Weekly Photo Challenge: New Life From Above

“The trick to forgetting the big picture is to look at everything close up.” ― Chuck Palahniuk

And, I might add….from above. Mama hen stepped off her nest to get a bite to eat. While she was gone, a chick hatched.

Life is all about perspective. The little chick could have thought this:

“The hens they all cackle, the roosters all beg, But I will not hatch, I will not hatch. For I hear all the talk of pollution and war As the people all shout and the airplane roar, So I’m staying in here where it’s safe and it’s warm, And I WILL NOT HATCH!”~ Shel Silverstein

Instead, the chick thought this:

“Ready for a new life” ― Sylvia Plath

Meanwhile I thought this:

“If you want a new life,  first give praise for having the old one!”
         ― Stephen Richards

Weekly Photo Challenge: Heads Up!

Life is a balancing act. You need to keep your head up and your feet on the ground, while allowing your heart to go wherever it pleases! ~Susan Gale

I spend entirely too much time with my nose to the ground in Nicaragua. There are hidden dangers lurking in the forms of scorpions, red ants, and biting centipedes. Yet, I need to remember that life is a balancing act. There are beautiful surprises awaiting when I choose to hold my head up high!

Coconuts, the life force of Nicaragua.

Hidden among the fronds are vampire bats.
Our Peras are ripe. A new batch of apple sauce and Pera pie is on the way.
The bananas have a couple of months left before they are ripe.
If we can only keep the Howler monkeys from nibbling on the bananas!
Our orchid is blooming, strung high in the nancite tree.
Marvin’s welding mask is strung high in the water tower. Our new water supply is almost finished.
My new Moroccan lamp shines colorfully in the darkness reminding me to keep my head up and my feet on the ground, for life is truly a balancing act.

My heart will always be free to roam, wherever it pleases. Thank you, my precious Nicaragua.

 

Battling Bugs

Chayules…swarms streaming…clusters congregating…gnats gathering…masses mobbing
My house is overflowing…jam-packed…filled to the rafters…overrun with chayules.
To complicate matters, we haven’t had any running water for two days now.

This is the price of paradise. Living lakeside creates some challenges: Chayules are my number one challenge. Two times a year, when the wind shifts and blows from the lake, millions of chayules hatch. They live for 3 days and cover every surface. Nothing is sacred. Nothing is out-of-bounds.

They are relatively harmless little gnats if you don’t mind breathing, eating, and sleeping with them. Lacking running water, the rinse water for my dishes is now a swimming pool of gnats. I had chayule flavored coffee this morning, as I picked them out of my ears and nose. Unable to cook, I ate sandwiches on the beach yesterday. Oddly, they weren’t swarming on the beach…only in our houses.

My neighbor’s kids spent the day at the beach. They helped me gather trash that had washed ashore. We played and bathed in the lake. Marina started a fire on the beach and cooked rice. It was a pleasant afternoon, as long as we stayed out of our houses.

But, when darkness blanketed our beach community and we turned on the lights in our homes, the chayules were unforgiving. Fans swirled the gnats like little tornadoes. A whispering buzz filled our homes, warning us of an impending attack. Babies cried. My cats swatted the gnats relentlessly. There was no escape until the lights went out.

At seven o’clock in the evening, La Paloma was dark. We all sought refuge under our mosquito nets ( those of us who have mosquito nets). When I awoke this morning, all was eerily quiet. Mountains of dead chayules dotted the floors. Carcasses clung to the walls and spiderwebs like curtains.

It’s time for the leaf blower. Living on the beach is challenging at times. Yet, I’m determined to make the best of it. We’re going to invest in a water tank and a pump. It’s easier for me to deal with the chayule attack than to live without running water.

You are probably wondering why we continue to live here. Honestly, the challenges of third world living have made me a better person. I’m more flexible and less stressed… more giving and less greedy…more tolerant and less unforgiving. The intangible qualities of life attract me. Soothing…speculative…mythical qualities. Sometimes it’s like living in a fairy tale.

Well, back to reality. It’s leaf blower time! Maybe today we’ll have a dribble of water. The price of paradise. Is it worth it? You betcha!

swarms of chayules

a chayule swimming pool

dusting every surface

Three Little Kittens

Last July, we had a rat problem in the garden. We didn’t want to use poison because we have ten free-range chickens, plus all the neighbors chickens and other critters come to our gringo house to graze.  Instead, we contacted a friend who lives in Granada to see about getting a cat.

We consider ourselves to be dog people, and we weren’t too familiar with the ways of cats. We only wanted one cat, but things didn’t work out that way. “Will you take two kittens?” Carol asked. “They are brother and sister. Poor babies were thrown in the Granada dump,” she pleaded. I relented. What’s one more kitten?

A few days later, the foster mom of our two kittens called. “I just got another kitten about the same age as the brother and sister,” she said. “They love one another. This little kitten was thrown over a wall in Granada and left to die,” she pleaded. I relented again. What’s one more kitten?

When the kittens were old enough to be spayed and neutered, our foster-mother took them to a free clinic in Granada operated by Donna Tabor. See her blog here with heartwarming stories.

Last September, we became full-fledged cat people. Our cats have adjusted to life on Ometepe Island. There is never a dull moment with Black Jack, Queenie, and Ocho.

Sleeping between our laptops

Ocho loves to fish

Bringing the kittens home

Chickens? Oh boy!

Naptime

Queenie is the queen of the finca

Always sucking on one another

Their first ferry ride

Time to relax

Ocho curls up in my pottery shards

Curious kittens inspect the construction site

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: I Once was Lost but Now Am Found

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

In our last trip to Playa Gigante, I got lost in the expanse of the beautiful desolate beach.
Yet, hidden beneath my feet and within the broad expanse, were wondrous details.
Ancient trees told tales of weathering storms and drifting among the high seas.
Their branches pointed to places they yearned to return, as they whispered harrowing tales of long ago.
Barnacles clung to a new life.
Flowers and gently sailing leaves landed silently in tide pools, floating peacefully.
Snails left trails of tears as they meandered through the sand.
The amazing grace of this wondrous miniature world saved me. I lost my place in this huge world, but found it again through the miracles beneath my feet.  I was blind, but now I see.

Place Where the Gods Pee

About six miles out of Moyogalpa, one can find a tranquil emerald-green pond called Charco Verde.  The lagoon is an extinct parasite crater of Concepcion Volcano. Steeped in legends and mystery, Charco Verde was a sacred spot for the Nahuatl ancestors, where the indigenous population practiced rituals such as sacrifices, reincarnations, and supplications to the gods. The algae infested lagoon was called Xistletoet by the Nahuatls, which means “Place Where the Gods Pee.” They did have a sense of humor!

Today, Charco Verde is a protected nature reserve where many varieties of local and migratory birds congregate, as well as Howler monkeys, armadillos, rabbits, and deer. Walking the well-maintained trails through the dry tropical forest that surrounds the reserve, we encountered herons, monkeys, cormorants, egrets, woodpeckers, magpies, and a variety of tropical plants and trees.

Fishermen cast their nets daily.

Gardens display duendes, sort of like mischievous little gnomes or leprechauns hidden among the foliage.

Map of the 1.7 kilometer trails through the reserve.

Majestic Concepcion volcano casts its enormous shadow into the green lagoon.

Herons and Egrets wait patiently for breakfast.

Zapolotes or buzzards circle the lagoon, always picking the ripest morsels of flesh.

This tranquil lagoon has a history of magic and witchcraft. Read the Legend of Chico Largo here.

The Howler monkeys take daily siestas in the tree tops. This little one says, “Who’s there?”

Cowboys herd their stray cattle back home. Who knows? This cow may be the cowboy’s father who made a pact with the devil. Legend has it that one can call forth the devil in Charco Verde, trade one’s soul for riches, and when the devil recalls the soul, he turns the deceased into a cow. Our local butcher says he found several cows with gold teeth.

No need to be petrified about these legends. Life in Charco Verde is abundant and full of vitality. Next time you are wandering around the lagoon, watch out for the cows. It could be a deceased relative.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Love as a Dove

“We must combine the toughness of a serpent with the softness of a dove, a tough mind and a tender heart.” ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

High in the rafters of our porch, pairs of doves return during their mating season to display their affection and faithfulness, their love for each other..for doves mate for life. These emblems of love represent our lives on Ometepe Island for several reasons.

First, the dove is a traditional symbol for love and peace. I like to think of myself as a messenger for peace, spreading the word that tolerance and fairness is possible in this troubled world of ours.

Second, we live in the tiny community of La Paloma, which in Spanish means ‘the dove’. La Paloma is a model of peace and understanding. We blend our cultures successfully in our community; I feel that we represent a microcosm of how humankind should respond to one another in our troubled world.

Finally, Ron and I are committed to sharing our lives together. We have been married 37 years…a commitment of love, faithfulness, and trust that is sadly lacking in our troubled world today. Spread your wings..love as a dove..and go with peace and understanding…for that’s what love is all about.

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Delicate

If we are forced, at every hour, to watch or listen to horrible events, this constant stream of ghastly impressions will deprive even the most delicate among us of all respect for humanity. ~ Marcus Tullio Cicero
( ancient Roman lawyer, statesman, orator 106 BC-43-BC)

Life is delicate. I was reminded of this when 20 children were senselessly slaughtered in their classrooms, when I watched CNN for two days, horrified and shocked at man’s inhumanity to man.

Delicate new life on the finca

Life is delicate. I was reminded of this when a new born filly was delivered on our neighbor’s finca Saturday morning, wobbling on her long, unsteady legs, while my kitten, Queenie, watched in fascination.

Rafiella and her newborn

Life is delicate. I was reminded of this when the newborn filly suckled, and when Rafiella gently licked her fuzzy foal to clean off the afterbirth.

Marina and her grandson, Dustin

Life is delicate. I was reminded of this when Marina tenderly bathed her grandson, Dustin, while he watched the newborn filly learning to walk on long, spindly legs.

Don’t fall!

Life is delicate. I was reminded of this when Marina warned Dustin, “Don’t fall. Be careful.” Life is a delicate balance… a wobbly first step on long spindly legs…a desire to spread your wings and fly without fear, without reservations…leaping into the unknown, for that is what life IS…a leap of strong faith in the unforeseen future.

Everything you see exists together in a delicate balance. As king, you need to understand that balance and respect all the creatures, from the crawling ant, to the leaping antelope -Mufasa ~ Lion King quote

Hug your children today..tell them you love them.

…written in loving remembrance of the delicate lives lost.

Blood Sport

On weekdays, Marvin and his sons work hard building houses and designing iron furniture, gates, and windows. But, when the weekend arrives, they spend their time the way most macho Nicaraguan men do: training roosters to fight to their deaths with small razor blades attached to their legs.

Like NASCAR is to rednecks, cockfighting is a cultural event of grand proportions in Nicaragua. All sectors of society are brought together to pop beers, place bets, and cheer on their favorite cocks in the ring. Living among galleros (those who train and fight the roosters), it seemed only fitting that I should learn more about this gruesome blood sport. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to attend a real cock-fight. I’m a chicken when it comes to blood and a frenzied fight to death.

So, when we were invited to Lauren’s 10th birthday party (Marvin’s daughter) and I spied cages of courageous cocks, my curiosity overcame my fear…only to explore this violent sport that brings out the machismo in most Nicaraguan men.

Marvin’s son proudly introduced me to the champion cock. He was three years old and had won the last three fights in a dirt ring at Johnny’s bar on the beach. I wondered how they choose a champion and Alejandro explained that it is very similar to training a boxer. When the chicks hatch, they are carefully monitored for the strongest and most aggressive roosters. Apparently, roosters are born with a congenital aggression toward all males of the same species and they quickly become natural enemies.

The cocks are given the best care until near the age of two years old. A good training program involves running the roosters to build stamina, and throwing the bird in the air over and over to build wing strength. Their lower bodies are plucked of all their feathers, and their skin is massaged daily with the juice of sour oranges and lemons. This treatment hardens the skin, making the cocks less vulnerable to punctures and pecks from the opponent. I do know that the sour orange juice makes a delicious marinate for grilled chicken, so it seems to me that when the dead cock goes into the cooking pot after losing the last battle, it is kind of like a well seasoned Butterball turkey.

They demonstrated a practice fight for me. First, Marvin’s son shook the brown rooster in front of the champion, taunting him to fight, like a shake and bait tease.

The champion stared down the shaken brown rooster, waiting patiently for his opponent to be released. In less than a minute, the practice fight was over. Basically, there was a lot of squawking and strutting by the cocks, and a lot of cheering and clapping by the birthday party goers. This was my kind of cock fight…no injuries…no blood…and wholesome entertainment for everyone involved.

Marvin’s other son, Jose, lovingly held the champion once again after the practice fight.

In order for the rowdy roosters to train for the added weight of sharp hooks or razor blades, and to feel comfortable in the ring with little daggers strapped around their legs, they wrap a nut in a soft piece of leather and strap it around one leg of the cock.

In a real cock-fight, the birds are equipped with either metal spurs, called gaffs, or razor blades tied to the leg where the bird’s natural spur used to be. They often remove the natural spur of the rooster, and sometimes the comb and wattles are cut off to protect the gamecocks from their opponent’s sharp claws.

The champion pounces on the loser. Five minutes later, the little brown rooster hobbled out of the practice ring. They explained that in a real fight at the local arena at Johnny’s Bar, the roosters are weighed first. Then, the razors or hooks are strapped to their legs, the bets are cast, the beers popped, and the fight begins. The frenzy flapping in the rings lasts for 15 minutes, or until one bird dies in the ring. The winner recuperates for several weeks before the next fight, and the loser is thrown in a pot for a soup befit a Monday morning hangover.

This is the closest I will ever come to watching a gory, bloody cock-fight. I don’t think I will ever understand this cultural blood sport, but then again, I could never understand NASCAR either. Below is a video of a real cock-fight in Nicaragua…if you dare.

A video of fighting cocks.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Thankful

 

Recovering from Dengue fever (undiagnosed, but I had most of the symptoms) has left me spiritually, physically, and emotionally drained this month. In my delirium, I had a difficult time finding something for which I could be thankful. My eyeballs felt as if they were going to burst right out of my head and every bone in my body ached. I guess that’s why they call it Break Bone fever. I’d lay in bed moaning, unable to eat, read, or sleep.

But, in a strange kind of way, the little click..click..click of the geckos playing and running up and down the walls were reassuring to me. They kept me grounded and just thankful to be alive. I’d watch them scamper from ceiling to wall, seeking insects and sometimes love. I wondered how they stuck to the walls and what would happen if I covered the walls with grease. Would it become a giant slip and slide?

Did they feel dizzy hanging upside down? Were they aware of my three kittens eying them suspiciously? What would it be like to regenerate a body part? Sometimes, they’d fall from the ceiling to the tile floor with a SPLAT. Did they hurt as much as I did?

Since there was very little I could do, the reassuring click..click..click of the geckos kept me focused on their antics, instead of my pain. It reminded me of using meditation and breathing techniques for natural childbirth…riding the big wave through each contraction…listening intently for the reassuring clicks of the geckos…I’m still here…I’m still alive.

For that I am very thankful. I’m on the slow road to recovery…with a little help from my clicking gecko friends…keeping me grounded…focused…and constantly entertained.

Little Things That Go ‘Bump’ in an Expat Night

 

I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear. ~ Nelson Mandela

Fears! Things that go ‘bump’ in the night! We all have them. How we handle fear determines what kind of life we will lead…shackled or challenged…intolerant or tolerant. Throughout my life, I have learned the hard way; it is much easier for me to make friends with my fears than avoid them or deny that they exist. It hasn’t been easy, particularly living abroad, where a whole new set of fears have been unleashed. The fears that go ‘bump’ in my expat life certainly are different than the fears I faced in the states.

Below are some of the ‘little’ fears, mainly bugs, parasites, and viruses…oh my!, that I have developed in living on a tropical island.  I’m facing them…one at a time…but how does one make friends with some of these wicked things?

A scorpion with hundreds of babies found on our roof tile

Scorpions! I have never seen a scorpion before moving here. Wicked, primitive creatures! Why are they on earth? This one has hundreds of baby scorpions clinging to its back. If they sting, supposedly one’s tongue goes numb. If that happens to me, I couldn’t even cry out a pitiful, terrified call for HELP! Ron says, “Face it, Debbie. Someday, you will be stung!” It gives me nightmares! That’s why I’m raising free-range chickens. My little chicks love scorpions and other nasty creepy crawlies.

A Bot fly emerging from a man’s head

OMG! Parasites! I knew we made a horrible mistake watching, Monsters Inside Me: Animal Planet. Half the world’s human population is infected with parasites. I don’t want to be a statistic. Although we have city water, we sterilize and filter it daily. Once a month, we gulp two yellow parasite pills…just in case. Oh, I’m shuddering at the thought of this Bot fly emerging from my scalp someday.

Chagas Beetle

I guess the Chagas beetle would fit into the category of parasite, but it needs special attention because it is emerging in Nicaragua as the new ‘Aids’. Known as the kissing beetle, it bites the face of a sleeping victim, then defecates in the bite. It leaves behind a tiny parasite that can lie dormant in the body for years and years. There is no cure, but once the parasite takes hold, death quickly follows. Fortunately, only 2% of the population of people who are bitten by the Chagas beetle, have grave symptoms. But, I’m not taking any chances. We sleep blanketed under a mosquito net.

Dengue! Severe dengue is a leading cause of illness and death in the tropics. Transmitted by mosquitoes, there is no known vaccine to prevent infection of the dengue virus. I know at least five expats who have had a a mild form of dengue. When I say mild, I mean severe headaches, high fever, nausea, vomiting, and muscle and joint pains. Severe dengue is a potentially deadly combination because it causes hemorrhaging throughout the body and respiratory distress.

So, how do I make friends with the fear of dengue fever? I take precautions, especially in the rainy season. Fans run constantly in our house to blow away intruding mosquitoes and other flying insects. Yet, we rarely see mosquitoes. I think the reason is because we live on the lake shore and there is a constant breeze. We sleep under mosquito nets. Although it is impossible to have a house completely free from bugs and other flying insects, we have screens on our windows, and shuttered window panes that we can close at night. I’m stocked up on Skin-so-Soft, purchased from my neighborly Avon boy. I swear, Skin-so-Soft works to keep the bugs and biting insects at bay.

We caught two mice in one trap!

During the rainy season, we have a problem with mice and rats. Recently, everyone I’ve talked to on the island is trying to figure out a way to get rid of the mice and rats. We’ve tried traps, but many of the rats take the bait…oh they are very intelligent critters, like the Rats of Nimh. They are eating all of Ron’s soybeans and sweet potatoes in the garden! We can’t poison them because it is too dangerous with our little chickens free-ranging.

Two September’s ago, when we were building our house, a traveling doctor and nurse came door to door dispensing powerful antibiotics to prevent Leptospirosis. It is a bacterial disease caused by rat droppings, which contaminate food and water. If you really want to be freaked-out by the number of diseases rats carry..check out this website: Diseases Caused by Rats.

I’m chuckling to myself as I write because I have a lot of friends who freak when they encounter bugs, insects, and rats….I don’t think they will be coming to visit us any time soon. But, these are things one needs to know when considering living in the tropics. One can choose to be paralyzed by fear, or accept the many challenges in dealing with the little things that go ‘bump’ in an expat night. This is reality! We learn to take the good with the bad, create inventive ways to prevent the boo-boos and bumps from occurring, and gain more knowledge everyday along the expat road filled with creepy crawlies that go ‘bump’ in our lives.

 

 

Meet Napoleon

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Another miracle on the finca. Napoleon was born at 3:30 pm on June 5th. We have been anticipating the birth of Napoleon for a week! Tuesday morning, Marina came over to our house to borrow my cell phone because she didn’t have any minutes on hers. “Princessa is sick,” she said. “I think she is going to give birth today. I am very nervous.”

Marina called the vet first. Then, she called everyone she knew to come and celebrate the birth of Princessa’s calf. “I’ll be the photographer,” I commented. I’ve helped to birth thirteen babies and a litter of piglets. However, a calf was a new experience for me and I opted to watch instead.

At 1:30 pm, Princessa was in heavy labor. I googled “how long does it take a cow to deliver a calf” and according to the site, the new calf was due within an hour or two. The vet arrived just in time. He gently pulled on the calf’s hooves and Napoleon popped out like a big ole slippery seal.

Sometimes I feel like I’m living in the old TV series, Green Acres. Farm living is the life for me!  I am proud to report that Princessa and Napoleon are doing well. Princessa is full of milk and baby bull Napoleon is a happy camper.

Next, we’re going to learn how to make cheese and yogurt. Stay tuned for the Gringa Gourmet..NOT  recipes.

Blowin’ in the Wind

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

How many weeds can a woman pull
before you call her a woman?
How many days can a hatch of chayoles exist
before they are washed to the sea?
Yes, how many times must the coconuts fall
before they land on your head?
The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind,
the answer is blowin’ in the wind.

My apologies to Bob Dylan for my horrible lyrics, yet this song has cycled through my head all day. I think it began when I was pulling weeds under one of our coconut trees. I am obsessed with clearing the jungle. In my fixation with the weeds, I neglected to consider my location on a windy day….under a 30 ft. tall coconut tree. Fortunately, I beat the odds, but the coconut landed uncomfortably close to my feet. I read that 150 people die a year from falling coconuts. My neighbor was hit by a falling coconut several years ago. She was rushed to the hospital with a concussion. She survived. It was too close for comfort, so I ran into the house to sweep out the mounds of chayoles ( little gnats) that carpeted my house after a giant hatch the night before.

The chayoles arrive at the beginning of the rainy season. They annoy the hell out of me for about three days, then they die. They don’t bite, but for three days, we eat chayoles, breathe chayoles, and sleep with chayoles because they are so miniscule that they can easily pass through our mosquito net. See my post, Sometimes Paradise is Hell: An Oxymoron Story

My deceased friend, Bobby, had a clever way to rid his house of chayoles. He bought an electric blower and blew the tiny suckers out of his house. So, last year, I returned from the states with a new electric blower. I was determined to blow the chayoles from every nook and cranny in my house. Believe me when I say those annoying little gnats get into every crack, too.

What a disaster! I didn’t realize the electric blower had different power speeds. I had it turned on hurricane force. Geckos were flying out of cracks in the walls. Toad lips were flapping like parachutes. Dust balls sailed over my ceiling fans, gathering speed, and twirling like a Tasmanian devil. The mountains of chayoles filled the air like a wind storm in the desert.

When I directed the hurricane force blower to my bookcase…that’s when I knew I made a big mistake. Bobby’s ashes were sitting in a small urn on the top shelf. They flew off the shelf like a convict fleeing for his life, the urn broke, and his ashes scattered in the wind. “Oh Bobby,” I cried. “I’m so sorry.” “What do I do now?” I wondered. I grabbed my whisk broom, swept Bobby up from the floor, and took him to the garden.

Bobby’s tortoise, Cuba, is hibernating in a dirt mound in our garden. I gently sprinkled Bobby’s ashes over Cuba’s mound, and told Bobby to wake up Cuba because the rainy season has begun and Cuba should be done with her long winter nap. I felt so guilty! How could I be so stupid?

Now, you may think I’m crazy, but I think Bobby communicates with me through the wind. When I returned to the house and turned on the blower, I heard Bobby say, “Hallelujah! Free, at last!” It could have been a piece of plastic flapping around inside my blower  or my imagination seeking forgiveness for blowing Bobby’s urn off the bookshelf. Either way, I laughed and the song Blowin’ in the Wind recycled through my brain once again.

The chayoles are gone until next year. Bobby is lovingly sprinkled in the garden…one of his favorite places, and I’ve taken a break from weeding under the coconut trees…for now.

The Seed Swap

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Our island of volcanic rock, isolated by miles of sweet sea in every direction, was completely separated from the rest of the world. As Ometepe Island emerged from the majestic Lake Cocibolca, new species of plants were introduced by the birds and animals hardy enough to survive the journey. Seeds hitched a ride to the island hidden in the plumage of birds. Insects and spiders probably rode the wind to Ometepe.

Over time, new species of plants and animals were introduced by sweet sea-faring visitors and indigenous tribes who were called by a vision to settle in the land of two hills. The arrival of mankind permanently severed Ometepe Island’s isolation, thus introducing a variety of animal and plant species not native to the area. Today, the steady traffic of ferries to and from the island brings a constant stream of invasive species.

We are also guilty of introducing new species of plants to the island. My friend, Carole, smuggled a sweet potato in her luggage, and now Ron is known as the sweet potato king of the island. Is this a bad thing? I’m not sure. All of the new species smuggled, exchanged, and carried to the island immediately begin to compete with native species, and the native species almost always are on the losing end of the battle. Several years ago, expats started a Tilapia farm on the Maderas side of the island. Some of the Tilapia escaped, reproduced rapidly, and continue to compete for food with the native fish species, Guapote.

Last week, we were invited to a seed swap on the other side of the island. Among the seeds and saplings, we found a Jackfruit tree. A.heterophyllus-jackfruit(1)  In researching the Jackfruit tree, I found that it was introduced in Brazil as a reforestation project. This program was the first Brazilian initiative to recover a forest ecosystem previously devastated by sugarcane and coffee cycles. However, the Jackfruit has become an invasive species. The rainforests have suffered major impacts due to biological invasion, and Brazil had to start management and control of this invasive species.

I don’t want to start an invasion meltdown…it’s quite a dilemma. I enjoy my sweet potato pies and Jackfruit cookies. On the other hand, the introduction of non-native species negatively impacts our fragile ecosystem. The statistics are startling and more attention must be paid to the problem. Awareness is the first step.

Fortunately, most of the seeds and plants at the seed exchange were native species. The locals have an astounding knowledge of the medicinal uses of all the plants and trees on the island and I learned many uses of the seeds, barks, leaves, and roots of the plants. It was a great day on the other side of the island. Enjoy my slideshow trip.

 

Reflections on a Gift of a Golden Hen

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

When Marina saw that Goldie, her hen, was laying on three eggs below our pollo grill, she said, “Now, she is your hen.” We never intended to be chicken farmers, but a gift of a broody hen is very precious in Nicaragua. How could we refuse?

Marina stole eight more eggs from another broody hen, adding to our three from Goldie. Eleven fertile eggs. We tended to Goldie’s needs for 22 days. In the late morning, when the sun had sufficiently warmed the nest, Goldie descended the wooden ramp and clucked loudly at our front doors. Anticipating her call, I threw small pieces of ripe papaya, mango, and sprinkles of bread, rice, and chicken feed to her.

Two days after Easter Sunday, the first three eggs hatched. We wondered how Goldie would get her chicks down from the nest. We also wondered what would happen to the remaining eggs that had not hatched, yet. Goldie waddled down the wooden ramp and camped out under the nest. She gently called to her chicks, but the chicks wouldn’t budge.

“Should we build a slide so the chicks can slide down the ramp?” I wondered. “How about a mini-trampoline? Or maybe if we put a bale of hay under the ramp, the chicks can have a soft landing.” The waiting was excruciating.  The chicks refused to budge.

With helping hands, we carefully scooped up the chicks and placed them on the ground near Goldie. Everyone needs a helping hand occasionally, right? What a dilemma! What would happen to the eggs that were almost ready to hatch? How could we protect the chicks from predators, especially the giant Hurracas ( big blue jays that gobble up baby chicks like cotton candy)?

Goldie took her newly hatched chicks into the jungle of our yard. They stumbled over dry leaves and rotten mangoes, while the Hurracas circled overhead. I had to stand guard, watching over my precious flock. “That will never work, Debbie,” Marina shouted across the fence. She quickly crossed the barbed wire fence with a long piece of rope. “Grab the chicks, and I’ll get the hen,” she ordered. Before I knew what was happening, Goldie’s leg was tied to the rope and the other end tied to a chair on my porch. I scooped up the chicks and gently placed them beside her. She didn’t look very happy to me. Disgruntled, she eventually settled down and eyed me with suspicion.

We tested the remaining eggs in the nest. Marina shoved the eggs near my ear and said, “Listen!” Amazed, I could hear faint taps on the shells from within. She scooped up the eggs, all except for one rotten egg ( Why is there always one rotten egg in the bunch?), and put them in the nest of her other broody hen.

The next morning, there were eight chicks poking their tiny heads out from under Goldie. Marina had quietly slipped the newly hatched chicks in the temporary nest while we were sleeping. That afternoon, she returned with two more fuzzy balls of downy feathers. Ten precious chicks.

However, the temporary shelter would never work because Goldie got tangled in the rope. We found her with her leg hung in the air and her chicks trying to keep warm under her suspended leg. She looked like an awkward ballerina. Poor Goldie. Ron quickly constructed a new home in the pollo grill and surrounded it with rolls of screen.

Goldie and her chicks are much happier, now. They can peck and chirp and cluck to their heart’s content. In another week, we’ll open the screen and allow them to wander the jungle of our yard during the day, and return them to their screened chicken house at night.

I’ve been researching chicken tractors. I can’t understand why no one in our neighborhood protects their chickens. They are free-roaming and the casualties are great. Finding the eggs is a daily treasure hunt. I already know that I’ll never be capable of eating Goldie’s first hatch. I’ve named them after the elements in the periodic table: Boron, Chlorine, Carbon, Iodine, Lead, Mini-me ( looks exactly like Goldie), Krypton, Calcium, Helium, and Neon. Gender neutral names until we can determine the sex of the chicks.

Everyone, including Ron, thinks I’m crazy. But, I’m really enjoying my first experience as a chicken farmer. A gift of a broody hen is a precious gift in Nicaragua, a gift that deserves only the best of care…my little precious elements are growing rapidly.