with the proper permits. That’s turned into a part-time job for GRAK, collecting documents to schlep off once again to the ‘Oficina de Armas y Explosivos’ in Zapote, and hoping that this time they don’t send him off again to the ‘Departamento de Armamentos’ in Coronado. He always returns home in a foul temper after one of those days dealing with the Tico firearms bureaucracy.
We train with firearms here at El Tigre so that we can defend ourselves in the event of that necessity.

We don’t hunt here – In fact, the only animal I’ve ever seen GRAK kill was a rabid raccoon in PA. He fired one shot to the head at 150 meters or so and the raccoon died.
Nor do we allow hunters to invade the forest. If we hear dogs and hunters, we go find them and ask them to leave. If we hear a lot of shooting, we call MINAE to help us get them out. As word has gotten out, we rarely have to deal with hunters now. We would actually like a larger corridor to bring in more wildlife and genetic biodiversity, but at least our remnant appears to be in balance. We see animal tracks near the streams and near trees where they feed on fallen fruit. Armando can identify animals by the tracks they leave behind.

This morning, while hiking with Flopsy, we came across a coral snake squiggling away from us across the trail and down into the forest. They are such timid little things - venomous, yes - but they have such a little mouth and so shy. One time, Wendy Brady and I came across what we thought was a dead Coral snake. We poked it with a stick and it squiggled away.
Anyway, while down in the forest this morning, I noticed once again that the trails are all squeaky clean this season. All the leaves have been swept away and the trails are almost too tidy. I noticed it first when I started walking alone with just the dogs. Armando still accompanies me on all the long hikes down to the waterfalls but, now that I’ve learned the ropes, I can manage the charral and secondary trails quite well on my own. Either Gerald told him to look after his daft, klutzy wife or Armando took the initiative.
Time seems to expand down in the forest. What feels like hours might only take minutes. That’s why I’m often late for breakfast – the minutes do add up. Mountain hiking feels like doing Taiji and Pilates alignments all day long. Now I understand what Elliott said. BTW, Elliott, heard about your awesome gig at the beach with the guy from the Grateful Dead. Did you upload everything to YouTube?

Patricia comes over tomorrow for a Taijiquan session. She’s good for the ego. Whenever I think I’m training pretty well, she comes over and puts me in my place. I’m trying to convince her to learn Mandarin with me and maybe then we can train in Beijing with Fan, if he accepts us as students. He will definitely accept Patricia – she’s got 25 years of experience over me and is a natural at the martial arts - trains with Zhang in SanFran! What do you say, Patricia? Want to go to Beijing?

Thanks for writing, G. You were my first real friend at an age when I was still carving out roles and identities, like dresses in a boutique…
…actress …chemist…writer…botanist…dancer... you could see me through all the roles. And in that frenetic whirl of adolescence, girls running in packs, you were a major settling influence. Please give your family a big hug from a grateful childhood friend.
P. Thanks for helping me stay with the Work, despite major second force, GRAK-force.

Why do this?

Why do I write this blog? I hate the word but the format serves a purpose. It gives me a release for the need to write. I used to handwrite long letters to friends and family and send them off in the post. And sometimes they would respond! I just loved opening the envelope and then feasting my eyes on the lovely prose of say, soul-mate of gardening, Marjorie Swenson. Remember those days? Everybody loves opening handwritten letters from long-distant friends. There’s something about putting words to paper with a pen – requires ordering your thoughts. You are directing all your thoughts and meaning to your friend.
Then we all switched to emails. And everyone teases me about my long, often boring, sometimes tedious, rarely entertaining but always way too lo-o-oong, blah, blah, blah.
Well guess what pals? I’m not writing anymore emails except those one or two liners that everybody else writes – see u fri at 12pm, my house, xxooV. All my other blathering will be done here. Only close friends and family read this anyway and I’ll have a record in case my laptop crashes again.
My mission in life is El Tigre- that’s what I mostly write about. But the contribution goes well beyond me or words! When you stand on Tiger Hill and look at the hills beyond the forest, you can still see barren landscapes where decades of cattle ranching completely decimated the forest. Still, the forest advances from El Tigre and Rodeo Protected Zone. Other locals have decided to allow the land to regenerate naturally to forest. More and more people have stopped using the land for livestock or agriculture and allowing the forest to return. Neighbors don’t need to plant anything- the seeds come in via bird courier courtesy of Zona Protectora, El Rodeo. The forest is getting bigger! Someday, we imagine hooking up and becoming part of a wildlife corridor between El Tigre and nearby national parks like Caregre or even Carara!
Perhaps in my lifetime, the Jaguar might even return to El Tigre! Our dogs won’t like it but the idea is that there will be enough prey in the forest to support once again the big cat. Right now she is struggling even in huge forest areas like Osa Peninsula. I was furious a few years back when a crowd of ‘valientes’ killed a poor, confused Jaguar who wandered onto the hills of Escazu. They killed the last male living on that terrain! But there is hope even for a remnant forest like El Tigre! At the moment, reforestation is in fashion. Some people think they might actually get paid money for protecting a forest – kind of like getting paid a carbon credit from polluting countries. It really doesn’t matter to me what the motivations of forest owners. The forest grows!
And in a world that feels increasingly unstable and in places, verging on chaos, the forest is a comforting place. When I’m in New Orleans, feeling heartsick and missing El Tigre, Nancy Adams takes me to sit in her lovely garden uptown. It’s a magical place – you can sit in the midst of her flowers for hours. Perhaps everyone should at least have a potted plant to have some kind of connection with nature.
To me, nature is a conduit for waking up. It’s hard to put into words. Those who do The Work, describe waking-up as an experience following much effort and diligence of doing the Work…self-observation…casting light on behavior ….remembering self…becoming vitally interested in ‘what is’…facing bumps and shocks as a challenge. There is much to the Work that I’m not ready to write about. Those in the Work would admonish silence. Yes, I read Emerson and Thoreau.

More from El Tigre

Housekeeper Janet smiles at prospect of getting out of here for a much needed vacation!
I’m writing this from TexMex over my first glass of wine. No Wi-Fi at Tigre yet but coming soon – 6 months some say, which really means 2 years, but soon-ish. Then I can catch up on my correspondence. I’m really sorry for not writing personally to you, but only have a chance to check my Gmail account once a week or so. Luckily, Gerry deals with all the business-related stuff a bit more frequently. He’s been great about running all the admin and construction-related trips outside of the Finca, and that’s when he can catch up with emails over a coffee or something stronger.

Actually, GRAK is glad to get away from El Tigre for pretty much any excuse. He’s got a big smile on his face today because he needs to fly back to New Orleans for some finishing items for the house. He‘s planning the trip now but I’m not going.

I’m not budging from Costa Rica until the house is finished - Punto! I have now committed the end-date to paper. We will throw a party for construction and household staff on March 14th and move our container of furniture out of storage and into the house on March 15th. The inauguration for all our friends will be soon afterwards - before we go back to New Orleans in April. But in order to make this happen, we are on the move all day long and exhausted at night...

…and missing the holiday parties and opportunities to see some very dear friends living here in Costa Rica. Happy New Year everyone!

It’s especially hectic now in January because all the employees want to take vacation and we have to work double time to keep the place running smoothly. Armando is off this week, and next week Janet is taking the kids and heading to the Manuel Antonio beaches for a little R&R. She has been running both the household and construction support-tasks for almost two years now, including during all our months in New Orleans, and she is, therefore, SO out of here.

Now I know that my family and northern friends are just crying – buckets, I’m sure - over the fact that I now have to clean my own toilets for a week while the housekeeper is on vacation.
Actually, I don’t mind house-cleaning because it gives me a chance to get into the corners and discover things. I especially like cleaning the pool. You can dredge and skim up some really bizarre insects first thing in the morning after the battles from the night before. Some night, we shall have to take a flashlight down to the pool to really check out all the action!

So due to staffing issues, I have even less time for hiking out in the forest with friends. After vacations, I will plan a hike in February – will email details soon.
All botanical visits remain postponed until after Jazz Fest, 2008.

Rosemary, I love you for picking up that matted dog and taking him home. He is your Flopsy.
Jan, those were great pictures of that Boa constrictor living in your car – and Bless You for not killing him, but rather taking him out to mate with the female Boa living near your stables. You will never have a rat problem at your stable and you won’t need cats (much as you love them, but hey, you’ve got cats at your house in Barcelona). And anyway, as we know only too well, you can’t mix cats and/or small dogs with big Boas. Remember that Boa in Ciudad Colon that ate my favorite cat, Grisela?

I do plan to upload pictures sooner or later, but if you want to check out some gorgeous photography of Costa Rican trees and forests – some of which were taken here at Finca El Tigre, go to this website: www.Elmundoforestal.com It’s in Spanish but the pictures tell a large part of the story. If you want to ID something, go to InBio.co.cr (Instituto de Biodiversidad) in Costa Rica or for plants, try MOBOT.org (U.Missouri Bot.Gard.) and go into their incredible database of plants, many with pictures.

Horsey Friends – Fly Season is finally over! Come on over and ride with me. During the current construction period, I can only ride Mon-Wed-Fri at 7:30AM. Please call my cellular to confirm if you plan to ride over with your horse or need one of our horses. After construction has finished, my schedule will be more flexible but for now, once those horses stampede out to pasture, it’s adios until suppertime.


As all locals know, construction workers in Costa Rica usually sleep or play football during lunchtime. This has been the case with our guys, although they don’t play football so much anymore after losing a slew of soccer balls to the forest. Anyway, I walked up to the house during lunch hour and found our stone-man, Rayo, reading the Bible. Like an idiot with a big mouth (I know, Georgina, I am quite hopeless), I told him something like it was great to read the Bible, and recommended that he try Ecclesiastes for something really sublime. Next day, I arrive at lunchtime to see Rayo reading the Bible to all the construction workers. But they weren’t lapping it up - they just sat there with vacant expressions. As I walked past, the Maestro de Obras, Carlos, glanced up at me and his eyes told me what he was thinking, “We’re putting up with this because of you, but we don’t like it!” My eyes answered back, “Understood”.
That was the last Bible reading at El Tigre.

I’m on my second glass of wine. It’s time to eat else GRAK will have to carry me out again.

Big Green Monster Flies

They’re big as horse-flies, lime-green in color, with transparent-blackish wings that whirr fast as a hummingbird’s as they hover in front of you, checking you out as possible prey, whirring away fast as a UFO, back and forth, buzzing, hovering, and -!- landing on my horses! Now I can really see the little bastards! Monstrous looking creatures, that look like something out of a science fiction film – and they torment my horses! It’s been a rough week, but we finally got ahead of them. Had to experiment with a combination of repellants and remedies to help heal the ‘thank you Maam’ sores left behind from snacking on Vulcan and Matchi! I’ll spare you the details. I need an entomologist-veterinarian to help us identify, understand and better defend against this dreadful green monster fly. Help us entom. friends!
Thankfully, Lucero and Solo both seemed immune to the bite – in fact, they mostly managed to avoid getting bitten at all by flicking the tail or just doing that muscle-twitchy thing, which doesn’t allow a bug to land. I can feel Solo muscle-twitch when I ride him, so I always know when a fly has landed on him because he goes all bouncy on me. Out in the field, we can just go for a flying gallop and leave all the flies behind. But in pasture, the horses don’t gallop around to unload the flies. They just continue feasting on the wonderful Tanzania grass that we planted for them last season. I guess fine dining helps to take their mind off of the pain! In any case, Vulcan and Matchi just let the flies bite them, and also they’re not yet as immune as Lucero and Solo. It makes sense because Lucero and Solo were both born here in El Rodeo. Matchi, an Arabian-Peruvian mix, comes from La Garita, and Vulcan, our beauty, came from Guanacaste. They have to spend a few more years adjusting to the local flora and fauna and build up their resistance, just like us humans! Everybody who first visits the tropical forest from northern climates needs to undergo a process of acclimation (Gerry insists the word is acclimatisation – those wacky Brits). And give yourself a few days in the shade before heading out to the beach, or else you will be done before you start! I always suggest to visiting friends that they start with the forest and end at the beach.
Flowers are late this year, due to the rainy season we had. No blooms yet from Yuco (Bernoullia flammea), and only a few trees from the Tabebuia species and Gallinazo (Schizolobium). Not a ‘light up the forest with dazzling orange’, as is usual with Yuco. Also, we noticed that the Quebracho trees (Lysiloma sps.) haven’t flowered for two seasons. We had a bumper crop of seeds the season before. Not sure if it has to do with the species or the season. The Pseudosamanea is in bloom and looking very much like the Guayaquil that it actually is – creamy-white flowers. This might be heresy, but I’m beginning to suspect that species shift according to environment. Is it the same species or can the environment change the species and we give it another name? Do certain environmental conditions cause the gland in the Samanea petiole to swell and become apparent – making it a Pseudosamanea? Does the same tree change by adapting to the environment or is it really a different species? I did see both Samanea and Pseudosamanea next to each other at Kathryn Kostka de Tanzi's finca, so tend to believe that they are separate species, regardless of the environment, yet…. We shall need to do experiments on this. We have several Pseudosamanea (think they’re gonna change that genus name to Albizia, not sure) that look so like Samanea saman, that we have to point out the petiole in the center of the gland and/or the creamy-white flower to convince visiting botanists and foresters! In fact, it’s in flower right now! So everybody, who thinks the tree is a Cenizaro, come on over! You won’t see pink flowers and we’ll show you the gland!
Lots of Poro (Erythrina sp.) in blazing orange bloom along the highway from Rodeo to Ciudad Colon to Escazu.
Also, lots of bird activity, with all the bizarre bugs that have come out of nowhere this season. Saw a pair of yellow-breasted Trogons this morning. Not sure if that’s the correct name because our Skutches book is still in storage, because - yes, yes - we are still deep in reconstruction. Just as an aside, Gerry is pining and grousing and bitching, and now insisting, that he’d had quite enough of it all and is planning a trip back to New Orleans in February for a little R & R - and decent food and wine - and civilization, culture, jazz…

Flopsy Saved!

Flopsy leads Spot and Sol around Higueron in high speed chase a few days after his close call.
It was touch and go – very scary. We really thought we had lost him.
I got up yesterday morning and for the first time in Tigre history, Flops was not at the bottom of the stairs waiting for me. I raced to the laundry room, where he sleeps at night with Spotty, and found him lying on his side, belly tight and swollen, partially conscious but just. Something very bad was killing poor Flopsy.
Gerry had mentioned the night before that Flops seemed a bit droopy. We were sitting out at the pool at the time, Flopsy resting quietly beside us, while the other dogs roughhoused all over the place. I didn’t notice it at the time because Flops usually doesn’t roughhouse anyway. Now that memory came back in light of the alarming new symptoms. This was serious! Janet helped me settle Flops in the battery room, where we examined him more carefully. His situation was beyond the vomit stage. Whatever he ate sometime ago was now wreaking havoc with his intestines.
We raced over to the stables, rummaged through the animal medicines and found what we needed. After giving Flops a dose of a broad-spectrum quinolone and parasite medicine, we decided to watch him until 8AM, and if he didn’t improve, we would take him to the vet. I tried not to cry but couldn’t help it. I was so afraid that we might lose poor Flops and I just couldn’t bear it. Not after losing Samantha to that awful snakebite. Not Flopsy!
The morning crawled by and Flopsy slept. At 7AM, his belly was still bloated but softer. He had not vomited, and so the meds had reached the theatre of action. He began drinking water at 8AM and eating at noon.
This morning, Flopsy woke me up with his – woooh, woooh, wooooh! We went out walking as usual. Did the meds work or did he just get better anyway? Who knows!
Flopsy lives! All is well in the jungle.

Tigre Reporting at Christmas

Spotty joins the horses out in the first pasture.

It’s good to be home. I was even glad to see the leafcutter ants – as they busily dismantled and carted off the Ylang Ylang tree. Rascals!
Gerry lasted less than a week before returning to New Orleans… Ostensibly to return our Chesterfield sofa back to the manufacturer for repair. Yes, yes, that’s true. What’s also very true is that GRAK was only too relieved to get back again to New Orleans…N’awlins….The Big Easy… good music, good food, good booze and good friends…even if just for one week.
Respite from…the dust…construction…workers everywhere…welding, sanding, painting….
….over to Janet’s kitchen for breakfast….to the kids, cats, dogs ….each wanting attention and affection all along the way, to finally, the kitchen table and breakfast- coffee and fruit- all fresh and delicious from El Tigre orchards…
…but wait! Where was Victoria?
Down here in the forest with Flopsy. Sadly, we lost Samantha to snakebite this past September. A Terciopelo bit her in the neck. Sammy went sniffing where she shouldn’t have and…we couldn’t save her. All the rest of the pack is fine – their instinct to please is stronger than their instinct to hunt, which better assures their survival in the forest. When I yell ….Come! Heal! Sit! Stay! They (mostly) obey.
Sammy was a poodle/Pekinese mix some call a pekapoo – a sweet little thing with a killer instinct. She would ignore my hollering to ‘COME!’ and continue pursuing prey, no matter how mad I would get at her. The vet told us that even if she had survived the snakebite, she would have just gone right back out there and hunted again.
Is your dog a natural born killer? How does he respond when you ask him not to chase a squirrel?
In our experience, the best dog for forest living is the mixed breed – Zaguates they call them in Costa Rica – like my little dog, Flopsy. We got Flops from some Animal Rescue friends who rescued him from a very bad man who tortured his dogs to death. The neighbors complained about the yelping and our friends went in there with the police and got the dogs. I’ll write about the Animal Rescue girlfriends another time. Suffice it to say they are drop-dead gorgeous women with whom the normally ahorita police are only too happy to drop everything in order to escort them to the crime scene. Flops came to us with broken teeth and ribs.
He’s fine now and walks with me everywhere. He doesn’t hunt or chase prey while hiking, so he won’t get into any trouble. We will get old together, Flopsy and me, walking companionably together down in the forest…
…and stopping often. Listening to the whoooooosh of Aracaris flying above us, feeding on the massive Higueron trees; warblers flitting everywhere; monkeys up there too, the males moving closer, throwing a branch down at us now and then, but half-heartedly, not like before when Sammy would go ape-shit barking at them. We are just getting used to each other, aware that we are harmless to each other. Little by little, when I stay very still, the animal presence makes itself seen and heard. Flopsy sits quietly at my side.
At last count, El Tigre has a pack of 9 dogs and 10 cats. Skinny Bones, a scrawny cat, showed up while we were in New Orleans and was accepted into our pack. Why so many cats and dogs? Well we prefer them in the garden to venomous snakes, who hunt the same small prey. While we’ve had casualties – Lucky and Luna to Bufo toads, Maggie and Pipsy to the forest - more abandoned animals find their way to us, quickly replacing those lost.
When you go to the forest, please do not abandon your dog or cat there. I’m sure YOU wouldn’t, but so many other people abandon their animals out in the country. The poor animals usually die a cruel death. If you see a dog or cat meandering aimlessly or sitting along the road, pick it up and take it home. It has just been abandoned. The lucky ones get adopted by the locals. But usually, the other resident dogs drive them away to fates unknown. That’s the way it works in the country.
If you can’t place an abandoned dog yourself, as a last resort take it to the shelter. Once, we took a rescued dog named Piglet to the animal shelter in Heredia and he was adopted that same day by a nice couple wanting a small dog as companion to their Labrador. We gave the shelter manager, Lilian, a nice donation for helping to bring animals and people together; a much happier scenario than leaving him in the forest, where many perils await the domestic animal. Just as one example, we saw a huge Boa Constrictor the other day that could easily eat Flopsy for breakfast. The tropical forest is a scary place – our animals stay clear of it unless walking with us. You won’t see dogs wandering around by themselves in the tropical forest.
But for us visiting humans, the forest world is a source of wonder.
There is much to observe and study….measure K-species growth, identify flowering vines, experiment with plants – like the one in the ASTERAC family that the local indigenous Shaman says will produce an energy boost….hmmmm…coffee tastes better and its caffeine works better. Forget about it! I’ve had my fill of masking nasty tasting drugs during all those years in the pharmacy. Mostly, I’m taking my time, just enjoying the forest - waking up to it. There is so much living to do there…
….The phone’s ringing. It’s Gerald. I’m late for breakfast again.
Gerald is grumpy - very grumpy. He’s just estimated that the renovation work will require 3 more months, despite assurances to the contrary by the Professor-Architect. And this revelation has greatly annoyed him. Granted, the road washed out a couple of times during the rainy season, making travel all but impossible. But let’s get the job done already! Get going man! In your dreams! Our construction crew plods along slow but sure. They do good work -NO roof leaks after the worst rainy season in 30 years – but sooooo slooooooow!
On the bright side, the Solar system is working much better, now that Carlos has installed the new batteries (DEKA Unigy II). During this whole episode, we’ve learned more about electricity than we ever wanted to know, but that’s the consequence of becoming independent of the electrical company. You need to study a lot and/or find a good Solar Engineer. We use Carlos Oreamuno from www.consenergy.net
Why solar power? Because there is no electrical line on the road and we don’t want one. Our Swiss neighbors feel the same way. The best neighbors are the ones you can’t see. They’ve also gone solar. The other night, Gerry asked me why we used so much voltage. “Don’t have the foggiest idea”, I answered, while breaking up ice-cubes for his gin & tonic. Our Swiss neighbors will laugh at that one!
Apart from the usual employee bickering, the household and stables are running smoothly now, with several projects in the works. Gerry is particularly interested in renovating the horse stables and has undertaken an exhaustive investigation on the treatment of wood. His partner in this endeavor is none other than Dr. Bob from the Tex Mex, Santa Ana, who knows a lot about wood. He ought to – Tex Mex is lodged in an old structure entirely built with almond wood. Dr. Bob has seen it all – termites, ants, mold, you name it. He and Gerry regularly meet to discuss the wood issue and everything else over a Margarita or three.
We’re spending Christmas and Boxing Day with the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse up on Barva Mountain, along with their respective families, entourages and menageries- a real collection of characters. It has been a hellish year for all, especially Pestilence. Famine – Pestilence – War – Death - they love each other like brothers and will spend the week hanging out together over copious amounts of refreshment and the odd bottle of vintage port, etc. The rest of us will put up with them as best we can…
Merry Christmas to you.
Happy Chanukah.
Pax Vobiscum.

I want to go home now!

Matchi at home grazing in Los Alvarados pasture. It's time to go home. Yes, New Orleans is also home - especially to the old sod. But El Tigre is really home. Home, home to perfect spring-like weather, rainy or dry, it's always the same, 70 - 85 Farenheit. Home to the forest. Home to our dogs - I can see them now, racing over to the car as we arrive, barking and jumping all around and plunging right inside as soon as I open the door; Spotty landing on my lap, licking my face and then jumping over to Gerald. Gerald sputtering but smiling. Now Flopsy's inside. The others wait outside but surround us when we finally emerge, small dog under each arm. Now the big dogs have their chance to greet us, leaving dusty paws all over our clothes.

Janet and the kids will come out and help us with luggage. We go inside to her kitchen and find the cats, all meowing and wanting to get petted. I walk over to the stables where the horses have already settled down in their stalls for the night. They knicker when they see me. Did I bring them a banana to eat? The barn cats are out and about, meandering with any stray chickens who managed to ignore the evening call to the hen house. Some of them prefer to face the predators than to sleep inside at night. They mostly survive, thanks to the stable cats and dogs. I hang out at the stable for a while, talking to Jose. How are the pastures? Fencerow repairs? Gardens doing okay? Nice way to spend many hours. But all too soon, I hear Gerald yelling at me to come back to unpack.

Then the walk to the house. Will it be done? Of course not. I know for a fact that they haven't even started the kitchen or any of the closets. Will at least one bedroom be ready for us to sleep in? Most likely yes - Janet will have seen to that. But will the bedroom actually be 'done' as in renovated? Quien sabe! The endless renovation is not something I see in mind's eye here in New Orleans. It's better that way.

Back to reality here in New Orleans. It's cold here. I'm sleeping in late - yes, I've been thoroughly GRAK'ed! I do get in Taiji practice but not much else. We do feast like kings. Regularly. Visit delightful new friends and spends hours wandering the old city. The street car returned to St. Charles a few weeks ago which connected us back to friends uptown. At this point, the city very much looks the same as it did before the storm. The conventioneers have returned, filling up the Vieux Carre with merry makers. Music is everywhere. Life is good in the Big Easy.

Some people wonder why we moved to the United States. Gerry's from London and has made his opinion of the States quite clear over the years. But we don't live in America - we live in New Orleans! There is no town quite like it anywhere in the world. That's why Katrina evacuees still pine to go home, even after finding jobs and settling their families in places all over the country.

That's how I can tolerate being away from El Tigre so long. Not sure if I could handle it anywhere else. Time for dinner. We're going to Emeril's new casual place called NOLA.