Apart from witnessing a tidal wave of millions of army ants pour over Casa Luna this morning, today was just another day in paradise.
Let me breif you on a little Costa Rican army ant info. There are over 200 species that fall into the army ant category, but the ones that invaded Luna were the eciton burchelli, characterized by their black and red abdomens and impressive pincers. Because they have no colony to return to, these nearly blind ants are always on the prowl, catching and killing every small creature they find in their path. I should have recognized the signs; all morning, insects were leaving from the south in droves, fleeing for their lives. I couldn't help but compare the experience to a scene in Harry Potter with the Forbidden Forest and Aragog, the house-sized spider king.
I don't know what it is with me and Costa Rican insects, but this morning I found myself, with shoe-turned-weapon in hand, fending off a wall of relentless ants. We had been awaiting their inevitable progression towards the hotel all morning, and now the invasion was full-blown. As I smacked the first few scouts with an uncharacteristic "Die!", Steven, brandishing a broom by my side, explained that all you need to do is kill just 3 of them. The pheramones excreted will serve as a warning for the others to forage elsewhere. After killing 3, then 12, then 60, Steven and I collaboratively decided that we were dealing with a far more ambitious enemy. I held down the entreeway while Steven brought out Plan B: salt. It confused them for roughly 8.5 seconds. Plan C: cayenne pepper mixed in water. This effectively worked as a barrier, but our rejoicing was cut short when we saw the army ants' new direction of intent: up the ballisters and onto the 2nd floor. Bummer. I learned an invaluable lesson through this experience: if salt and cayenne water just isn't doing the trick, you can always resort to a blow torch.
We had a dude come in with a fire-gun device strapped to his back. Needless to say, we won't be seeing the e. burchelli until next year, when they come raiding our neck of the woods once more.
Once the war was won, I rewarded myself with a glass of freshly squeezed starfruit juice and marveled over my single ant bite. I then overheard Steven explaining to a little girl visiting that the ants weren't trespassing on our property; we had taken up residency on their lands. They were only doing what everything else in nature must do, which is the art of listening to life's instincts. We are all connected by this simple, undeniable pilgrimage towards survival, and we in fact have much to learn from our ant friends about selflessness, commitment, and sheer determination. The little girl ran off, yelling "Thanks, Farmer Steve!" I thought a more fitting name would have been "Farmer Buddha."
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Here is a quick debrief on what I did today:
I climbed a tree.
I fell out of a tree.
It was embarrassing.
My desire for its fruit intensified.
Four 9-year old boys came to the rescue.
I employed them as bag-holder, tree-shimmier, limb-grabber, and moral support boy.
Mission accomplished.
I tested out the jacuzzi in the master suite to ensure that it would provide a relaxing bath experience.
I did yoga on a new yoga mat to test its support and compatability with our tile floors.
After much deliberation, I concluded that the jacuzzi and the yoga mat will do just fine. You must be wondering how I manage to do it all...
I climbed a tree.
I fell out of a tree.
It was embarrassing.
My desire for its fruit intensified.
Four 9-year old boys came to the rescue.
I employed them as bag-holder, tree-shimmier, limb-grabber, and moral support boy.
Mission accomplished.
I tested out the jacuzzi in the master suite to ensure that it would provide a relaxing bath experience.
I did yoga on a new yoga mat to test its support and compatability with our tile floors.
After much deliberation, I concluded that the jacuzzi and the yoga mat will do just fine. You must be wondering how I manage to do it all...
My mom likes my blog!
Imagine 2 middle-aged gringas, sporting harried capris and perspiring brows, rolling their suitcases onto a sketchy cargo boat. This image of my mother and my dear friend Sally defines my past week of mini-travels through Costa Rica. Out of their element, but enthusiastic and carefree, these two wonderful women came to visit me, bringing laughter, beach adventures, and beautiful memories in their wake.
I had been preparing for my mom's visit for over a month, excited about showing off my newly acquired plant knowledge. When they got to Luna Nueva, Sally and my mom settled right into the laidback beauty of the surrounding rainforest, but met the constant, communal exchange of knowledge with passion as well. Each meal at Luna is held around a long, 20 person dining table, which inevitably brings everyone together in a celebration of fabulous food and brilliant discussion. It was cute- my mom and Sally chatted with Stephen and Iti, telling them how incredible Luna Nueva was, how thankful they are that I am here. My mom also turned to me and shared proud she was of my blog. I made a joke, thanking her, as my mom, for thinking my blog is neat. You gotta love moms and their unconditional support.
Sally and my mom were the ideal guests to take on tours. We had time to go on all three tours through the rainforest, the organic farm, and through the Sacred Seeds Sanctuary. They "oohed" and "aahed" at all the appropriate rainforest statistics and fun animal facts I had ready for them. For instance, I believe that the sloth sighting profoundly impacted them. They were incredulous when I mentioned that a sloth only comes down once a week (the coming down process may take up to 24 hours!) in order to bury a nutrient-rich terd underneath the cecropria tree from which he/she is feeding on. They are mini-farmers, fertilizing their food-source. Also, between the 2 and 3-toed sloth species, 8 different types of moths plant eggs and then feed off of the moss growing on the back of a sloth. Talk about symbiosis. What is more, the cecropia leaves, one of their staple food sources, has mild sedative properties. So basically, sloths are kicking it up in their tree, a bit stoned and livin' the pura vida.
The three of us stayed in rooms at the Casa Sombra. Marveling at the dark woodwork supporting the building (all taken from fallen trees from the nearby rainforest), my mom and Sally loved the clean, woody smell and its classy, thoughtful decor. Before we left for the Pacific Coast a few days later, it goes without saying that I heard a few more "You are so lucky!' and "Let's trade lives" comments. No way Jose.
I had been preparing for my mom's visit for over a month, excited about showing off my newly acquired plant knowledge. When they got to Luna Nueva, Sally and my mom settled right into the laidback beauty of the surrounding rainforest, but met the constant, communal exchange of knowledge with passion as well. Each meal at Luna is held around a long, 20 person dining table, which inevitably brings everyone together in a celebration of fabulous food and brilliant discussion. It was cute- my mom and Sally chatted with Stephen and Iti, telling them how incredible Luna Nueva was, how thankful they are that I am here. My mom also turned to me and shared proud she was of my blog. I made a joke, thanking her, as my mom, for thinking my blog is neat. You gotta love moms and their unconditional support.
Sally and my mom were the ideal guests to take on tours. We had time to go on all three tours through the rainforest, the organic farm, and through the Sacred Seeds Sanctuary. They "oohed" and "aahed" at all the appropriate rainforest statistics and fun animal facts I had ready for them. For instance, I believe that the sloth sighting profoundly impacted them. They were incredulous when I mentioned that a sloth only comes down once a week (the coming down process may take up to 24 hours!) in order to bury a nutrient-rich terd underneath the cecropria tree from which he/she is feeding on. They are mini-farmers, fertilizing their food-source. Also, between the 2 and 3-toed sloth species, 8 different types of moths plant eggs and then feed off of the moss growing on the back of a sloth. Talk about symbiosis. What is more, the cecropia leaves, one of their staple food sources, has mild sedative properties. So basically, sloths are kicking it up in their tree, a bit stoned and livin' the pura vida.
The three of us stayed in rooms at the Casa Sombra. Marveling at the dark woodwork supporting the building (all taken from fallen trees from the nearby rainforest), my mom and Sally loved the clean, woody smell and its classy, thoughtful decor. Before we left for the Pacific Coast a few days later, it goes without saying that I heard a few more "You are so lucky!' and "Let's trade lives" comments. No way Jose.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Adventures in the Kitchen and in the River
Yesterday morning I was awoken from my mid-morning siesta by unfamiliar voices. Popping up from the couch/my office, I turned to see a group of women who were looking around disconcertedly. The predicament then dawned on me; we must have forgotten that a group was scheduled for the Rainforest Tour tour today. Thankfully Roberto, our eco-tourguide, was available for the impromptu tour, but we had told all the kitchen staff to take the day off. Rebecca, the young assistant hotel manager, and I looked at each other, realizing the inevitable. Lunch is always served at the conclusion of every tour, so we were going to have to put our chef hats on.
I certainly didn't forget to bring my awkwardness around kitchen appliances with me to Costa Rica. Upon watching me manhandle the stove with a glove, Rebecca recognized my ineptitude and delegated me as su-chef. Grateful to be away from things that were hot, I accepted my position of peeling tomatos and chopping veggies. I only got a few eye rolls in response to my sorry looking potatos and my slow chopping methods. Thanks to Rebecca being an efficient and natural problem solver, between the 2 of us we served up chicken breasts in ginger sauce, a rainforest salad, beans, rice, mashed potatos a la Casa Luna, and chia. Chia was what I spent most of my time chopping. This dark, leafy green, when raw, is full of cyanide and high consumptions are not recommended. But when you sautee it, in this case with olive oil, garlic, and onions, it tastes better than spinach and has twice the iron content, not to mention a smattering of other vital nutrients. I was quite proud of how the chia turned out. Once we saw that everyone was starting to clear their plates, we brought out naranja ice-cream. The only comparison I can think of to this delicacy is an orange-creamsicle sorbet, but healthier and lighter. Ok I confess- the ice-cream had been made the night before by the real cooks... but we sure made it look appetizing by scooping it into crystal china dessert bowls. As the group was leaving, they all came up for one last ginger cookie or 3, making sure to applaud us for our fine cooking. Rebecca and I just smirked at each other and kept washing and drying the dishes.
About a half an hour after our cooking escapade, Roberto came up to me and asked if I would have time this afternoon to help him identify some trees on a new rainforest path. Unable to hide my ecstatic grin, I enthusiastically whipped out some boots and grabbed my camera, binoculars, and notebook. Mosquito repellent was a must as well. We trekked on out of Casa Luna, first passing the cacao grove and the water buffalo. Thinking we were going to head on the usual path to the pot-belly pigs and goats, I was surprised when Roberto delicately stepped off the path between thick undergrowth, revealing a well-worn footpath through primary rainforest. 'Whoa' I marveled. 'I didn't think this place could get any cooler, but now a whole new area of secret paths and beauty has opened up to me..." Roberto and I would stop at trees that had tagged numbers on them, about 30 in total. At each one, he'd tell me its name and why it was so cool (usually something such as its medicinal benefits, if it was good for building, its spiritual associations, etc). I would snap a picture and take notes rapidly. The plan is to get signs on the path, identifying each tree by its scientific name. After 10 minutes or so of tree discusssions and frog spotting, I followed Roberto off the beaten trail, creating a new one through the dense forest floor. After 5 minutes or so of trudging through decaying leaf mass, bark, and trippy vines on the side of a hill, I was beginning to doubt Roberto's promise of a truly marvelous tree ahead. Never doubt Roberto. Suddenly before us, I witnessed the biggest tree I've ever seen. Truly awe-inspiring with its snakelike buttresses (a tree trunk with a widening base), I gazed up at a tree that would ilicit a treefort-building desire at any age. Roberto snapped a few photos of me posing inbetween the buttresses. I couldn't help but entertain the thought that these areas would be perfect for jaguar families, or better yet, anacondas, to be sheltered from the elements. With one last lingering look behind me, I snapped one more photo. Sadly, a camera simply cannot capture the regal stoicism of such a tree.
The next leg of our adventure ended at the riverbanks of the Chachagua River. Think classic, gorgeous creek winding through a fern-gully, and you have the Chachagua River spot on. I was a sweaty mess from keeping up with Roberto's gait, so a quick dip in the river's swirling pools was more than perfect. Although I had put my swim suit on that morning with the pool in mind, I was grateful for my pre-planning as I jumped in. It was the perfect temp: just cool enough to be refreshing, but the description "cold" is far from accurate. We floated around and chatted for awhile, finding natural slides and welcoming an ensuing downpour. When you're wet, more water just adds to the experience. Eventually, we struggled back to the lodge, water-blogged and happy as can be. From endeavours in the kitchen to unwinding in rainforest rivers, I considered the day to be one big adventure, Costa Rican style.
I certainly didn't forget to bring my awkwardness around kitchen appliances with me to Costa Rica. Upon watching me manhandle the stove with a glove, Rebecca recognized my ineptitude and delegated me as su-chef. Grateful to be away from things that were hot, I accepted my position of peeling tomatos and chopping veggies. I only got a few eye rolls in response to my sorry looking potatos and my slow chopping methods. Thanks to Rebecca being an efficient and natural problem solver, between the 2 of us we served up chicken breasts in ginger sauce, a rainforest salad, beans, rice, mashed potatos a la Casa Luna, and chia. Chia was what I spent most of my time chopping. This dark, leafy green, when raw, is full of cyanide and high consumptions are not recommended. But when you sautee it, in this case with olive oil, garlic, and onions, it tastes better than spinach and has twice the iron content, not to mention a smattering of other vital nutrients. I was quite proud of how the chia turned out. Once we saw that everyone was starting to clear their plates, we brought out naranja ice-cream. The only comparison I can think of to this delicacy is an orange-creamsicle sorbet, but healthier and lighter. Ok I confess- the ice-cream had been made the night before by the real cooks... but we sure made it look appetizing by scooping it into crystal china dessert bowls. As the group was leaving, they all came up for one last ginger cookie or 3, making sure to applaud us for our fine cooking. Rebecca and I just smirked at each other and kept washing and drying the dishes.
About a half an hour after our cooking escapade, Roberto came up to me and asked if I would have time this afternoon to help him identify some trees on a new rainforest path. Unable to hide my ecstatic grin, I enthusiastically whipped out some boots and grabbed my camera, binoculars, and notebook. Mosquito repellent was a must as well. We trekked on out of Casa Luna, first passing the cacao grove and the water buffalo. Thinking we were going to head on the usual path to the pot-belly pigs and goats, I was surprised when Roberto delicately stepped off the path between thick undergrowth, revealing a well-worn footpath through primary rainforest. 'Whoa' I marveled. 'I didn't think this place could get any cooler, but now a whole new area of secret paths and beauty has opened up to me..." Roberto and I would stop at trees that had tagged numbers on them, about 30 in total. At each one, he'd tell me its name and why it was so cool (usually something such as its medicinal benefits, if it was good for building, its spiritual associations, etc). I would snap a picture and take notes rapidly. The plan is to get signs on the path, identifying each tree by its scientific name. After 10 minutes or so of tree discusssions and frog spotting, I followed Roberto off the beaten trail, creating a new one through the dense forest floor. After 5 minutes or so of trudging through decaying leaf mass, bark, and trippy vines on the side of a hill, I was beginning to doubt Roberto's promise of a truly marvelous tree ahead. Never doubt Roberto. Suddenly before us, I witnessed the biggest tree I've ever seen. Truly awe-inspiring with its snakelike buttresses (a tree trunk with a widening base), I gazed up at a tree that would ilicit a treefort-building desire at any age. Roberto snapped a few photos of me posing inbetween the buttresses. I couldn't help but entertain the thought that these areas would be perfect for jaguar families, or better yet, anacondas, to be sheltered from the elements. With one last lingering look behind me, I snapped one more photo. Sadly, a camera simply cannot capture the regal stoicism of such a tree.
The next leg of our adventure ended at the riverbanks of the Chachagua River. Think classic, gorgeous creek winding through a fern-gully, and you have the Chachagua River spot on. I was a sweaty mess from keeping up with Roberto's gait, so a quick dip in the river's swirling pools was more than perfect. Although I had put my swim suit on that morning with the pool in mind, I was grateful for my pre-planning as I jumped in. It was the perfect temp: just cool enough to be refreshing, but the description "cold" is far from accurate. We floated around and chatted for awhile, finding natural slides and welcoming an ensuing downpour. When you're wet, more water just adds to the experience. Eventually, we struggled back to the lodge, water-blogged and happy as can be. From endeavours in the kitchen to unwinding in rainforest rivers, I considered the day to be one big adventure, Costa Rican style.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
A mid-morning snack
This morning, I convinced 13 people to eat termites. After watching their squeemish faces gulp down live insects, I couldn't hide my smugness....my work here was done.
When leading groups on the farm trail, I always make a point to stop at the large termite nest and see who is up for a high protein snack. The nest is found at the end of the tour, just before the cocao plantation. Today I lead 2 families, comprised of parents, flighty girls, and macho boys: the perfect specimens. I nonchalantly paused at the tree, waiting for the crew to gather around. Gently brushing off the crumbly outer layer, I heard several gasps from behind as its inhabitants were exposed. Poking my finger into the ensuing chaos, I allowed a few termites go charging up my hand. I then turned back to some uneasy stares, explaining that if a person is lost in the jungle for days, it is possible to subsist soley on vines for water and termites for food. With that, I raised my colonized hand to my mouth, finding the small crunch and woody taste most satisfying. Shocked, the group made a few jokes, saying that they would go home and tell their friends that a crazy, hippy tourguide from Costa Rica wore facepaint (from the lipstick tree) and ate termites. But after a bit of chiding, coaxing, and straight up dares, I had the whole group munching down on jungle termites. The two moms even went back for seconds :)
When leading groups on the farm trail, I always make a point to stop at the large termite nest and see who is up for a high protein snack. The nest is found at the end of the tour, just before the cocao plantation. Today I lead 2 families, comprised of parents, flighty girls, and macho boys: the perfect specimens. I nonchalantly paused at the tree, waiting for the crew to gather around. Gently brushing off the crumbly outer layer, I heard several gasps from behind as its inhabitants were exposed. Poking my finger into the ensuing chaos, I allowed a few termites go charging up my hand. I then turned back to some uneasy stares, explaining that if a person is lost in the jungle for days, it is possible to subsist soley on vines for water and termites for food. With that, I raised my colonized hand to my mouth, finding the small crunch and woody taste most satisfying. Shocked, the group made a few jokes, saying that they would go home and tell their friends that a crazy, hippy tourguide from Costa Rica wore facepaint (from the lipstick tree) and ate termites. But after a bit of chiding, coaxing, and straight up dares, I had the whole group munching down on jungle termites. The two moms even went back for seconds :)
Friday, July 11, 2008
Now I know why Costa Rica is called the Rich Coast
I ventured out from the farm for the first time a few days ago. Swallowing my fears of starving outside my beautiful world of daily organic food, I randomly chose a town after hearing that is was a surf mecca: Jaco (pronounced with an accent over the o). For the first time in my life, I am grateful for letting my cheapness mold my decisions- I hopped on the local buses to get to this little beach town. For about 7 bucks, I journeyed 6 hours to the Pacific Coast, having to switch buses twice. With no companions and no clue where I was going to spend the night, I put my game face on and whipped out my Spanish Dictionary, determined to make friends with some fellow Ticos. In the San Ramon bus station, I received some weird looks from other passengers as I ate my grapefruit-sized avocado with a straw (something more normal, say a utensil, was not to be found). So far, so bad with me fitting in and making friends...
I wound up having to stand for the 2-hour, windy drive from San Ramon to the port town Puntarenas. But that, along with my ridiculous aviator glasses, ended up being a blessing in disguise- a crew of 5 Costa Rican surfers were standing as well and immediately dug my shades. Although none of them spoke a word of English, my limited Spanish must have been entertaining enough for them to want me to stick around. After much discussion over our family, pets, and favorite colors (the topics that I was really strong in), we got off in Jaco and found a hostel together. Jaco is bizarre in a timeless, lazy way. Thanks to Jaco, I truly understand the definition of "painting the town red" and what ex-pats are.
When I had settled on Jaco back at the dining table at Casa Luna, I was advised by Iti and Rebecca, the two Tica hotel managers, that Jaco was dirty in every sense of the word. With their description, I half-expected to get drug offers and dubious looks from prostitutes the moment I got off the bus. The long main street of Jaco was actually quite colorful and mellow- a classic beach town to the max. You could tell it has definitely seen its fair share of drunken packs of tourists, but the sun-kissed youths heading to/returning from the beach gave the place a decided "vacation from life" feel. After asking a few gringos on the streets where they were staying, my new friends and I stumbled upon Da Haan Inn, a $10 hostel greeting us with a faded mural of a chicken surfing a pipeline. For a surfer looking for a crashpad less than 50 meters from the beach, Da Haan Inn was tacky in all the right ways.
My stay in Jaco was a whirlwind of bath-temp. ocean dives, conversations with surf-bums, and sipping on coconuts. The next day I left to go back to Luna, but one of my buses was late, which resulted in me having to stay in San Ramon (2 hours from Luna) that night. As my incredible fortune would go, I had befriended an Ethiopian jewelry-maker on the bus named Valentino. He lived in San Ramon and upon hearing my situation, insisted that I have a cup of coffee with him and his family. Later that night, I marveled at the situation that surrounded me; here I was, sitting with 4 Tica women and Valentino, in an apartment in San Ramon Costa Rica, sipping on Tutti Frutti tea and watching a telenovela on their purple sofa. It was great. Valentino's wife insisted that I spend the night instead of finding a hotel, which I gratefully accepted. Leaving early the next morning, I promised my new friends that if I returned to San Ramon, they would need to get the Tutti Frutti tea ready for me.
After one more gorgeous busride through the rainforest, and then a drive up the 2 mile stretch to Luna in the back of a pick-up truck, I was home. I came stumbling up to Casa Luna, meeting Iti and Rebecca's quizical looks with an exhausted, yet blissful grin. Then seeing that Ana, one of my favorite chefs, was starting to bring out a rainforest salad and marinated tilapia for lunch, I couldn't help but smile.
I wound up having to stand for the 2-hour, windy drive from San Ramon to the port town Puntarenas. But that, along with my ridiculous aviator glasses, ended up being a blessing in disguise- a crew of 5 Costa Rican surfers were standing as well and immediately dug my shades. Although none of them spoke a word of English, my limited Spanish must have been entertaining enough for them to want me to stick around. After much discussion over our family, pets, and favorite colors (the topics that I was really strong in), we got off in Jaco and found a hostel together. Jaco is bizarre in a timeless, lazy way. Thanks to Jaco, I truly understand the definition of "painting the town red" and what ex-pats are.
When I had settled on Jaco back at the dining table at Casa Luna, I was advised by Iti and Rebecca, the two Tica hotel managers, that Jaco was dirty in every sense of the word. With their description, I half-expected to get drug offers and dubious looks from prostitutes the moment I got off the bus. The long main street of Jaco was actually quite colorful and mellow- a classic beach town to the max. You could tell it has definitely seen its fair share of drunken packs of tourists, but the sun-kissed youths heading to/returning from the beach gave the place a decided "vacation from life" feel. After asking a few gringos on the streets where they were staying, my new friends and I stumbled upon Da Haan Inn, a $10 hostel greeting us with a faded mural of a chicken surfing a pipeline. For a surfer looking for a crashpad less than 50 meters from the beach, Da Haan Inn was tacky in all the right ways.
My stay in Jaco was a whirlwind of bath-temp. ocean dives, conversations with surf-bums, and sipping on coconuts. The next day I left to go back to Luna, but one of my buses was late, which resulted in me having to stay in San Ramon (2 hours from Luna) that night. As my incredible fortune would go, I had befriended an Ethiopian jewelry-maker on the bus named Valentino. He lived in San Ramon and upon hearing my situation, insisted that I have a cup of coffee with him and his family. Later that night, I marveled at the situation that surrounded me; here I was, sitting with 4 Tica women and Valentino, in an apartment in San Ramon Costa Rica, sipping on Tutti Frutti tea and watching a telenovela on their purple sofa. It was great. Valentino's wife insisted that I spend the night instead of finding a hotel, which I gratefully accepted. Leaving early the next morning, I promised my new friends that if I returned to San Ramon, they would need to get the Tutti Frutti tea ready for me.
After one more gorgeous busride through the rainforest, and then a drive up the 2 mile stretch to Luna in the back of a pick-up truck, I was home. I came stumbling up to Casa Luna, meeting Iti and Rebecca's quizical looks with an exhausted, yet blissful grin. Then seeing that Ana, one of my favorite chefs, was starting to bring out a rainforest salad and marinated tilapia for lunch, I couldn't help but smile.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Healthy crops, Healthy craps!
I am making vast advances in my Spanish speaking abilities. A few days ago another group of college students visited the farm from Earth University. I was stoked- 18 kids my age just landed on my doorstep to learn about biodynamic farming. They came right before dinnertime, so we all gathered around the table, and their professor asked that we hold hands as quick words of welcome and intention were announced. Then he handed it over to Stephen, who also said some stuff in Spanish. Next, the spotlight turned on me, as the hostess, to say something to the group. Luckily, I had mentally rehearsed ahead of time and an elementary, sing-songy response came out:
“¡Estoy muy emocionada para mis amigos nuevos!”
My speech (I am very excited for my new friends) was met with laughter and cheers. I felt like a rockstar. The students, Stephen, and I all then proceeded to scarf down a leisurely dinner. After our hunger was attended to, one of the students, nicknamed Bob (I suspect for his killer dreads and rasta demeanor) gave a presentation on Biodynamic farming. It was conducted in Spanish, so I had a bit of a hard time catching everything, but regardless, I learned a lot. Honestly, before I got here I couldn’t tell you what exactly constituted the “bio” part, and what practices were considered “dynamic.” But thanks to Bob’s presentation on Rudolf Steiner’s work, I can classify the two as so:
Bio-Dynamic Farming Practices
Biological Practices
Green manures
Special compost preparations
Cover cropping
Special foliar sprays
Composting
Dyanic Practices
Planting by calender
Companion Planting
Peppering for pest control
Integration of crops and livestock
Homeopathy
Tillage and cultivation
Radionics
Intriguing, eh? I was lucky enough to go with the students the next morning to observe arguably the most esoteric practice of bio-dynamics: field preparation #500. We went up to the area of the farm called Juan’s Garden, which is where most of the fruits and veggies are grown that we cook at the lodge. Upon hearing what we were about to do, I was incredulous. With shovels in hand and sweat on our brows, we dug up a bunch of cow horns. The horns were buried last autumn and were placed 40-60cm below the surface. I noticed how the horns where not just just chucked into a pit; actually, the 15 or so horns neatly outlined the pit in a circle. Inside the horns was a potent humus mixture that was prepared by filling the horn with cow manure. Looking into the horn at the decomposed brown stuff, I was shocked when the students were excitedly smelling the month-old cow terds. When a German student insisted that it wasn’t bad, I took a whiff. It smelled like the rich, earthy dirt you would find in the heart of a forest. It was right then that I became a believer in Prep. #500.
Yesterday I was informed by Steven that the “damn toucans are eating all our Old Spice fruit!” Enamored by the surreal-ness of picking tropical fruit on a farm in Costa Rica, I jumped at the chance to solve this debacle. Me and a friendly farmhand named Jose headed down the road to the Old Spice tree (known as Jamaica) with a ladder and plastic baggy in hand. Sure enough, Costa Rica’s version of a wild turkey was munching away at some of the fruits on the top branches. We shooed it away and got to work. Old Spice fruit looks like small blue-berries that bunch together in the hundreds at the end of a tree limb. With Jose in the tree and me on the ladder, he would grab the elastic limbs and swing their bountiful ends towards us. Me and Jose didn’t fool around with that Old Spice- we filled our bag in less than 10 minutes. I was particularly efficient because I had forgotten bug repellent and was eager to return with less than 50 pock marks. I walked back to the Casa Luna and got to work drying the fruit. After dabbing the moisture off of them with paper towels, I delicately laid them out in an 8-layered, old school dehydrator. Tomorrow morning when I take them out, they should be just bursting with a scent that I think is similar to a cross between Christmas and masculinity. I am going to try to combine the old spice with citronella, vanilla, and some good ol' vodka to make a perfume that simultaneously acts as a natural bug repellent... I don't know about you, but I am down to attract some muchachos and repel some insectos in one spray!
“¡Estoy muy emocionada para mis amigos nuevos!”
My speech (I am very excited for my new friends) was met with laughter and cheers. I felt like a rockstar. The students, Stephen, and I all then proceeded to scarf down a leisurely dinner. After our hunger was attended to, one of the students, nicknamed Bob (I suspect for his killer dreads and rasta demeanor) gave a presentation on Biodynamic farming. It was conducted in Spanish, so I had a bit of a hard time catching everything, but regardless, I learned a lot. Honestly, before I got here I couldn’t tell you what exactly constituted the “bio” part, and what practices were considered “dynamic.” But thanks to Bob’s presentation on Rudolf Steiner’s work, I can classify the two as so:
Bio-Dynamic Farming Practices
Biological Practices
Green manures
Special compost preparations
Cover cropping
Special foliar sprays
Composting
Dyanic Practices
Planting by calender
Companion Planting
Peppering for pest control
Integration of crops and livestock
Homeopathy
Tillage and cultivation
Radionics
Intriguing, eh? I was lucky enough to go with the students the next morning to observe arguably the most esoteric practice of bio-dynamics: field preparation #500. We went up to the area of the farm called Juan’s Garden, which is where most of the fruits and veggies are grown that we cook at the lodge. Upon hearing what we were about to do, I was incredulous. With shovels in hand and sweat on our brows, we dug up a bunch of cow horns. The horns were buried last autumn and were placed 40-60cm below the surface. I noticed how the horns where not just just chucked into a pit; actually, the 15 or so horns neatly outlined the pit in a circle. Inside the horns was a potent humus mixture that was prepared by filling the horn with cow manure. Looking into the horn at the decomposed brown stuff, I was shocked when the students were excitedly smelling the month-old cow terds. When a German student insisted that it wasn’t bad, I took a whiff. It smelled like the rich, earthy dirt you would find in the heart of a forest. It was right then that I became a believer in Prep. #500.
Yesterday I was informed by Steven that the “damn toucans are eating all our Old Spice fruit!” Enamored by the surreal-ness of picking tropical fruit on a farm in Costa Rica, I jumped at the chance to solve this debacle. Me and a friendly farmhand named Jose headed down the road to the Old Spice tree (known as Jamaica) with a ladder and plastic baggy in hand. Sure enough, Costa Rica’s version of a wild turkey was munching away at some of the fruits on the top branches. We shooed it away and got to work. Old Spice fruit looks like small blue-berries that bunch together in the hundreds at the end of a tree limb. With Jose in the tree and me on the ladder, he would grab the elastic limbs and swing their bountiful ends towards us. Me and Jose didn’t fool around with that Old Spice- we filled our bag in less than 10 minutes. I was particularly efficient because I had forgotten bug repellent and was eager to return with less than 50 pock marks. I walked back to the Casa Luna and got to work drying the fruit. After dabbing the moisture off of them with paper towels, I delicately laid them out in an 8-layered, old school dehydrator. Tomorrow morning when I take them out, they should be just bursting with a scent that I think is similar to a cross between Christmas and masculinity. I am going to try to combine the old spice with citronella, vanilla, and some good ol' vodka to make a perfume that simultaneously acts as a natural bug repellent... I don't know about you, but I am down to attract some muchachos and repel some insectos in one spray!
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