Wild Horses, Market Gazing, Adios Mrs. Chicken
When a frog jumps onto your patio during the dry season out of nowhere, you know it’s time to terminate the on-again, off-again body of water near your house, dubbed “Lake Lundgren” by Olle. Since we arrived in September, every time we do laundry - usually it’s Miriam - a small swamp forms just outside our shower, the low point of our yard. During a big laundry day (say 4 days worth of clothes, most of which are downright filthy due to the volcanic soil and dust), Lake Lundgren can get pretty big and when water from four daily showers and washing dishes combines (our house was built so that everything drains to the same place) it can be a legitimate bog. In the rainy season, it often remains for days. During a recent de-weeding, ant-infested raking session near the lake, we finally had enough. Not only was it getting really smelly, but we were worried that it might provide a breeding ground for mosquitoes, who up till now have made only sporadic visits. We borrowed a shovel and a cova (awesome tool that breaks up even the hardest of rocks) and together Miriam and Cully built two matching channels, one leading away from the shower-sink hole, the other from where the laundry water pools. Thanks to a little engineering, Lake Lundgren is no more, in its stead are Moat Olle and Moat Harlan, which we are monitoring closely after each water use to verify that the engineers we hired were worth it:)
Our family has received at least 50 or 60 wasp stings since we arrived. It usually seems to be Harlan (often while just sitting innocently in one of our 4 rocking chairs) or Miriam (usually doing laundry) that get stung the most, although both Olle and Cully have had their share of stings, one of Cully’s landing in his mouth during a soccer game, the other on his upper lip, making it exceedingly difficult to adequately relay his experience about raking peanuts for future consumption by Don Lionel’s horses to the family one morning. There are many different kinds of wasps (huge black ones with a really loud buzz, tiny black ones that frequent our kitchen window, more traditional yellow-jacket looking ones) and sometimes its easiest just to assume they are all dangerous. Again, people from Tololar are generally not scared in the least. Wilmar must have had 25 of the small black ones and 3 or 4 yellow-jacket looking ones (later found to be conchitas) surrounding him when he did laundry one morning. He very nonchalantly explained that the conchitas could in fact produce a pretty good sting but that the black ones were no problem unless you really aggravated them, almost demonstrating the type of aggravation he was talking about for Cully and Miriam. Co-existence has a special meaning here in Nicaragua.
Add Veterinarian to the list of Miriam’s medical talents. A few days before Christmas, Nestor’s horse ‘Blanco’ (we thought Blanco was Don Lionel’s but apparently he was just horse-sitting for Nestor) came walking back home. He had been gone for about a month, having left one day to graze, as he often was allowed to do, and not come back. Nestor and Carlos had taken the moto out several times on unsuccessful reconnaissance missions and they had given up hope that Blanco would ever be found. When he reappeared one afternoon, his ribs were showing even more than usual – most cows, dogs, and horses here are pretty skinny to begin with – and he had a nasty wound on his back, right where his mane ends. At first it looked just like a bunch of bloody dirt but as Nestor cleaned it, a much larger gash was revealed, accompanied by a horrific smell of rotting, infected flesh. The large wound was accompanied by several smaller cuts and scrapes and the general consensus was that it was the result of a fight and a bite from another horse. Others thought it may have also been a vampire bat, matching the exact location where Don Lionel’s horse had been sucked. Nestor and Miriam took turns cleaning the lesion and pushing out the copious amounts of puss, while Blanco tried to lick it, shivered with pain when they touched it, and bucked or scraped his feet in protest. Marden arrived unannounced and quickly returned with a cleanser he had used on his pigs that he thought would work. The triumvirate of Marden, Miriam, and Nestor cleaned, scraped, inspected and disinfected the gash, all the while assuring Blanco that everything would be okay. They worked for almost two hours, past twilight and into the darkness, undeterred by multiple mosquito bites, a flock of chickens in the trees above them, and the frequent fly-bys by a local family of bats, roosting along with the chickens in the nearby trees.
Once they cleaned Blancos wounds, they turned to Don Lionel, who had prepped his horse and been waiting patiently for an application of disinfectant by Marden, Don Lionel’s horse’s previous vampire bat bite wound still not having fully healed.
The rainy season has officially ended, and now summer has started in El Tololar. That means that we won’t get any more measurable rain until at least May, and that the heat will start to gradually increase, reaching a sweaty, dusty, needing multiple showers a day apex by late April, or so we are told. Summer here is also accompanied by strong winds, which started in mid-December, much earlier than normal. The wind can be really powerful and quite dangerous, knocking over our dinky Christmas tree (along with Fernandos Christmas ornament balls) that we had unsuccessfully duct-taped to the floor on multiple occasions (not so bad), and blowing down a large, metal section of our rain gutter, almost onto Miriam’s head (not so good). The wind blows pollen and dust around a lot, requiring the Lundgren family to be on a 24-hour regimen of allergy medication, and also necessitating an additional budget line item for tissues (usually paper towels and toilet paper). The dry, windy weather makes our clothes dry pretty fast, as long as we can locate them after various length flights off our clothesline and onto the ant-infested ground, clothes pins taking first position on our current weeks shopping priority list. It wasn’t long ago that we longed for dry weather during a midnight rain-sweeping session on our patio, and now we’d pay a few cordobas just to see a little rain. That’s life here in a small, impoverished Nicaraguan Village. Life is never easy. You deal with the challenges (be they weather, health, education or job-related), and you rely on family and friends for help.
A Haitian proverb is the title of author Tracy Kidder’s excellent book, “Mountains beyond Mountains.” It is significant because it really makes sense for all of us, no matter where we live. The proverb basically says that we shouldn’t expect things to get easy. Life is not about arriving at a destination but about a process of growth, and of meeting challenges head-on. We hike one mountain (or experience a difficulty in life) and we should be ready for the next challenge (or mountain), because as sure as the sun rises, it will be waiting for us, rising in the distance. At first glance the proverb can seem depressing or uninspired, “So you mean life is just a series of trials and tribulations, one after the other?”, one might say. “Where is the fun in that”? But when you really think about it, the proverb can invigorate us and provide a context for a life of purpose. We wake each day with a mountain in front of us. It is not an obstacle, but an opportunity; an opportunity to be the best hiker we can be that day, to hike mountains not alone but in community with others. For us, life in Nicaragua is a mountain and an opportunity. And there will be another mountain waiting for us when we return and re-enter life in the states, in some ways the biggest challenge of our trip. What is your next mountain?
We walked by a boy in the crowded market near the cathedral. He was laying on his back in front of his mother’s food stall, looking up at the sky with a serene face as people bumped, jostled, and shoved their way past, many likely oblivious to his presence. What was the boy thinking? What was he dreaming of? Maybe it was his love (like ours) of city markets, lively places, the hearts of many cities, where people from all walks of life come to buy and sell, jumbled together in a miasma of rainbowic (it should be a word) colors and smells. The cathedral market place (Leon’s cathedral is the oldest in Central America) is a place where you can (and will) find most anything, especially food. Piping hot, steamy soups with hunks of meat-covered bone of unknown origin (Cully thumbs up, Miriam thumbs down), freshly made corn tortillas, delicious fruit juices squeezed before your eyes, fried chicken and pork, accompanied by various sauces, and sweets, lots of local breads and deserts that can make you fat just by looking at them.
Maybe the boy on his back was dreaming about his next meal, what he would eat for lunch on that bright sun-shiny day (that is if his Mom could make enough that morning selling tortillas). Or maybe has was day-dreaming about someday going to college, if his Mom could sell a lot more tortillas. Maybe we all have a little bit of day-dreaming boy in us, a need for a space to look up, to allow the busyness of life to pass us by for a moment, while we imagine possibility…
Caramelo the pig, a 200 pound sow, gave birth to five piglets, all breach, between about 8pm and midnight on December 23rd. We knew Caramelo was pregnant, but assumed she still had a few weeks to go. But when Carlos came over asking for our ant killer spray to rid the birthing area she was preparing of biting ants, we knew her time had come. After dinner we, along with various members of the Rivas family, set up shop outside Caramelo’s quarters, some sitting in chairs, others standing, chatting or cheering each time the massive pig moved or grunted. It was like watching a baseball game – similar starting time – or a movie, Miriam even considered making popcorn. The cheers got louder at about 8:25, when neighbor Miriam came over to tell us that piggy # 1 had been born (Harlan and Olle had just bedded down themselves). We went right over as # 2 was getting ready. It was a comical scene. The two Miriam’s on either side of Caramelo, petting, whispering encouragement, and gently helping her push. Carlos was playing catcher at her rear end, calling out directions (‘one more push, a little harder, inside curveball’). Cully and the boys to the pig’s side, videoing and likewise providing verbal encouragement. After several brief appearances of legs, a few final pushes by Caramelo and the Miriams, and a nice pull by Carlos, a slimy, pink oinker popped out. Her eyes were closed, and she spent the next 30 minutes attempting to suckle, usually unsuccessfully, in part because every several minutes one of Adilsa’s dogs would attempt to get a closer look. Figaro, Adilsa’s kitten who is really cute but gets into everything, kept attacking the newly born pig’s still attached umbilical cord, thinking it was some sort of special treat. The whole experience was new for us, and we couldn’t help but think it was like a version of the Christmas story, being surrounded as we were, perhaps like Baby Jesus, by pigs, cows, dogs, chickens, and cats. Actually, it really was like the Christmas story. Mary, like Caramelo, giving birth amidst the dirt and dust of a barn, the bright, rural stars shining overhead. In that sense our friends here in many ways have a much better understanding then we do of the meaning of Christmas, experiencing the dirty, raw, organic nature and reality of life in a visceral way, every day.
The day after Caramelo gave birth, we witnessed death. A big Christmas Dinner was being planned, and six chickens were to be slaughtered for the feast the day before. We missed the demise of the first two, only coming upon two limp, still feathery birds when Adilsa called us over from across the fence line to help her pluck. We spent a good 30 minutes chatting and plucking breasts, heads, wings and butts, stopping only to wash the sticky feathers from our fingers. We did see the third death. We had been sitting and chatting with the family, having just exchanged Christmas gifts. Carlos was sitting in a chair, listening intently while stroking a chicken sitting on his lap. At some point he got up and called us to come around to the back yard, where we witnessed a few neck swipes by his machete. Once the blood had drained, Adilsa brought the chicken into the kitchen to show us how you get it ready to pluck, plopping it in a boiling pot of water just long enough to make feather removal easier. We always knew those plump breasts you buy at the supermarket came from somewhere, and this experience gave us a better appreciation for the work and sacrifice that goes into it.
No one really takes much time to name their animals here, largely because they aren’t expected to stay around that long. Even getting Caramelo the pig’s name out of Carlos was tough, him seemingly making up the name on the spot to please us. But we have on our own named Adilsa’s two dogs, initially erroneously and now just because its kind of funny. They are Sale (we pronounce it Sally) and Fuera. ‘Sale’ basically means leave, and ‘Fuera’ means outside. The two dogs just don’t understand boundaries, and want to always be part of the action. Hence whenever a few people are gathered chatting, you often here the names (actually commands) ‘SALE’, ‘FUERA’. For some reason the little dog gets told to leave more, while the larger one gets told to go outside, and so to us, they are Sally and Fuera. They are cute dogs, but have a habit of itching themselves, eating our cat food, digging in our garbage and hunting our rabbit, and so we are happy to continue to, affectionately, tell them to leave and go outside.
Olle loves little things, especially animals, one reason we now have a large rabbit in our kitchen that eats and poops too much and most likely a pregnant kitten with morning sickness that lolls about all day on our bed. They were both really cute when we got them though :) That desire for another small animal, this time a baby chicken, sent Cully and Wilmar on a nighttime motorcycle ride through the dusty streets of Tololar in search of a ‘pollito’. They first asked at the house nearby that breeds chickens, but they only had one left, and it was sick. It was suggested that it would be good to inquire at another house, but they only had a really little chicken that still required it’s mother for warmth. It must have been strange, two people knocking on your door out of the blue in the dark, with the strange query. ‘Hi, I’m the new Gringo who lives down the street. You may have seen my family and I over the past few months on the bus, or running in the peanut field. Yeah, well, my son wants a baby chicken for Christmas, and we thought you might have one. Can you help me?’ The nighttime chicken run was ultimately unsuccessful, and so our house remains occupied by only two juvenile animals, Olle for the time being having to be content with playing – and then sometimes eating - our neighbors chickens.
Grandma and Grandpa’s arrival on December 26th was as anticipated an event as any of us can remember. We have now been in Nicaragua for just over for months and we (especially the boys) were absolutely giddy about getting to be with Grandma and Grandpa, the boys understanding that undoubtedly grams and gramps would fulfill their relational duty to spoil their grandkids, which they did with gusto. They rented a 4 x 4 truck (very smart move) and together we drove through and around Managua, Leon, El Tololar, and the nearby beach communities of Pone Loya and Las Penitas. We only got really lost on New Years Eve in Managua, receiving no less than 5 sets of different directions before Grandpa had the brilliant idea of hailing a taxi to escort us to our destination. We laughed, cried, swam, ate, drank, walked, drove, and sung our way to an amazing week that proved to be a much needed refresher and morale booster for all of us. And thanks to multiple hot showers, Familia Lundgren came away cleaner then we’ve been since August! We are so thankful for the generosity of spirit that Grandma and Grandpa shared with us and with El Tololar. They came to our house on two occasions to get a sense of our life here, and the whole Rivas family loved them, remarking on multiple occasions on how young they seemed. They were also duly impressed with Grandpa’s soccer playing skills!
Perhaps the most rewarding part of Grandma and Grandpa’s visit was a stop at the health center in El Tololar on their last day. The center’s doctor had previously given us a wish list of medical supplies that they most needed. Grandpa had found a way to requisition virtually all of it. He and Grandma ‘smuggled’ the goods into the country – along with lots of soccer balls and baseball gloves, the gloves for some reason receiving the greatest scrutiny by customs officials, as if their true intention was to initiate a covert baseball league that might one day play a role in overthrowing the government – and brought a huge duffel bag to carry them all. They included everything from glucose strips, to surgical gloves, to stethoscopes, bandages, suture kits, and a baby scale. The doctor, who had a chance to see these goods only after Grandma and Grandpa had left, was over the moon. Small things, big impact. Gracias, Gracias, Gracias!!
What’s the big deal about a chair? Normally, not much. But when twelve plastics chairs, two rocking chairs, two fans and a table show up at a health center where people previously were forced to sit on the floor or a concrete slab while they waited for medical attention, butts (especially) and their owners get really happy. A good friend of ours provided funds for the above supplies, which we were privileged to help deliver to the health center along with our Tololamos friends, Beto and Adilsa, on January 3rd. Two women with babies were escorted to the rocking chairs, the plastic chairs were quickly occupied, and the doctor (she is awesome) came out to give a speech of thanks to Tololamos, while another patient made her own remarks about how big of a deal a chair really is to a sick person. Small things, big impact. Gracias, Gracias, Gracias!!
New Year’s Day brought us both the departure of Miriam’s parents as well as our first official sting by a scorpion. Cully was doing some post holiday clean-up, and took the opportunity to open the bedroom window to air out the dust and week’s worth of accumulated bug detritus. He simultaneously saw something move out of the corner of his eye and felt a sting on his right hand. A mid-sized scorpion came into view, falling into a pile of assorted shoes, sandals, boots, and a guitar. Miriam and Cully quickly found the scorpion (alacron in spanish) in the shoe pile and killed it – actually quite easy to do - in short order. Local stories they had heard of the power of scorpion stings (about three times as bad as a wasp sting, can make your tongue go numb, severe joint pain, dizziness, etc ) came flooding into Cully’s head but after a few minutes, his hand had only swollen a skosh and the pain was much less than expected. Somehow, the scorpion had partially missed – more likely due to it being startled from its slumber then any lightning-fast reflexes on Cully’s part – and we came away with a good story rather than a dusty, motorcycle ride to the hospital in Leon.
Asking for directions in another language and country is always an experience, especially so when flat tires get involved. Grandma and Grandpa Muntz had just treated us to an amazing mangrove forest boat ride cruise that included about 30 sightings of various local birds, a possible but unconfirmed crocodile sighting, a lone racoon, several large termite nests, a golden orb spider, and four recently born baby turtles at a hatchery that were awaiting their release into the ocean that afternoon. Upon parking for lunch after the tour, Miriam noticed that the rear, right tire of our rental truck was mostly flat. The parking lady told Cully that there was a tire fix-it place in the next town and while the others waited, he set off. An elderly, toothless man relayed that down the road, in the other direction, there were in fact two tire repair shops, both recognizable by old tires set on the side of the road. The first tire sign was a bike tire, and the staff (a father and son working out of their house) instructed Cully to continue on to the next, larger sign, at which point he should turn to the left and ask for Javier. Some 200 yards further was the sizeable car-tire size sign, but upon turning onto a small dirt road, none of the four children playing soccer knew anyone named Javier who fixed tires. Cully followed a separate lead down another road, only to encounter a dead-end and a police station across a fence line, none of the cops knowing definitively where you get a tire fixed, but feeling pretty confident that a guy named Lollo (Javier was now out of the picture) fixed tires out of his house, located a few streets down. A failed attempt or two later finally brought Cully to a side street and face to face with a smiling Lollo, who filled the tire, diagnosed that it was only a small leak, and promptly charged 100 cordobas for the air, and no doubt the experience!
How dare you chop down those trees? That was a first thought, when we heard the buzz of a chain saw and witnessed three eucalyptus trees falling to the earth, two fence lines over from our house. For goodness sakes birds live in those trees, but more importantly they provide an excellent background for our morning exercise/quiet times, and the wind that gently caresses their leaves in the morning makes us feel happy, and damn, we just need that little slice of happiness sometimes. But in reality, it’s not a big deal to lose those trees, and we aren’t so bummed that our halcyon days of selfish-tree bliss are over. Why? Because those trees, like everything here, serve a purpose. They will be the frame of a new tower, reaching to the sky, replacing the old tower (which after seven years succumbed to weather and an army of termites) that holds the water tank that irrigates – and therefore provides life – to Don Lionel’s corn field. We lost a couple trees; the family will receive a continued, sustained supply of water to their fields. Ask any farmer, that’s a big deal! And, P.S., the guy who cut down the trees is a wizard. He used a chainsaw (motosierra in Spanish) to not only cut down the tree, but to cut the planks for the tower…perfectly. This guy was like Rembrandt with a saw, carving and creating perfectly, symmetrical planks with a freaking chain saw. But that is par for the course here. Out of necessity, creativity and artistry are born.
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