THE BLOG LIFE

The blog life is certainly not the blaaaahg life…time goes by so quickly I’m mildly shocked when I look and see that close to two weeks have passed since my last post. Perhaps I should be making excuses, but really there are only two – I haven’t sat down and written – Just Do It! goes the post-new-year dieter’s mantra – and I’ve been preparing for the birth of a second blog which I got up and running today. May seem a bit traitorsome to some, a little narcistic to others (I mean, how much more could I have to say), but the second blog, at http://bosqueternosa.wordpress.com is the culmination of a writing project I’ve been working on for a few months for the Bosqueterno S.A. organization here in Monteverde.

Rather than explain that too much (since I have spoken about Bosqueterno and my writing job numerous times on this blog) , I’ll ask you to go there and check out the sweet newness of it, the innocence, the hope lingering in its postlessness. And, as the first little communique pleads, make a comment, ask a question, request something – anything! It’ll be so exciting for those of us behind the wordpress dashboard to get an early response.

I’ve been getting all my little cloud forest ducks in a row waiting to put together the blog – write the script, get approval from the Bosqueterno board, find the pictures, focus, sign up for blog (with its many design decisions to be made) - the next step is to keep filling it in with all that approved written fodder, and then to prepare a powerpoint presentation. This is meant to accompany the blog, teaching local guides, teachers and Monteverde Reserve employees about the unique history of the Bosqueterno S.A. land that has been left in the wet dust of the Bosqueterno de los Niños, a more well-known local reserve owned by the Monteverde Conservation League, and the big Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve that leases the Bosqueterno land. Now that I’ve got lots of photos digitalized, the rest is just writing, posting and editing, and eventually speaking, which is the easiest part for me.

In the meantime….

Went and saw Costa Rican rocker Pato Barraza – at our new fav bar Mata ‘e Caña – was a good night of latin rock, a bitta reggae, seeing some friends…will head out again tonight, after I finish this, to do some salsa dancing with Roberto and the local band, Los Maletines – who play a very sweet Cuban salsa and more. Roberto is still here, tho we keep talking about him leaving, but now that the weather on the mountain has got calmer, hotter, and sunnier, he’s loath to go…but the day will arrive soon. In the meantime, bailamos!

I spent a wonderful evening at my friend Turid Forsyth’s with two German friends of hers, Sepp and Reto. They are keen hikers and so I shared some of my hiking knowledge of the area, made some recommendations on how to get over to the volcano Arenal by foot – if you have a few days and the equipment, you can walk the Tapir Trail that Wolf created (which appears in the last chapter of Walking with Wolf); or you can go over to the Monteverde Conservation League’s San Gerardo Research Station, spend the night keeping an eye out for a good nocturnal lava-lit eruption from the volcano, and then keep walking down to Lake Arenal, but permission from the League is necessary - you pay for your room and board at the station which is inexpensive. The problem arises when the League insists that you have two guides to accompany you on your hike through their land to the lake. When Sepp and Reto went to set this up, there weren’t two guides available and the League wouldn’t allow them through without.

So option three is to go to the Mirador, on the far side of Santa Elena, and hike on the horse trails there. Which is what they did in the end, making the trip down to the lakeside in five hours. If the weather is good like we’ve had these days, you are blessed with a spectacular scene, the lake and volcano right in front of you all the way.  

Over the years, the volcanos here in Costa Rica have done some damage, and there have been some nasty earthquakes as well, but while this sweet world spins around us with a minimum of pain these days, elsewhere people are really suffering. That incredibly destructive earthquake hit Haiti this last week – not just one assault, but a few – and so for a few short moments, the world’s sympathy, money and thoughts are with the Haitians. One must ask how one half of a small island could sustain such injury while the other half, the Dominican Republic, could  escape basically unscathed. One must ask how much more pain and destruction one colony of people can survive – even a people as strong as the Haitians – descendants of slaves who stood their ground against the huge powers of the time (France, Spain, Britain, the US) to become the first independant black nation in the western world.  And one must ask if there is any justice, truly, in this world.

I’ve been following on the internet (since we live without television – only Costa Rican papers, which tend to be rather lightweight, and radio, which Roberto feeds on) – and I have to say I’ve learned a new appreciation of Facebook – which can be seen as an addiction, a kind of social drunken cyber-cocktail party without the juice, as a never-ending game of mind-wasting solitaire, as many things -  but what it has shown me lately is that it is an agent for sharing information – especially the kind that the mainstream media doesn’t indulge in. Marshall McLuhan, famous Canadian media theorist from the days when the reality of what television would really mean one day was just  mist on the horizon, said that the medium would be the message… and that what we were fed and how we were fed it would influence our collective thinking. That has definitely come to pass, and now the Facehood, amongst other cyber-social-networking schemes, has brought us the ability to share information that the powers don’t want to necessarily give us, which the media isn’t telling because they are owned by corporations with agendas. Alternative media may not be the absolute truth all the time either, but it gives us the sensation of a little thorn in our sides, poking, making us question – just what the hell is going on? And giving us the opportunity to dig deeper, just like the old Mother Jones, New Internationalist, and Utne Reader mags of yesteryore.

Some of us are drawn there naturally, some of us have to be provoked. As long as we continue to question authority, at least we might arrive somewhere where truth prevails. Not necessarily, because truth can be ethereal at times, but we each have the ability, and the source, in our hearts to search for it.  And from there, if we are paying attention, and have the luxury of choice in our lives, we can choose to follow the road that feels right – or turns left. Hold on to the light, Haiti, hopefully the help that is coming your way will be without strings or strong ropes attached and will help you not just rebuild, but be stronger than ever before.

ANDALAY 2010

Happy New Year folks! Greetings out of the swirling mists of Monteverde, light precipitation aided by the intense winds that have been building over the last week. December was so kind to us (maybe not to the rainforest creatures, but to us, the humanoids) that when the winds and raindrops hit a few days ago, we felt assaulted. Yet we know that this is the weather that is normal for here and appropriate weather is what makes the world go round, along with love, so I’ll just shut up about that now. 

Love and weather – one can always talk about one or the other. I’m afraid that my rasta beauty Roberto is going to have to leave soon and return to his hot home on the Caribbean coast, partly due to things needing to get done, partly due to weather – he’s not leaving the apartment so much these days as the temperature drops and the wind pushes. We’ve had some company so that is always good – if you don’t want to go outside, it’s always nice for friends to come calling.

The festive season is over but because schools here don’t return for another week and the university students (children of the locals) who are visiting for the holidays don’t have to go back to the US for awhile, it feels like everything is still in slow-mo. It seems to me that in Canada, the first Monday after New Years is the day that everything kicks back into action. Well here, as in so many other ways, we are in Costa Rican time and so we slowly (but surely?) return to normal business….it needs to happen soon since I have a lot to do and am running out of excuses.

On the day after Christmas, we went to the beautiful amphitheatre at Bromelias and saw a band from Seattle – the Massy Ferguson band. It was a stunning night – the big ol moon that was slowing turning blue, no wind – which is important in this outside venue, good music. Although I didn’t know them, I remember Tony Mann and his wife who lived here before and they came back with the band that Tony plays keyboards with. They played mostly original music and we enjoyed their show – not in the least because they had a sound that reminded me of the Marshall Tucker Band – they covered “Can’t You See”, one of my all time favorite songs – and if you like a cover of a fav song, you know that the band’s done good. The lead singer/guitarist/flautist is Ethan Anderson – a great front guy, talented and charismatic. Twas a real perty night in Monteverde.

After that, my good friend Zulay, along with her sister Hilda, niece Gabriela, nephew Jason and friend Willie, came for a quick visit to Monteverde. I lived with Zulay both here in Monteverde years ago and over on her farm in San Carlos – this was a whirlwind (like the wind) tour because the others hadn’t been in Monteverde before (well, Jason, when he was 4) and so they came, they saw, they left. I spent some time with them, visiting the house where Zulay and I (and her ex-husband Vicente) had lived back in the mid-90s. These folks have been super kind to me over the years – truly, they are my Costa Rican family – so whenever I can in any small way repay their hospitality, I’m thrilled. Willie just survived a very serious motorcycle accident – hit broadside, thrown far, some head injuries – and is still feeling the effects, but it was good to see him alive.

Zulay and I went to the Guindon Sunday dinner after Christmas. It was a surprise for the family who hadn’t seen Zulay in awhile. It was wonderful to see Wolf’s son, Carlos and Lidieth – he who has recently translated Walking with Wolf into Tico-Spanish, his wife who hasn’t been here in a few years though I visited them both last spring in New Hampshire. When we entered the house, I immediately noticed that there was a new network of tree limbs strung about the ceiling (and decorated with Christmas bells and baubles) – this would be for the sloth that Benito has been mothering since last spring – now the sloth can leave her basket and crawl around on the limbs, eat the hibiscus flowers, and feel very much at home. She’s into biting now so one can’t pet her as before, and when she gets looking real fat they have to get her outside so that she can poop, but besides all those minor details, she looks like she is very comfortable in the hospitable Guindon home. It was joyous to spend an evening with the family, getting to know more grandchildren, the next generation, and their friends. Every time I am with this clan, I feel phenomenally lucky to be included – to have ever met Wolf, to have persevered with his story, and to have been received warmly by his family.

New Year’s Eve was a wow night here – big full blue moon, no wind, hot night. Kadeho, a rock band from San José, came to Mata e Cana, the newly renovated cool place to be (formerly La Taverna, the old cool place to be) in Santa Elena. Roberto and I went, we danced, we danced some more, and the night was spectacular. I believe in bringing in the new year with positive vibes – be it dance, love, great friends and food – whatever, as long as it’s positive – we are heading for another great year. I don’t take that for granted, having had some miserable First Nights in the past followed by some challenging years. Life.

Then came my good friends from La Sabanilla – Myrna and her daughters Sofia and Veronica. We have been friends since Myrna’s ex-husband, Luis Zumbado, played here in 1999 at the Monteverde Music Festival when I was caring for the house of the musicians. Myrna split with Luis about five years ago and suffered. But now she is about to marry a very nice man from Houston Texas, Ron, and she brought him here to introduce him to me.

Along with her daughters – the sexy-saxophonist Sofia, and the lovely violinista Veronica – well, we’ve all been girlfriends for years now and it was wonderful to see everyone happy. And to meet this very deep-thinking, gentle man who has put a smile back on the face of my friend Myrna.

At the same time, I’ve been helping another friend, Tanya, a Canadian with many years of being in Monteverde, while she recovers from splitting with her husband of 35 years. I’ve been the house-whisperer – helping her get rid of stuff, hugging her when the raw emotion is too much, encouraging her as she makes her plans to move on. Accompanied by her beautiful border collie, Elly (my favorite kinda dog in the world), we’ve worked our way thru boxes of arts supplies, music, and books. There is nothing more cleansing than getting rid of all that extra stuff we accumulate. She has a beautiful home in the woods, looking out across the treetops at the  Monteverde vista – the Gulf of Nicoya, the sunset, the future. I have grown to love this woman, surrounded by pain but on her way to an exciting future. Remember, when one door closes….

As the winds blow and the darkness settles in, Roberto and I are getting ready to go dancing in Santa Elena. I’ve been watching the cooks at the restaurant next door as they pluck chickens that will soon go on their BBQ spit. I think this is very illegal – slaughtering fresh birds at a restaurant. I can’t help but wonder if the wrong order came (“we said fresh, not breathing”) and the cooks just adapted to the situation. Not a safe place for a chicken to be crossing the street. 

 

This last week in Monteverde, my concern has been for los animales de la calle, the street dogs, cats and well… as we walk the roads, going here and there, in a two-kilometer stretch we have seen five dead dogs and two dead armadillos! What is going on? Are the animals suicidal, suffering from seasonal depression, or are the car drivers feeling a maniacal urge to kill? I’m not sure what is happening – the paving of the road here, in the congested area of Cerro Plano, could mean it is simply bad luck on behalf of animals being out on the road in the dark, being victims, but it is also possible that there is something more sinister happening. Way too much roadkill going on.

Miel, our lovely cat who prefers drinking from the tap

 

Ai yi yi…right when I wanted to talk about peace, love and grooviness, a dead armadillo appeared – Roberto would have skinned it and made a tasty dinner – better that than pure waste. In this crazy world of ours, life throws us these things – love doesn’t always prevail, shit happens. Sometimes we suffer, sometimes we prosper. Happy 2010 my friends.

FESTIVE FOTOS IN MONTEVERDE

Because I have more fotos than time, taking y’all through the Christmas week festivities here in Monteverde with images. I hope your week was as fun, foodful, festive and frolicking.

First: the Christmas Program and Wassail (aka laughter then sugar rush)…

Lucky Guindon and Hazel, one of her beautiful grandkids

Mary Rockwell with others watching the show

Roy Joe and Ruth Stuckey

Benito and Martha and Sloth, the star

Guindon & friends chorus - Good King Benito

Monteverde Kitchen Sink Orchestra - lotsa wind!

The divine and extremely talented Patricia Jiminez

Wining and dining with Roberto and Patricia Jiminez, it’s all fun till the shoe breaks….

Thank goodness there’s a shoe cobbler in the crowd

Roberto Levy

When Patricia was having problems with the boots and brace that she needs to walk safely, cobbler Roberto  came to the rescue – a good Christmas elf, he.

BARBEQUE DAY – getting the meat ready for Community Christmas Dinner… 

William Vargas - chief BBQ man

Carolers arrive at John and Sue Trostle's

And on the eve before Christmas, out came the carolers, to wander the paths of Monteverde, singing and munching  along their way…

Benito and Melody Guindon – hardcore carolers

Martha Moss, receiving the carolers

 

When the carolers call, one must leave the potluck and follow....

And in our cozy apartment in Cerro Plano (the flat part of Monteverde), our Christmas tree was the Ficus and the ornaments the birds…

No snow, but the white treetops suffice...

The friendly mot mot at our window

The emerald toucanet, only here for the festivities

And then came Christmas morn. We awoke to many birds, singing, shining and sparkling – just like gifts wrapped on the tree…

The clorophonia are the tinsel...

 

After the birds, there was the Friends meeting, where Tim Curtis very aptly put the feeling of Christmas – it is the time when we are focused on giving, and it soothes our soul…

Doris Rockwell and friends awaiting Santa

After the meeting, we shared in the biggest potluck of the year, cooked and shared and served by community members – even the dessert servers seemed to give with their full hearts…

It's only brownies, but it looks like love...

Richard and John Trostle, scoopers with a smile

 And then it is time for the big gift exchange – a couple months back, the community draws names and everyone must make the gift – from children to elders, the gifts that are shared are beautiful, created with heart…and Santa arrives just in time to help with the gift-giving. Wouldn’t you know, this year Santa came directly from Canada, and brought her Wolf-deer, since rain (and thus reindeer) has been scarce this year in these parts…it was a very hot Christmas Day and Santa had to take her clothes off bit by bit…but all was OK! After all, it’s a family show….

Wolf-dear & Santa K-laws

When the going gets hot....

The community is all around…

Roberto, Mercedes y Veronica

Theo and his pal Stuart

The Wolf happily eating...

Katy Van Dusen, family & friends - Monteverde!

Another navidad passes in Monteverde – it has been many years since I was here in this season and I have enjoyed it so much – the traditions of Christmas with Monteverde’s own slants…too much food (which happens everywhere that people are blessed with that bounty) and lots of community joy – and this year, phenomenal weather. Roberto, a man used to living alone in the jungle, not a Christmas kinda guy, adapted well – love, peace and joy were all around. I hope for you all too… now, almost a decade within this new millenium has passed – can you believe it? – so we dance! New Years Eve! At la Mata de Cana (formerly La Taverna) in Santa Elena – see you there! Or wherever you are, may you be with the ones you love….

Roberto and K (aka Santa 09)

PAZ * AMOR * ALEGRIA

I’m finally getting around to writing about the great excitement of last weekend. The adrenalin raised on my trip to San José soon dropped off and left me with a cold but fortunately my oil of oregano, honey, cayenne and lemon cure, along with some tender loving care from Roberto, has me on the up and up – thankfully just in time for Christmas week. This afternoon is Christmas program at the Quaker meeting house followed by the drinking of the wassail and munching of everyone’s homemade cookies. Fortunately, I think I feel good enough to go, get a sugar-rush, and be social.

San José started like a sweet thing and over three days built to a sugar-rush crescendo. I went down on the Saturday to meet up with my friend Caroline Crimm, the history prof from Sam Houston State University in Texas who has been collecting data to write a history of society in the pre-Quaker Monteverde area. For months, she’s been searching through national archives, church records and talking with old-timers. Now she’s a wealth of information on the main players and scandals in the region from the 1800s onward and passionately engaged in their stories.

She is also a great friend, proven when she donated her last Saturday in Costa Rica to an afternoon of shopping with me for an appropriate handbag to take to the formal reception at the house of the Canadian Ambassador. I managed to collect the dress, shoes, and shawl from girlfriends in Monteverde, but still needed a handbag elegant enough for the evening but also big enough to smuggle a copy of Walking with Wolf into the party. I don’t know what’s considered appropriate protocol when meeting the Governor General, but I wanted to have a copy available to give her, just in case, so needed a bag for the stash.

So Caroline and I wandered Avenida Central, surrounded by thousands of enthusiastic Tico Navidad shoppers and street vendors – a lot of tinselly things, flashing Santa hats and stuff. Unless I wanted to pay $100 for a nice leather bag, I didn’t see anything else that would work. It was a case of Goldilocks and the 2 out of 3 bears – purses too small, too big, nothing just right. Neither of us being big shoppers, the exercise just about killed us.

To recuperate, we went for a fantastic dinner at Café Mundo, where you can sit outside on the large veranda under the tropical trees.  Each course was excellent – stuffed mushrooms, Caesar salad, French Onion Soup (which I’m a connoisseur of yet I don’t think I’ve ever had in Costa Rica before), and a caramel pie for dessert. All divine and not terribly expensive…I’ve gotten used to the fact that meals here tend to be equivalent to Canadian prices, but I don’t think the two of us could have eaten this well, along with a half liter of wine, for $35 in Canada.

San José was celebrating its own Festival de Luces that night, and the crowds were lining Paseo Colon and Avenida 2 starting early in the afternoon. The Casa Ridgway and Friends Center for Peace, where we were staying, is only a couple of blocks from the Plaza de la Democracia where the parade was to finish up – I never did see the show as it was close to 10:30 at night when the first of the bands and floats finally arrived there. I had gone back to the pension, having witnessed the festivities in Santa Elena just a week ago (last blog post). By what people later told me, Santa Elena’s festival was just about as big as the capital city’s.

One of the things that I knew I was going to do in San José on Sunday was go to a free outdoor all-day concert by numerous Tico musicians in support of the Marcha Mondial de la Paz y No Violencia – www.theworldmarch.org – a group of around thirty people (with others in other parts of the world) who gathered in New Zealand back in September and started walking, bussing, and flying across the continents, holding events to raise our global conscience towards an international culture of peace and personal non-violence.

As it would turn out, the group, arriving on Saturday night from the Nicaraguan border, was staying at the Casa Ridgway. I awoke early on Sunday morning to hear Luis, the only employee working that morning, starting to put breakfast together for this large group. Caroline was already in the kitchen helping and so I quickly joined in – coffee, fruit, scrambled eggs, refried beans and fresh bread from the local bakery. A simple breakfast is what they always serve here, but even simple is a lot of work when the crowd numbers close to thirty.

We spent an enjoyable couple of hours getting the food out and cleaning up, being visited in the kitchen by different members of the world community from Italy, New Zealand, India, Canada, Argentina, United States, Germany, Belgium, Spain. It was a smorgasbord of accents with some amount of Spanish or English for communication, the common factor being they were all people who believed passionately in working, and walking, towards peace and that non-violence begins in our homes and hearts.

And a great cast of characters: Kai Eberhardt, from Germany, who was thrilled to meet a woman who had the same name as him – and like me was always dancing even when he was sitting;

Jair Guadarrama, a Mexican-blooded resident of Toronto and the world,  who was part of a group escorting the peace marchers through Central and South America – an artist, he traded me one of my books for several of his political art cards;

Sinthya Penn, a conservative business woman from California (with a Canadian connection – she owns a beneficial insect business in Guelph, Ontario) who became committed to the group following an experience when the march began a couple months ago – she recognized herself in the apathetic busy faces in the crowd who wouldn’t take a moment to take the literature they were so sincerely handing out. She realized she needed to step up and represent some of those who are too busy working and just too distracted to give peace a chance.  And Charles Lasater, her partner, also from California, who, it turns out, has a personal connection with me. 

I started telling Sinthya about Walking with Wolf – that it was a book about a man who has lived his life by his values of non-violence and pacifism and for the greater good of his community. And walking for what he believed in, as they were doing. I gave a book to the group as I thought it would be appropriate reading for them as they continue for another month of bus and plane travel with events throughout South America on their way to Puntas de Vacas in Argentina. She then bought two more copies which was great for me.

Her partner, Charles, came along and we got talking – he mentioned that he was from northern Michigan. I told him I only knew Traverse City – it turned out that is where he’s from. He asked who I knew there – “go on, just throw out the name, one never knows” – and when I said my close friend Cocky Ingwersen, he burst out, “John Ingwersen’s daughter! That man was one of my closest friends years ago.” It turned out that they were part of a group of intellectual types - poets, including writer Jim Harrison, in the area back in the 60s before everyone dispersed. Charles, then known as Dick, had lost touch with the Ingwersens. I’ve now put him in touch with Cocky, and another small world connection was made.

As we continued chatting, I mentioned that I was preparing for this big night and how Caroline and I had been stymied in our search for the perfect handbag. Sinthya said, “maybe I have something that will work,” and took me to her room where she pulled out a bag of just the right colour for the dress and size to fit my book. She presented it to me and I was thrilled – not only because I wouldn’t have to spend any more time shopping for a bag, but to have a souvenir from this crowd of dedicated activists, to carry this bag that had already traveled from New Zealand to Asia to Europe and Africa and into the Americas following the coo of the peace doves – I will treasure it always with fond memories of these wonderful people.

I went to the concert that was being held in their honor but only saw the reggae band, Kingo Lovers, and Manuel Monestel’s band, Cantoamerica, before heading off to meet Roberto who was arriving from Cahuita on the afternoon bus. The music was to play on for hours and the crowd was attentive and the peace crew was dancing and obviously happy to be in a country where the army had been abolished sixty years ago.

Manuel pointed out the many other places where violence is still very much a part of this society – in the home, in the workplace, against the environment, on the street, and in the laws – specifically referring to new laws being adapted in Costa Rica that mess with the musicians’ abilities, already difficult, to live off their creations and their intellectual property. (There was a planned march on the president’s house by Costa Rican musicians and their supporters a couple of days later which, unfortunately, we weren’t able to attend – more information at www.derechosdelosmusicos.com)

Roberto arrived and life sweetened up another notch. He brought a bag of Caribbean treats – coconuts for rice and beans, senna leaves to cure a rash that’s been bothering me, and other bush plants for tea, his homemade organic banana vinegar – and himself, the best of Cahuita - for me. He will be experiencing a Monteverde Christmas this year – not as cold as a Canadian Christmas, but certainly chillier than he is used to. Although Monteverde has been very dry and hot and sunny since I arrived a few weeks ago, the weather has changed a bit and though we certainly won’t be having a white Christmas, we sure may have a wet, cold blowy one.

The last day in San José was all about preparing for the big night at the reception for Michaelle Jean, the Governor General of Canada. I had called my friend Lorena Rodriguez, a very talented interior decorator/Tica, who, of course, took me under her wing to make sure I was going to be properly adorned for the event. I met up with her and her friend, Richarda (with a new Chihuahua puppy, Maxi-million, the perfect salon lap dog)…they took me to Mall San Pedro and a salon where Israel did my hair in an upsweep with a bunch of curls at the back, using at least half a can of hairspray (note to self: next time ask them to hold the spray, or at least minimize its use)….then for the manicure….then home to Lorena’s where she did the cosmetic make-over and made sure I had it all put together. Thanks to all these women who helped me over the week – Melody, Tanya, Marlene, Caroline, Richarda and Lorena – I pulled off an elegant enough look to get me in the door at the Ambassador’s pad.

 

Like a proud stylist, that sweeter-than-sugar Lorena drove me into the exclusive neighbourhood in Escazu where the Ambassador lives and then I was on my own. First couple I met, while entering the house in a slow line waiting to sign the guest book, knew Robert Dean, an artist and musician here in Monteverde, and also knew of my book. Good start I thought, I must be in the right place. I spent the first part of the evening sipping wine and chatting with the Costa Rican Minister of Health, Doña María Luisa Ávila Agüero and her husband and another interesting woman (whose name and position escapes me) originally from Puerto Viejo. We were all Caribbe-lovers in the circle. The Governor General had spent the previous day in the Atlantic province of Limon, a fact I know was acknowledged with great interest by Roberto and others on the usually neglected Caribbean coast. People danced with her in the streets and no doubt the GG’s own Haitian roots helped create a bond with the Afro-Limonenses.

The formal part of the program was the presentation of awards of recognition by the Governor General and the Ambassador to Canadians who have contributed years of work in building relations with Canada here in Costa Rica. Michaelle Jean was charming, humble, sexy (if one can say that about one’s GG), intelligent and radiated kindness. Her husband, Jean-Daniel Lafond, a film maker, was funny and very direct in his comments about the important role of culture in international relations – he spoke in French and his Tico interpreter relayed his message with even greater enthusiasm. Ambassador Neil Reeder is a big jolly man and was very welcoming. I was able to talk to him for a few minutes and thank him for the financial support the Embassy bestowed on the translation of Walking with Wolf.

I finally talked to my pal José Pablo Rodriguez. I truly thank him for getting me invited to such a high brow affair (li’l ol’ me.) I asked him if it was okay to give a book to the Governor General. He called over a couple of her staff and, as it turned out, they knew about the book since José had already been talking it up to them – why, you have to love that man…nice to have friends in high places. One of the GG’s people took the copy of my book to give to her later, and then insisted that I go and have a few words with the woman herself. When I finally got in front of her, it was easy to talk (not that I usually have a problem, and of course, those constantly filled glasses of wine didn’t hurt.) I told her about Monteverde and Wolf and his contribution to conservation here. She listened intently and asked questions (was particularly amused by the fact that he was the first chain saw dealer in the country turned tree hugger) and was warm and interested. I asked her about her time in Limon, saying that my Afro-Caribbean boyfriend was very happy that she had gone there. A visit of someone of her position to the eastern port would be significant for the too often forgotten Atlantic coast. I was only sorry that Roberto wasn’t there with me to speak for himself (I later told him he wouldn’t have been able to help himself from flirting with her as she is quite beautiful and charismatic.)

The whole evening was sparkly and magical, a roomful of shiny people, the lights of San José glowing through the wall of windows, the home beautifully decorated for Christmas, stunning Indigenous art from Canada on the walls making me feel at home – very friendly waiters offering trays of hors d’oeuvres (especially liked the stuffed mushrooms) and constantly trying to refill my wine glass – I looked good and walked proud but got out of there one glass of wine away from a stumble. I thoroughly enjoyed the moment and the people and the place. I also have to say that I was truly drawn to the presence of Michaelle Jean with her gentle kind wisdom and her obvious strength. I’d be honored if she takes the opportunity to read our book.

Now Christmas is upon us. As the Monteverde wind blows and mists swirrel outside the window, I’m thinking of all the people I met last weekend – those traveling around the globe spreading the message of peace and non-violence – the GG and her husband creating positive cultural and humanitarian ties between Canada and other countries – the musicians singing their own words and playing rhythms of hope - as well as the thousands who have been in Copenhagen at the Climate Change talks this month and working hard to convince politicians and industry lobbyists to cut the greed and be intelligent about how we treat the earth. I send a huge thanks for the care and energy you are each putting into making this a better world.

I’m also thinking of my many wonderful friends and those who are family spread far and wide who I won’t see this year - you are all in my heart and we will meet again in 2010. Our Christmas tree this year is the big Ficus outside the window which is presently adorned with shiny mot mots, emerald toucanet, euphonias, clorophonias, robins, squirrels, red berries and a dove – all getting along and sharing the fruit nicely. Whatever your personal celebration in the following days or weeks, may you, and each one of us, be surrounded by the sweet songs of love, joy, kindness and, ultimately, peace.

LA DOLCE VITA or WHEN DID FELLINI COME TO MONTEVERDE?

Life on the green mountain is sweet – and these days kinda like some strange movie. I guess it is partly due to the season – as Christmas gets closer, there are fiestas galore, special art markets for shoppers, and a proliferation of Santa wannabes. This is the third time I’ve been in Costa Rica for the pre-festive season – the last time was probably twelve years ago – and it seems to me that everything has spun out of control and is starting to resemble the excess of North America more and more.

But I won’t go on about consumerism and commercialism – I’ve spent enough time on this blog in the last few months talking about that stuff. No, no, I won’t be a Scrooge this year. I’m happy to be here and look forward to all the tamales and trimmings (especially the fine art form of tinsel creations I equate this country with) that go with a Costa Rican Christmas, even if some of the traditions have taken on a rather glossy hue. It is a time to spread love and enjoy friends and try not to be a glutton.

Like my new pal, Miel, the spoiled kitty I live with, it is sometimes better just to window shop than to indulge in everything that comes our way…we all need a bell around our neck in this season to remind us not to eat everything in sight.

The evening after I arrived last week, it was the 3^rd annual Festival de Luces – not quite a Santa Claus Parade, but something close. I walked from my home here in Cerro Plano, through the gathering marching bands and primping floats, to El Centro, that is downtown Santa Elena. There was already a huge crowd gathered, and by the time the parade passed through a couple of hours later, there were more people assembled on that 100 meters of Main Street than I had ever seen before.

In fact, I’m sure there aren’t this many people living in the town, that alone the surrounding area. Turns out that bands had come from as far away as Puntarenas, Bijagua, Miramar – there were buses full of excited kids in sparkly costumes with their marching band instruments – drums, horns, batons and a great proliferation of vertical glockenspiels! And the bands must have brought their mothers, fathers, uncles, grandmothers – well, I don’t know what the official count was, but there were a zillion people squished into the little downtown core of Santa Elena.

Since it was so crowded on the street, I went up onto the balcony of Bohemias, a lovely restaurant owned by a lovely woman, Arecelly. This gave me a squirrel’s-eye view of the craziness on the street as well as a chance to sip a glass of wine.

It wasn’t long before I was truly wondering if I had stepped into a Fellini film – in the “pre-parade show” the street crowds were entertained by fire stick twirlers, energetic gymnasts, a Mexican dance troupe (with big bright incredibly shiny costumes),

the local police making a pass through in marching formation (I really hope that some of them were from elsewhere, as I hate to think there are this many policia in this town). These performers were all joined by vendors selling blinking Santa hats with out-of-control dogs running everywhere. The full moon had just passed but was still a large presence in the sky, the clouds came and went, the mists spit down from time to time, rock band dry ice shot swirls of fog throughout the area (or was that the smoke from a kitchen on fire?)  

And I’m not sure when devil’s red horns became a part of the Christmas story, but there must have been a post-Halloween fire sale on, for they were everywhere! Half the town was looking kinda diabolical.

And then the parade began. It was heralded in by a local woman, Doña Virginia Zamora, who gets around town in a golf cart – she was all decorated for the occasion. In my photo, she looks more like a visiting UFO, but in all honesty, that night, I’m not sure we would have noticed an alien ship as being out of place.

There were several bands, as I said earlier, from all over. They were all at least good and some were excellent – I particularly liked the band from Bijagua. They all had cute outfits in gold, red, blue or silver (and blinking Santa hats or glowing devil horns.) The parade would move along about twenty feet and then stop, giving each band and float the chance to be admired by each segment of the crowd. This makes for an extremely slow parade. I felt sorry for the last band which was from Puntarenas, because we surely had heard every Christmas carol known to mankind by then, played by glockenspiel and trumpet, and reinforced by very enthusiastic drummers on their snare drums, bass drums and percussion kits, so I don’t think they got the same enthusiastic greeting that the first bands did.

Are you feeling the headache setting in yet?

There was also about ten floats – the most impressive being a backhoe turned into a lit-up dragon – the cutest being a fairy castle filled with princesses and princes – the most “Monteverdian” being a garden of earthly delights accompanied by walking orchids, ladybugs, jaguars, and a variety of flashy birds.

This was all followed by a fireworks display, but I had gone the opposite way and headed home, my festive cup already overflowing. I felt that somehow little Santa Elena and rural Monteverde had turned into a bustling city in the three months I had been in Canada.

The next day I had a meeting with the board of Bosqueterno S.A., to discuss the communications work and history-writing I’m doing for them. All seems good though I still have lots of work to do – creating a power point presentation, setting up a blog for them, finishing the story-telling. It will be much easier to do it here with all the resources around me.

Wolf and I have replenished the many local store shelves with our book for the Christmas shopping season. Walking with Wolf has been selling well, particularly in certain stores. I found out that Alan Masters, who runs one of the CIEE groups (visiting tropical biology university students from all over the US), bought copies for all of his thirty students. Apparently a few had read it and were talking it up – a couple of the students had even chosen to take this course in Monteverde after reading the book. This had happened before I returned, but Wolf had sat and signed all the books one day at the Reserve after he and Lucky gave a talk on the history of the community to the group. I haven’t bumped into Alan yet, but will be giving him a very big hug when I do see him.

I’ve spent many mornings this week with Wolf at the entrance to the Reserve, being bathed in sunshine, visiting my Reserve family, meeting tourists, eating the great sandwiches at the Santamaria’s Family Sodita next door (highly recommended), and discussing with Don Carlos the progress of the Spanish translation.   Progress report – slow, but sure.

One of the coolest new things at the Reserve was that they have installed motion-sensor cameras in the forest. The Environmental Education crew (my good friend Mercedes and Wolf’s granddaughter Hazel) have a camera set up near a tree only a few hundred meters from the reception area where animal scratches had been observed. Mercedes showed me the pictures they’ve taken in the last month – of a puma, jaguarundi, tayra, and peccaries. Incredible, this much wildlife so close to the busy center of the Reserve.

There was also the Christmas Art Fair at the Quaker school – where the phenomenally-talented community artists gather and display and hopefully sell their original creations. Of course there is also lots of food available and all the proceeds help the school. I am not a great shopper and didn’t need anything and don’t want to spend money, so only bought snacks. I could never have made up my mind between all the beautiful things available so just didn’t even bother to think about it. (The photo is Benito Guindon’s pine needle baskets)

Instead it was a day of socializing and oohing and aahing over the art as well as the new babies in town.

Last night was Open Mike at the newly remodeled Bromelias. One of the most beautiful spots in Monteverde, it is the lovechild of Patricia Maynard, who has created a stunning building, amphitheatre and gardens where you can go to hear great music while sitting by the bonfire under the starry sky. It is a little off the beaten track and its location makes it a difficult go for Patri, but anyone who knows the place is always charmed by its special vibe. She has started this open talent night and in this town there is no shortage. Hopefully this will grow into a well attended and magical evening for local and visiting musicians and the rest of us who enjoy the music.

The week took a turn for me when I was contacted by the Canadian Embassy. In October, I received an email from my pal Jose Pablo, the Economic Officer who had helped secure generous funding from the Embassy for the translation of our book last March. He said that he wanted to invite me to an event on Sunday December 13 that had to do with a “senior level” visit.

 I was happy to be invited and was excited and then I didn’t hear anything else.  A couple of days ago, I emailed him, asking if I was still invited to whatever the thing was. The next day I had an email from him, explaining that Canada’s Governor General, the interesting Michaelle Jean, would be on an official visit to Costa Rica. There had been a plan to have a conservation/green program for her and that is what I was to be part of.  Unfortunately this part of the visit was cancelled, and so, so sorry, maybe next time.  Boo Hoo.

Two email messages later, I opened up an official invite from the Canadian Ambassador to Costa Rica, Neil Reeder, to a formal reception next Monday night for the Governor General at the Official Residence of the Ambassador. No more boo hoo! Great excitement instead…until I realized that I now need a formal costume – dress, shoes, shawl, bag – well, you know, FORMAL! So I’ve spent the last two days wandering around Monteverde, borrowing all the necessities from friends here. I have the dress, the shawl, going to try on a couple of pairs of shoes today – thank goodness that women love to play dress-up! The lovely ladies here on the mountain are looking in their closets and helping me pull this off in a very short time with no money!

My friend Melody came by and cut and hennaed my hair (it got too red this time – as I bought the wrong color – but my dress is red, so it will be okay) and also cut my friend Corrie’s hair. Melody also lent me the red and silver dress that I’m building my costume around.

I will head down the mountain tomorrow to San José to meet my Texas friend, Caroline Crimm, who is finishing up her research down there; to go and enjoy a number of Costa Rican musical groups who are participating in a free outdoor concert in support of the International March for Peace and Non-Violence; to rendezvous with Roberto, who is coming from Cahuita and returning to the mountain with me; and now, to meet the Queen – well, not exactly the Queen, but as close as we get to her in Canada.

Once again, Fellini films fill my mind, and si, la dolce vita es dolcita!

GREEN, PEACE, AND HOPE

After arriving on the bus last night in Monteverde, I let myself into the spacious apartment where I’ll be based for the next two months. I’ve never been in here so I had to search for light switches. Before I found any, the remnants of the full moon broke out from behind a large nocturnal cloud and illuminated the scene for me. The main room has three walls of windows gazing out on the tops of trees, close enough to touch. In short order I settled down on the couch to finish the book I’ve been reading and fell into a cool slumber.

The first thing my eyes gazed on this morning was the busy life in those tree tops around me. No less than a dozen varieties of birds were almost lined up on a branch, peering in on me – multi-hued euphonias, lime-green chlorophonias, shiny blue dacnis, motmots, tanagers – an incredible smorgasbord of winged delicacies, all so close I could count their feathers. The main attraction for them, and in turn for me, is the Ficus pertusa tree, full of ripening small red fruits. Welcome home to Monteverde!

I was just as excited when I walked out of the airport last week in San José and saw not only my lovely Rasta-bird Roberto waiting in the crowd with open arms, but also my friends Zulay and Hilda Martinez. Zulay’s husband Keith happened to be on the same plane as me, returning after several months in Canada to his San Carlos home. It was a surprise to see him walk down the aisle on the plane in Toronto and take his assigned seat right next to me! We had a chance to visit and then I had a little time upon arrival to talk with Zulay and her sister. Tucky, the sister of another friend in northern Ontario, was also on the same plane. I always say that Canadians in Costa Rica have only three degrees of separation, unlike the American six! This plane ride seemed to illustrate my point.

Roberto and I spent the week on his land outside Cahuita on the Caribbean. The three months’ separation passed like it had never been. It was both sunny and wet, hot and at times a little cool. A year ago, there was so much rain on the Caribbean that Roberto lost his home to a tidal river wave that washed it all to sea, but this year the rains both there and up here on the mountain have been minimal…which is not good for a rainforest but nice for sun worshippers.

There was enough rain while I was there one day to watch the Rio Suarez, what I call the moat, rise up by a couple feet. Each time this happens, the banks erode a little, the sandbars shift, and the river takes a slightly altered course. This season, a wonderfully deep and wide swimming hole has been created and I took advantage to bathe and soak up the sun on the new sandy beach that now exists. That will all have changed by the time I return there in a couple months. Being at Roberto’s is always full of surprises.

The huge higueron that hovers over the rancho and supports the hammock was absolutely full of fruit. Its little green figs were more abundant this year than Roberto has ever seen. They started dropping just before I got there but the whole week we were being bombed by these little green missiles. They’d drop like a metal shot on the zinc roof in the middle of the night awakening us and each morning we’d have to rake the pathways or you’d feel like you were walking on ball-bearings. Literally thousands fell – neither of us were directly targeted but we seriously questioned if you couldn’t be struck down in the event of a direct hit. The monkeys and oropendulas were having a hay (Hey!) day up there. When the wind rustled the treetops the bombing increased. By the time all those figs come down, I’m sure the count will be approaching a million or quadrillion, whichever comes first.

We were visited by the usual vast array of bugs and amphibians. My little friends the green and black dart frogs were hopping about each day, as well as the geckos, lizards and salamanders. Due to the season, there were more pesky insects like mosquitoes, bush lice, sand fleas and who-knows-what-else than usual. Life in the jungle can’t always be fun. 

Throughout the week I was reading the book, Warriors of the Rainbow – A Chronicle of the Greenpeace Movement by Robert Hunter. I met Bob in 1989 on the blockade in Temagami where he came as both a supporter of the cause as well as an environmental reporter based in Toronto at the time. Bob was one of the founders of Greenpeace back in the 1970s on the west coast of Canada, a true warrior for the planet who put himself in danger multiple times to fight the mass insanity while maybe going a little insane himself. He also used his journalistic skills to make media waves around the world and bring attention to the crimes of nuclear proliferation, bomb testing, and the slaughter of whales and seals. I tell a story in Walking with Wolf about the discussion he brought to our fire circle on the blockade. What are you willing to do in defense of the defenseless in this world? What kind of activist are you going to be?

Reading this book while floating in the hammock in the peaceful jungle meant that I could stay calmer than I would have been if I was reading this book amidst news reports back in Canada – including the preparation of people heading to Copenhagen for the climate talks this month. Yes, we continue to make bits of progress, but at this point, with all the information known about the dangers inherent in the nuclear industry, about the futility of war, the disappearance of species and natural habitats, the earth’s very struggle to survive as the beautiful organism that it is – it is hard to fathom what the hell is taking us so long to get our collective act together and change the course we are on before we fall off the cliff. Actually, not so hard to fathom – it mostly comes back to the greed of the wealthy few, desperation of the poor masses and the apathy of the rest.

Roberto and I had a conversation about Greenpeace last year. He said that he thought that they were racist (though he’s not inclined to condemnation usually) or else why have they never taken up some of the issues directly affecting the equatorial countries in Africa and Latin America…specifically we were talking at the time about the big fruit corporations that run the banana and pineapple plantations (Dole, Del Monte, Chiquita) and have been leveling the forests, polluting the waters and poisoning the earth and its poor inhabitants for a bunch of fresh bananas for decades. I still have no answer for that, except that I always imagined that Greenpeace took on what it could and with a world so full of major insanity, it couldn’t take on everything. It was started by people in the northern hemisphere and seemed to radiate over the oceans going where nuclear tests were being conducted and whales were trying to survive. I don’t know what Greenpeace is today and which major struggles it continues with, I only know there has never been a shortage of issues to choose from.

Warriors of the Rainbow is an emotional account of activism of a serious kind in the 70s. I was starting on my own road of shit-disturbing at the time. Unfortunately so much hasn’t changed. Each decade, the activists, the environmentalists, the poets and the radicals claim that there is a new wave of commitment and real change coming. And yet the real changes have been small, the biggest waves remain that of consumerism and disrespect and greed – reinforced by the media, profited and advertised by corporations, allowed and bought into by the rest of us. I will never believe that social struggle is useless – lots of wrongs do get righted – whether it comes in the form of eco-warriors throwing themselves between the harpoon and the whale, angry youths taking to the streets,  mass meditation striving for a new global emotional and spiritual health, or a simple man such as Wolf Guindon wandering for years through a forest that actually managed to get protected. There is room in this world for all kinds of activism – it is more important to do something, anything, than to do nothing. Even old Greenpeacers criticize the very organization that they founded with so much heart and anger, claiming it gives people something to appease their consciences if they make a donation. But one has to sincerely wonder just how close to that cliff we have to get before we truly start rising to the challenge and living in a way that will bring health and sanity and security to all the species including our own. I wish all those committed individuals and collective forces much luck over there in Copenhagen.

 Just a quick update on Mr. Wolf – I spent yesterday with him. He seems to be coming around to the fact that he has to really watch his water intake and his diet and his energy output if he wants to not be having the “episodes” that have been plaguing him. His spirit is strong as usual. It is wonderful to be here with him as we prepare for the publication of the Spanish edition of Caminando con Wolf and he prepares to have his second knee operated on in a few months. The translation has been done and is now in the hands of the Tropical Science Center…Wolf and I see it as our task to keep them focused and keep the push on.

In the meantime, I’m off to a meeting with the board of Bosqueterno to discuss the history I have been working on for them. I’m enjoying this apartment with the singing colorful birds outside its windows – it will be even nicer when Roberto comes up to join me next week – there is a big open kitchen for him to work his culinary magic in. As I have said so many times in this blog, it is while surrounded by the simple beauty of our natural world and the love of friends, family and like-minded people (and good food and music) that I feel truly blessed and richly alive – even if at other moments I fear we are living in one big earthly insane asylum, quickly watching the planet fade to the washed-out green of our attendants’ uniforms.

A BALANCING ACT

It has been a glorious autumn here in Ontario. I wasn’t here in the summer, having been down in Costa Rica, but by all accounts it was literally a wash-out. Autumn’s warm sunny days, served up with a minimum of moisture, have helped to bring a bit of balance to 2009. In just over a month, we’ll be in 2010 and though I guess I shouldn’t be counting my chickens before they hatch, I can already hear a busy year crowing.

This is my last weekend here – Monday I’m on a plane bright and early and by mid-afternoon I should be sweet and deep in the arms of Roberto in San José. A few days to chill in the hammock in Cahuita, to check up on the state of the papayas I planted in July, to get my calypso mojo working. Then I’ll be up in Monteverde, working on the history of Bosqueeterno and waiting to hear the first CO-CO-RI-CO of the new year (no doubt supplied by Mr. Wolf.) 2010 is a World Cup year but unfortunately Costa Rica lost her chance to play soccer with the big boys in South Africa. She’s a bit of a deflated hen, her tail feathers dragging. There’ll be some serious consoling to do.

the divine Lori Yates

As I’ve been preparing to leave my Canadian home for about six months, I’ve gone out to hear as much local music as I could fit in, most of it within walking distance of my house. At The Saint’s Tuesday night singer/songwriter gathering last week, my good pal Lori Yates gave an impromptu thirty minutes of new and old songs with an inspired, hilarious monologue. It was perhaps the best half hour of performance that I’ve seen this year.

Carolyna Loveless, Rae Billings, Greg Briscoe, Paul Reimens, Lori Yates

The other singer/songwriters who were out that night – our affable host Paul Reimens, Rae Billings, Shelley Adams and Carolyna Loveless – also rose to the bar Lori set. It was my first time hearing Carolyna and she kicks it. After having a conversation with her over lunch a few days later, I realized that not only has she got big talent but she’s also got this outrageous energy and over-active mind -she could probably take over the world with if she was so diabolically-inclined. I’m ready to see more of her – maybe even in the 11^th hour Sunday night when she is performing again at The Saint. Trying to convince myself that I can go out and still get up at 4:30 Monday morning to get to the airport. I can always sleep on the plane. 

Another night I headed out with friends to see local blues guitarist Steve Strongman in a new venue outside of town known as The Barn. Music producer and drummer, Dave King, built this as a place for him and his friends to play and record music and now he has started a concert series. Steve was the first show and it was an beautifully intimate place to see a great performer. The backdrop for the stage is one of the phenomenal metal creations by local artist, Dave Hind.

Mike McCurley

We finished off that night with a trip back to our local pub, Fisher’s, who was celebrating their 16^th anniversary with the regular band, the Sugardaddies. It’s lucky to have such a friendly crowd and hot band guaranteed for dancing only two blocks from home.

Dallas Good

 

 

The grand finale to these rocking episodes of local music happened last night when I went to see a band from Toronto, the Sadies. The Sadies are in part the sons of one of my favorite bands from many years ago, The Good Brothers. The fathers, uncles and friends played a high-energy bluegrass and I spent a lot of time as a teenager at local bars and festivals dancing to them. The next generation has moved the bluegrass into a punky rockabilly lotsa riffs and a rock wall sound. I can see that the Good family’s musical genes haven’t been lost, just amped up.

Andre Williams, Trevor Good

In 1999, the Sadies recorded an album, Red Dirt, with a cat from Alabama,  André Williams. Mr. Williams has been making music since the fifties, R & B, punk blues and something called sleaze rock. He’s in his 70s and still has a cool stage presence. His stylin’ shiny blue suit and shoes fit the Sadies’ metallic blues that accompanied him. They performed songs together from several decades, including some great raw numbers from the 40s. I doubt that a song called Jailbait, one of Williams, is politically correct these days, but the men in the crowd seemed to identify as Andrew growled out the lyric about the temptations of the forbidden underage fruit. It was a night to shake yer money-maker and I did.

I spent a couple of days down in the Kingston area. I took Walking with Wolf to the Kingston Field Naturalists and had a wonderful evening with them. Told Wolf’s story to an interested crowd, sold a few books, was treated to a beautiful dinner at Aroma’s Café (highly recommended) and visited some friends in the area.

It’s necessary for me to get out in the Canadian countryside, balancing out the gritty urban life of my home in the industrial wasteland.

James Isaac Hendricksen

Here in the Hammer, I ran into my friend, Isaac Hendricksen, a musician from the Caribbean island of Nevis who lives locally. We had coffee one afternoon with Larry Strung, the brilliant photographer behind the Hamilton 365 project that I have written about before – he shared with me this photo that he took of us. Isaac writes songs of peace and love, lullabies for the soul. It was wonderful to see him, and absorb some of his wisdom regarding the intricacies involved in balancing the cultural weights in my relationship with Roberto. It’s a challenge to put together two genders, two histories, two cultures, and make it stick, even with the soldering glue of love. But I gotta tell ya, I’m anxious to be taking up that challenge again soon.

The three months since I returned here have gone by quickly. What a beauty season too – the glorious fall, the finale of the year. The Hammer continues to amuse – the music scene expands, the James Street North art crawl explodes, a new creative energy has taken over from the dying steel pulse that has driven this city for a century. I have a lot planned for the coming months in Costa Rica, but hope to spend next summer here in my home, in the fiercely proud north end of Hamilton. I’ve got to get control of the jungle that has consumed my yard during the last two summers . While I’ve been hanging out with the monkeys and the Rasta and the Wolf in Costa Rica, the vines have taken over. Even though I hate leaving my Tico friends behind when I get in that northbound plane, thank goodness I don’t ever mind returning here. If the key to a good life is finding a happy balance, then smokestacks and strangler figs, black leather and brown skin, punk guitars and tribal drums – these are but a few of my favorite things, all taken in equal measure.

IN GOOD HEALTH AND IN BAD

The leaves, having attended their annual costume party,  have been whipping around, making that inevitable trip downward from their lofty heights. I’ve been waiting for the orange cones to appear on the street, signifying that Hamilton’s big leaf-sucking trucks will be coming around the next day. I raked the thick blanket of maple leaves that has accumulated on my front yard into a big pile. I now keep watch, wondering if any of the school kids walking by will take the plunge into that soft heap of crunchy vegetation – I know I couldn’t resist when I was young.  Once those work-cones appear, I’ll rake the whole lot out on the street and hopefully be here to watch the big truck suck ‘em all up like a super-duper Molly Maid.  It always gives me a thrill. 

We are having a mid-November week of warm temperatures and hot sun, beautiful weather to be dealing with the final stages of the gardening season. In two weeks, I’ll be on my way to Costa Rica, and at this rate I won’t see even a flake of snow before I leave.  I’m anxious to get down there, as this weekend Wolf was back in the hospital with a series of seizures. He is already home again, and I’m not sure just what happened, except that he hit his head when he fell and needed stitches.

I don’t know if anyone knows what happened. I’m guessing it has to do with his medications, whether he is taking them properly or not, whether they are collectively causing problems while individually dealing with his diabetes, prostate, bipolarity and knee pain. Someone suggested that he was de-hydrated. With all that water on the mountain, particularly in the streams that the Quakers have been protecting all of these years, Wolf should be drinking lots of water even if he has to go get it straight from the stream if he doesn’t like it by the glass.  I’m relieved to know that he was released quickly, which means it was a passing concern, but I know that he must be getting very discouraged and frustrated with these recurring episodes. For the moment, it would seem that Wolf is okay.  

Good health is fleeting. Sometimes it disappears as quickly as it takes the heart to burst and other times it is a long slow cancer that sneaks up. You need to really appreciate good health when you have it – and it generally takes having cancer (as I did) or something chronic for that to sink in. As often as not, there are signs that things are going wrong whether with our personal health or our relationships, and we may choose to turn a blind eye and avoid the truth as long as possible. So is it also with the health of our communities and forests and waterways – the disease has been settling in for decades now. The planet is suffering from chronic illness and we can’t remain blind to the reality.

I recently received an email from friends in San Pedro de Laguna, Guatemala. I wrote a couple blogs about this lakeside town when I spent Christmas there last year (The Land of the Mayans/The Magic of San Pedro posts.) The email is a call for people to help the communities around Lake Atitlan that are trying to deal with the decreasing health of this beautiful mountainous laguna. I am copying some of that letter here with the hopes that people who come to my blog may read it and pass it on, and in this way perhaps the people who are struggling with this will get help from the rest of the world.

This is coming from a group “Todos por el Lago” but, as they state in the letter, the concern about the lake’s health has been discussed for years by a number of groups. Development and tourism on the lake is growing and putting more stress on the area without appropriate measures being implemented to deal with the inevitable problems. It is a very long, detailed letter written in Spanish and translated into English. I have edited it and only included parts, but if you want to read the whole thing or contact the group, this is their twitter account:

 lakeatitlan http://twitter.com/todosporellago 

The following paragraphs come out of their communication:  

“Unfortunately, it seems like we are about to witness a drama way more serious than we would like to believe. It has been a year now since we have started to see scary signs that something really wrong is going on with the lake water -algae, skin diseases and stomach problems of swimmers, dying fish, cyanobacteria and even sewage smells - and it feels like somehow we have chosen not to see those signs. There is no worse blindness than the one of who does not want to see and in this case, the reality we have in front of our eyes seems so terrible that it produces immediate blindness. I feel like maybe what we are witnessing is the beginning of the end of a way of life we all fell in love with at some point, that being the reason why we decided to make this our way of life. The death of this lake would be the death of a dream-like environment -one of the most beautiful in the world - of the life style of ancient Mayan villages that have a lot to teach, a lot to live, and also the death of this little sociological experiment of which we are all part, a mixture of people with different nationalities, ages and cultures that got together here in a unwritten decision to live together a different life style to the ones we left behind back home.   

“From our point of view the pace in which Mayan villagers have had to adapt to the consequences of the so called industrial development has been unnatural – it did not leave them space or time to understand the negative effects of consumerism and of lack of inorganic rubbish -and other byproducts- treatment. Because of this, us ¨westerners¨ who inhabit this land that has  belonged to the Mayan since the beginning of time, have the obligation of doing all we can for these people to have an understanding of how the byproducts of consumerism can affect their environment, and with it their way of life.

“We have some ideas for discussion we have obtained from neighbours and friends, that could be little seeds for community dialogue:   

1. Organise informative meetings that explain not only in Spanish, but also in Kakchikel, Tzutujil and English what the lake is actually suffering, what are the symptoms, what are the causes and what will be both the long term and short term effects.  
2.  Information is the key, let’s inform everybody, let’s make signs, drawings, posters, get out there and pass the info around, the lake is seriously ill, yes, we are not exaggerating, you just have to look at the water surface, at the sewage in Tzanjuyu… let’s do something! 
3. We have to appeal to international organisations, whether it be realm of govnermental or non-governmental, contact everyone we can think of , Greenpeace, European Commission for Environment… we are sure there must be inhabitants and visitors of the lake with contacts, ideas, let’s use them!  Let’s motivate them!  There are home owners in San Lucas belonging to the entreprenereal world, let’s ask them for help!  From the local business to the political world there are people who may have vested interests in the lake – take whatever steps necessary to find funds, subsidies and international aid to fund treatment plants, studies and technologies that would give us organic alternatives to harmful phosphates, that is to get SOLUTIONS.  We also need information about whether it is possible not just to prevent the growth of bacterias but if there is a way to undo the damage already caused by what already exists here!   
4. We need to stop the sewage from going into the lake.  We have all heard at some point that this and that embassy or organization has proposed to finance some treatment plant but then it has never happened, is this true?  can anybody give exact information?  we all need to know what has happened in order to take action… 
5.  We need to stop the use of chemical products for  agriculture.  This means not only educating the workers in the agricultural sector, but maybe taking more drastic measures like prohibiting the total use of these products in the entire surrounding areas of the lake; a comment made by a neighbour in Santa Cruz: if they can make a law that prohibits smoking in public spaces, why can’t they make a law that prohibits bloody phosphates!?   The huge coffee plantations should have to set an example for all and make their crops organic, in this way also giving greater worth  -come on, ORGANIC is a magic word today in the west!- and more international fame to Guatemalan coffee.  But what is the likelihood that civil society has the power so that this is really going to happen­?

“We need to begin to organise ourselves, do something now, before it’s too late, and not sit here waiting in the hope that the algaes on the surface disappear from sight so that we can act like nothing’s happened.  IT´S HAPPENED, and there’s no pretending that this is just a surface problem anymore.  Let’s start the  DEBATE  with this fórum and hold meetings so that every single person will contribute what they can, only in this way will we be able to save the lake.  We are offering what we have: our doors are open to be used as a meeting space, we offer our time  to translate   and  our  energy, the important thing is to see that everyone is ready and is going to actually  SPREAD THE WORD, this will be the seed towards change, hopefully! ”  

* * * * *

  

I have watched the changes in Costa Rica over twenty years of going there while development swelled around me. If you are a thinking person, at least one with no personal benefit involved, you can’t help but dismay at what results when tourism takes off in an area. When it is a beautiful landscape, many tourists will find ways to return, to stay and build homes and participate in the local economy. It’s inevitably a double-edged sword, bringing development to a depressed economy, at the same time changing the lives of locals and their environment forever. Even when people try hard to do things in smart and responsible ways, at a certain point, “progress” takes over and often spins out of control.

 

It happens all over the world. When I hear North Americans complaining about immigrants, I think of how many of us have moved elsewhere in the world, bringing our development and consumerism with us. We forever change an area and not always for the good. I don’t call it progress when we turn people who have lived well on the land into hardcore consumers, dependent on foreign-produced goods and hankering for bigger, better, shinier, faster. However, this has happened as long as people have been walking and moving, and will continue, so there is no point in thinking you can stop the movement nor stop the process of migration and integration.

 

 But, as this letter is asking, we need to seriously look at how we integrate and the new influences we are bringing. How do we help the earth’s natural systems adapt to the new waves of population as well as the old communities develop into healthy new ones?

  

If you have ever been to this magical lake in Guatemala, or hope to go there one day, or simply have a means to respond to their cry for help, please do what you can.  Or do something for a lake or community that is suffering close to your home. There is never a shortage of crises. There shouldn’t be a shortage of minds, hearts and hands reaching out to help our global family and the land, water and air that sustains us.

 

 

 

As I have been writing, the orange cones appeared, so I moved the leaves to the street. I’m laughing along with the kids who are coming home from school and leaping through the pile, squealing and shouting in glee! It reinforces the fact that joy comes from the simplest things, as often as not straight out of Mother Earth’s special box of toys. So kiddies, take care of those toys and keep the box safe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

OCTOBER 29

Today I realized, while looking at a poster of the event that hangs on the wall behind me, that exactly twenty years ago I was standing on the steps of Queen’s Park in Toronto, facing a crowd of 1500 concerned citizens. I’d come down to the big city from a remote camp on a lake in the Temagami area of northeastern Ontario. For six weeks I’d been living with a group of activists who were blockading the construction of a logging road. I was a member of the board of the Temagami Wilderness Society who had initiated the blockade. We started off with over two hundred enthusiastic supporters in September, many who were arrested for standing their ground against the big machines, and as the weeks went by we held our position but with less and less visitors. They were either cops or construction workers, Indians from the area, the occasional journalist with a budget to fly-in, or committed souls hardy enough to make the day trip paddle into the camp. Those of us who lived fulltime in the bush throughout the several weeks of the blockade were all folks who thrived in this natural environment, but by the sixth week we were definitely getting kind of bushed.

 

 

When a rally was called for October 29, 1989 in Toronto to support the action in the Temagami forest – “Halt the Chainsaw Massacre!” the t-shirts proclaimed – organizers wanted someone to come and describe what was going on up there. So I cleaned up and went south to the city.  

 

I was on the same bill as half a dozen people, including a powerful anti-racist and warrior for aboriginal rights, the late Rodney Bobiwash, as well as Bob Rae. In his finest hour, the year before he became Ontario’s first NDP premier, Bob came and supported our action in the woods, getting taken out in the paddy wagon. He also helped keep the issue in the news and on the government’s agenda. That afternoon on the concrete steps, each of us spoke about the need to protect the old growth pine forests and the integrity of the wilderness surrounding Temagami and search for long term solutions for jobs for people living in the area. We also spoke of the great responsibility the government had to finally settle the local first nation’s land claim that had been steeping in a bowl of tepid  tea for years. The Teme-Augama Anishnabai’s struggle for justice was peaking. It was a very powerful time, one of those moments when you think that what you are doing might really make a difference to the future of your community and our planet.

 I remember walking up those steps, feeling a little shaky, and turning to face a sea of excited and expectant faces After having lived a very primal existence for weeks, albeit one kept charged by constant intense discussion and political awareness, I felt like a wild beast who’s been invited to the dinner table.  I truly don’t remember exactly what I said but I know it was received warmly. I knew that TWS wanted me to explain our present position – that the action was still alive, we were hoping more people would come and stand strong with us against the construction, that we were still in talks behind-the-scenes with the government to get the road stopped. Organizers had told me that people needed to put a human face on activism and so to just speak from my heart (which tends to be the only way I wanna go). Because the blockade was five hours north on the highway and another several hours in by lake, they wanted me to bring the thoughts and feelings of the protestors to supporters in the city who couldn’t take that long trip north.

The fifteen minutes that I spoke flew by in a haze of culture shock that I survived due to my great belief in the cause and my ability to ramble on. I didn’t get to see a recording as this was before everyone carried a cell phone.  I only know that it was a powerful hour or so that we spent on the front landing of Queen’s Park. And I came to realize, clearer than ever before, that there is nothing in powerful political action that can substitute for sharing first-hand experience, bringing the issues down to the human level, maintaining open dialogue, and feeling passion for justice.

The other thing I remember about that whirlwind trip to Toronto (I quickly retreated back to the camp the next day) was going to see Bonnie Raitt in concert but ending up falling for Lyle Lovett. One of my buddies in the bush, Eddy, knew that Bonnie was going to be playing and insisted that I buy a ticket for myself with his credit card and enjoy the show for the dozen or so folks left at camp. Her latest album, Nick of Time, was one of the few cassettes that we had with us to listen to at camp on our little battery-run cassette player – it became a big part of the soundtrack of the blockade and we were all huge fans.

With my friend Cocky and a couple of others, we went to see the concert. This guy we had barely heard of shared the bill with Bonnie. By the time Lyle Lovett and his Large Band played their larger-than-life set, we were all blown away by his talent, energy, and the range of his music. We were exhausted by the time Bonnie came out – she was fantastic too, but Lyle had been the bomb.

Yes, October 29, 1989 was an amazing day in my life.

Twenty-years later, I find myself living half of my life in a city (the hard rock Hammer), the other half in Costa Rica (which I barely knew a thing about in 1989), communicating through a thing called a blog, staying in touch by e-mail, and hanging from time to time in a strange community called the Facebook.  I’ve written a book about a man, Wolf Guindon,  I hadn’t yet met in 89  (but would soon) and loved then lost a few men more. I had cancer but it didn’t kill me. I just spent October 29, 2009 healthy, happy and with pretty much the same political beliefs and value system that sent me from a camp in the bush to the steps of Queen’s Park twenty years ago. And music is still a huge part of what I love about living.

They say as you get older you get more conservative. Fortunately, that particular sickness doesn’t seem to have struck me. I may better understand and anticipate the results of my actions and the risks I’m willing to assume in all matters of life now, but I still believe in working for social justice and that still falls on the left side of the pendulum swing. I believe in the power of the grassroots, that establishing peace is paramount, and that a just world would be a healthier world (and vice versa). Besides that, it’s more complicated than ever, the questions becoming more numerous, the answers always dangling ahead of us like a carrot that baits the rabbit that  tempts the dog – in the end no one wins if we don’t hook on to the solution. I try not to lose perspective or hope. I refuse to not feel joy on a daily basis despite all the news that forces a thinking person to the dark side. I continue to retreat to the bush or the jungle or to the base of the nearest tree to regain my balance, renew my passion, and self-medicate myself with nature’s restorative elixirs.

 

 

Fortunately, in about three weeks, I have a date with a tropical cure.

AS ALWAYS, THANKS

Here in Canada, we had our Thanksgiving a couple of weeks ago – in the United States, it will be next month. Our Thanksgiving Day is the same day as Columbus Day in the US which celebrates those ships sailing in with the conquistadors. Life was forever changed on Turtle Island and it is hard to mix thanks with what became the destruction of natives throughout the Americas. In both countries, Thanksgiving weekend implies a lot of destruction of pumpkins, football players and turkeys. Holidays in general have pretty much spun out of control with commercialization, expectation and general gluttony.

I keep my own spin on things and choose to enjoy these special days from the bright side of life. I don’t need these big moments to remember to give gifts, say thanks for my good fortune, or eat too much. However, I appreciate the opportunity holidays give us for getting together with friends and family. Particularly in this season when the air is starting to blow cold, gathering around a table of hot food nourishes the soul as well as our desire to seek warmth and start laying on the winter fat.

For years I was a strict vegetarian, but returned to a carnivore diet. I’ve grown lots of food naturally, fished local waters (though never hunted), milked goats and made cheese, baked bread after grinding the grains and patted tortillas after milling the corn, picked various kinds of fruit in orchards including the grapes that make the wine. My most recent gardening involves papayas, corn and bananas in the jungle on the hot Caribbean coast of Costa Rica.

My conscience has dealt with the issues of eating organic and local, whether or not to eat meat or fish, to be a polite guest or a politically-correct one, how to grow food in spite of bugs, and whether vegetables too have rights. The answers to the big questions, as in all things, are both clear and elusive. I bumble along, doing my best, but if I let it, the worry and guilt of not always keeping to what I know is right in the politics of food would probably kill me. Instead, I just try to stay aware and be smart. I don’t need to hear the reasons, I know them. I just need to keep trying to live simply and continue walking softly on our earth.  

 Then there’s Thanksgiving! I admit to partaking in five scrumptious meals with close friends, long lost friends, and friends leaving on adventures – and readily agree that it might have been more than one person should consume. Sunday dinner was with my big pretend family, the Johnston-Poags. It was the biggest table with the biggest turkey, with all the wonderful traditional dishes that include each person’s favorite. There is a new generation, bringing their own likes and dislikes – the table will have to grow even bigger!!         

My second turkey dinner was with friends in Toronto, some who I haven’t seen in years. The table came with the golden bird and many of the same vegetables, but everything was cooked different from the night before, including the stuffing. It was at my friend Deb’s house and included old friends Sally and Rob and their daughters, Robin and Clara. The family had just returned from years living in Halifax for a year’s schooling in Toronto.

We lived together in the north years ago, in these funky old log cabins in the bush. Sal and Rob are phenomenal artists, talented painters who have also built a number of large outdoor sculptures such as a memorial for miners in Kirkland Lake.  They’ve passed on their talented souls to their daughters who are both destined to a life of creativity. Robin is at a performing arts school and they both are in the Canadian Opera Company’s children’s program. Although I haven’t seen them in years, we resumed what we always did as if no time had passed – ate Deb’s great food, talked a lot and laughed endlessly.

Two Toronto friends, Barb and Peter, also great visual artists, were also with us. Barb brought this incredible pumpkin cheese cake creation. When you think you can’t eat another bite, it’s a testament to the irresistibility of the food when you can’t stop yourself from eating more. 

On the third night, I went out to Nvelte, to my friends Treeza and Rick, who were soon leaving for their second home in Guatemala. A third delicious turkey, a third stuffing, and new versions of different vegetables. It was really quite amazing that I ate all this food over three nights, and I swear no two dishes were identical, all just glorious homemade food cooked with lotsa love.

A Canadian who also lives in Guatemala, Bob, was there as well as our friend Gloria, the only one of us not about to be back in Central America quite soon. Out of respect, we kept our musings about warm weather and tropical treats to a minimum.

A fourth night I was with my old pals the Pepall brothers, Andy and Mike, along with Mike’s wife, Lisa and their kids. The Pepall’s and I met in the Temagami bush on the blockade in 1989, spending seven weeks at the bush camp together. Andy was just at the 20^th reunion, which I didn’t get to, and brought some stories from Temagami for us. Looking at photos of the mist floating on that cold northern lake in the rising sun made me weep. It is a land I need to return to often for a dose of pine scent, wood smoke and loon songs. A dose of the Pepalls was almost as sweet as a trip north.

Another dinner was with another friend from the blockade, the woman who did the initial lay out for Walking with Wolf, Laurie Hollis-Walker. Along with her husband David and her longtime mentor in psychology, Dr. Harry Hunt, we continued the feeding frenzy. We also watched the show Survivor. I studied these funny but focused academics studying the social interactions of the participants. Laurie and I met in a Survivor kind of situation, along with those Pepalls and hundreds of other activists. She now teaches a life-altering course at Brock University – Eco-psychology – and is doing her doctorate work on the activists in the Californian redwoods. 

This week of respectful but relentless gluttony was followed by several days of very humble and simple foods and then it was the International Day for Climate Change or 350 Day. I was the guest speaker that night at a fund-raising dinner at the Toronto Zoo for COTERC (Canadian Organization for Tropical Education and Rainforest Conservation). They have a remote biological station near Tortuguero on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica and do important research on turtles.

It was a friendly, committed crowd full of very interesting people, including Peter Silverman, a well-known investigative journalist and ombudsmen from Toronto, and my always dynamic friend, Lynda Lehman, from Guelph.

Earlier that day, I drove my bike downtown to see what 350.day events were going on. I couldn’t linger long as I was leaving for Toronto, but I did manage to walk into a very interesting workshop at one of our local and smart food cafes, the Sky Dragon.  Karen Burson, a woman I met on a dance floor recently, was hosting this discussion on the ever-increasing importance of eating locally and organically. We must pay attention to all stages of our foods, including how they are grown, where they are grown, how they are packaged, transported and then disposed of, including all that packaging. There was a table of green vegetables in front of me, brought from one of the local organic farms for their Saturday morning market.

Karen spoke the truth with passion and intelligence. I commend her and all folks like her who work daily for a healthier and therefore happier planet. I was sorry that I had to leave before people gathered to walk through Hamilton as they were doing all over the planet that day.

It was one more day to be giving grace for the bounty, our blessings,  life. And appreciation for every wonderful person who fed me, hugged me, made me think, or kept me laughing in this, the season of thanks giving.