Forces at Work

There are strange forces that act upon our world, turning it inexorably towards the future. Usually we are in sync with them, understanding them intuitively and matching ourselves accordingly, but occasionally we will be out of step, or they take an odd turn, and we are reminded that there are things we just don't get, and maybe never will. Yet the wheel keeps on turning, and those things that are ground down take on a new shape that matches with world and are back in sync.

For us, these forces peeked out through the chickens.

One day, as Lisa and I lounged in our hammock together, the heat of summer slipping through grip of another soggy winter, I whispered to her, "Look at the chickens." I had to whisper, for the forces of the world were strong and strange. I immediately knew we were out of step with them. Lisa raised her head from her book and gave a little gasp.

All of the chickens that are normally in constant motion (peeking, stratching, clucking, raping or being raped, and generally annoying us) had been pushed down on their sides with just one wing or leg sticking out. Or maybe as if they'd fallen out of the sky, but chickens don't fly and they weren't hurt. It was an odd position, and one that they seemed unable to overcome. A rooster might try to stand up and peck at a hen, but after moving for a second or two, they'd lay back down in the same position. We were fine, but the planets must have lined up funny for them. Maybe Jupiter was in the chicken coop.

This went on for a half hour or so. The weather was warm, but not too hot. The breeze blew, but not too hard or too soft. The sun was out, but so were some clouds. For us, it was a normal day. But for the chickens, something had pushed them to the ground and held them there. Then, all at once, the entire flock stood up, and, in normal chicken fashion, clucked, and stratched, and pecked, and went on with their stupid lives as though nothing had occurred.

Something similar happens every year here. During the beginning of November, when we American foreigners look forward to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years, anticipating some a few days off with family and some feasting and football, the Panamanians are already in full swing with their Mes de Patria (Patriotic Month).

There are so many days off for the kids at school, that they essentially stop going, especially in the campo where the teachers already only work Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. The farmers still go to the fields to harvest, but now there are juntas with fermented corn drink randomly sprinkled throughout. The women look after the children and stay inside out of the heavy rains hoping for a sunny morning to wash all the dirty laundry. And every few days, there is another national or provincial holiday.

The 3rd and 5th, the 10th and 12th, the 15th, 22nd, and 28th were all times when our entire corregimiento (county) were all celebrating something or other with alcohol. (And we had our Thanksgiving on the 26th.) At each of these gatherings, men and women, and sometimes children, got drunk and had fist fights. Just the other day, we watched as every 20 minutes or so three to six fights broke out as men pulled off shirts and circled up. Mostly these are all in good fun, though sometimes they are used to settle old grudges. Luckily, we seemed to be exempt from the sparring, which is good because the people are powerfully built and tough as coffin nails.

This may be the time of year when foreigners feel the most out of sync with the rest of the country. Last year, we were brand new so everything was unusual. This year, we did our best to present ourselves but drink moderately, dance but not arouse jealousy, and still have some kind of forward motion with our work.

In the end, we mostly just enjoyed the company of our friends (both Panamanian and American) and get a lot of reading done. Nevertheless, we still felt the strange forces of a wheel we were not perfectly matched up to, which seemed to knocked down the chickens and men alike.

A Study in Muddy...

Mud.  You learn to love it, or at best, you get by, because you have to during this time of year in Panama.  And even though we live at an altitude of 3,000 feet or so, we still deal with a lot of the brown, mucky, boot sucky stuff.

Our house is situated in a fairly level area, with about 5 other homes in the family group - on the edge of a decent sized field that the kids in the area like to use to play various sports, or just run around like crazy.  This field is actually a secret lake in the rainy season.  When the rain starts, the ground will soak up some of the water, but not anymore!

What this means is that life in a dirt floored house, situated on level with the secret lake, gets quite interesting as the rains get harder and more consistent.  Before you fret too much, know that our dirt floor inside the house actually stays pretty nice and dry, thanks to some draining ditches that Ben dug around the house to divert the water flow.  We do drag in a lot of mud though, and stepping even a foot outside our house now is a dangerous activity without rubber boots.

Oh how we love our rubber boots.  Almost like 4-wheel drive in the mud - you can go just about anywhere and not worry - unless the mud gets as deep and sticky as it now is around the house.  A trip to our water faucet, a mere 5 feet or so away involves inches of mud, and the trip to the latrine is much more perilous.  Thinking about showering?  Wear your rubber boots, then strip out of them into flip flops to shower, then try to dry your feet without getting your towel muddy so you can put the boots back on to get to the house in one piece.  But we careful, you'll probably have to stop at the faucet to wash off the mud that you've splattered onto your upper legs, arms, back or any other exposed flesh.

I've started a bit of a mantra when going into and out of the house.  Boots go on, boots go off... Boots go on, boots go off.  Why so much on and off though?  Well, if you keep them on, your feet don't breathe - so you end up with moist foot rot.  Which you're going to get anyways from wearing socks for 5 days on end (yeah, we do, we don't have many pairs) and putting them into and out of the boots so much, but - it won't be as bad as it could have been.

Once we leave the house area, we have to slog through 6 or more inches of mud/lake to get to the horse gate, climb up the path to the main road, and then you're safe - heck you may not even need the boots - but don't you dare not wear them and think you could just wear other shoes and wash off the mud.  No, this path is deceptive.  It's muddy yeah, but part of it is pretty solid - and MOLDY.  That mold is slippery.  So, avoid the mold right?  Ha!  Then you're in the 6 inches of mud just to the sides of that moldy hardpacked path. What to choose?  Either way involves shuffling along, and a lot of concentration.

Case in point: we returned to site one day - laden down with our backpacks, computer case, and bags of food.  We get to the top of the gentle slope down to the horse gate, and start inching our way down.  I'm wearing my crocs (stupid idea).  I'm about halfway there, and have already slid around a bit, when a girl yells "BEI!" - I say "Hola" and watch my feet fly up in front of my face, as I fall on all my bags, and slide into the mud.  She ran into the house to inform everyone of my hilarious act.  After much cursing, I found my footing and worked my way to the house to scrub up every inch of my body and salvage the bags.

Sometimes you've got to embrace the mud.  I also recently played a game of baseball with the area kids in the secret lake.  The water receded - but I was fooled.  This game quickly turned into a game of mud baseball.  And mostly, I was the one covered in mud, because even in my mud 4-wheel drive, I couldn't keep my feet on the ground.  I dove for the ball and fell on my butt and hands.  Then at bat, I cracked a nice hit to the outfield, and took two steps to run to 1st - and ended up on my hands and knees in mud.  The game didn't last long, but I gave the kids a lot of laughs - something I'm apparently pretty good at.  The ICY cold shower afterward actually felt pretty good, and I didn't forget the boots!

When will it end?  Hard to say - maybe a month - based on last year's experience. Time will tell, and until that time, you can imagine me saying "boots go on, boots go off..."

Check out photos in the "study of muddy" on facebook!  Enjoy!