Birthday Lunch

Isabel waited until Sunday, market day in the next town over, to buy a chicken. She likes the native chickens and Ela told her they are cheap in the next town over. She killed the chicken in the corn field while I harvested my radishes and planted broccoli, carrots and spinach in my plot. 

Isabel sent Henrick to my house to let me and Nic know that lunch was ready. I brought my fresh radishes down, sliced and salted, only lacking lime juice. She served us Pepian, the national dish of Guatemala. It is more or less chicken served in a gravy over rice. Not bad with hot tortillas. We sat around the table with Doña Ana, Cata and her husband Oscar, Ela with Elkin, Hendrick and of course Fernandito and let the kids entertain us.

After lunch I received hugs and gifts. Cata and Oscar gave me a beautiful shoulder bag and from Fernandito, with the aid of Cata, his mom, a corte. Cortes are the traditional skirts the women wear here; hand woven and embroidered. Cata and Isabel said they would loan me a guipil, a blouse, and a faja, a belt so I could dress in traditional traje. 

Notice Isabel in the background. She is quick to laugh. Especially at the gringa in traje.  

Here we are in the yard. From left is Cata and Fernandito, myself and Isabel. 

Fernando loves the garden. As soon as he spotted these tools laying around he was in the garden digging. And he wants YOU, to plant a garden. 

More fun time in the garden. Nic and Fernando crack themselves up playing in the dirt. 

The Rainy Season

The last eight months or so I have felt kind of smug; enjoying the hot sun on the hills of the Western Highlands that was my new Guatemalan home. I sat on my front porch, squinting in the brilliant sky reading books, eating breakfast or just watching migrating song birds jump back and forth on branches; all the while seeing the hills around me fade from lush green to dry, dusty, even-toned brown. I couldn't help hiding a little smile as I applied sun screen to the bridge of my nose and the back of my neck while hearing about snow, rain and cold from friends and family back home. 

As I left Oregon to return to Guatemala, I left Oregon in what may be it's best season; late spring/early summer. And everyone at home told me what fortune I had in catching such wonderful weather while I was there, that it had just turned. The rainy season had officially started here in Guatemala in the last week of April, and it was pleasant, I must say.  Brilliant mornings with clouds slowly rolling in to release a shower by afternoon; allowing me to settle down with a book after a morning in the gardens. Because of this, upon my return to Guate I envisioned the country lush and green again, still warm with light sprinklings, just enough to make one put on a jacket. I was leaving beautiful weather in Oregon to arrive in beautiful weather in Guatemala. I was still smug. 

Well, things have changed, as they tend to do. It has rained for approximately the last 60 hours with little to no break and no end in sight. It is cold and windy. I am dressed in wool socks, multiple layers and a beany. If I need to use the restroom, I dress as if I were headed out on a hike: boots, hat, headlamp. If I need to wash my hands or some vegetables, wash the dishes or just fill up my kettle, I have to awkwardly arrange my umbrella between my right shoulder and my right cheek while kind of hunched over, stabilizing the handle on the edge of the sink to free my hands, all the while my feet are being flooded by the run-off from the yard. 

The path from the main road to my house, once leisurely and interesting is now an obstacle course of mud pits, low branches that catch my umbrella, slick inclines and corn stalks that have been knocked over by wind and laid low by the weight of the rain drops themselves. All the while I am timing myself; will I make it home before I either slip in the mud or completely soak and soil my shoes and socks? 

I don't feel smug any more. Now when I hear from friends and family they are talking about picnics, raft trips, bike rides and afternoons in the park. Now when I hear from them I am hanging up my dripping rain jacket and putting on water for tea to warm me up. 

Yes, of course, I knew it was coming. And yes, of course, it is not all bad. Sixty hours of rain leaves ample time for games of Canasta with Nic, baking cinnamon rolls, making elaborate dinners, catching up on reading and, as it turns out, blogs.