A moment has arrived which I had not the foresight to expect. My blog has clearly become a bloody bore, and almost no one is reading it anymore.
Let's face it. My daily life is pretty mundane. The first year in Nicaragua was full of new experiences and new people. I was learning to fit in and taking photos of interesting and colorful sights. I was developing a network of people to know and learn from, and I felt cared for by my empleada and her family, by my family in Managua, by my lawyer and once dear friend who helped me through the maise of governmental requirements.
Suddenly, the phone isn't ringing, my messages on Facebook get one-word answers, if any. And I am feeling fairly friendless. True, I am a depressive person. These sorts of small negatives have a habit of assuming tsunami proportions. Something has ruined my precious friendships and I do not know if it is something I did, or perhaps I became a big drag, or a cranky old lady. And I have no one to ask.
Well, this is a pretty debacle. I am using my blog to wallow in self-pity. So unhappy. So lonely. Another chicken died. My son just left after just five days. My special dinner was a disaster,
So I expect I will not be posting for a while now. Sadness and despair are not especially edifying under any specie, and I will spare you the intricacies of self -medication. Oblivion looks pretty good.
Monday, February 27, 2017
Saturday, February 18, 2017
An Unexpected Departure
Diriamba lost a good friend this past week. My friend Erlinda called me Friday to let me know she had died suddenly and that the funeral was that afternoon at Saint Sebastian's church, where Mary Mary and I attended Christmas Eve Mass.
Lulú was the daughter of a late well-respected physician, a Chinese-Nicaraguan man who had a large family, including Erlinda's brother-in-law. Lulú ran the family pharmacy with her sister Blanca, and I knew Blanquita and Lulú via my regular visits to the store. Last month, Lulú complimented me on the improvement in my Spanish, her broad smile lighting up her round face. She was only 56.
When I arrived at the family home behind the pharmacy, located on an opposite corner from St. Sebastian's, a crowd of people had gathered outside and in. I had only a short moment to express my condolence to Blanca, and then headed to the church to find Erlinda. The church was packed by the time the pall bearers moved up the aisle. I was very touched by the obvious sorrow and piety in the faces of the mourners. Clearly, Lulú had earned the affection and respect of many many people, and I felt the loss of a generous soul in my somewhat limited Nicaraguan world.
Every country has its saints and sinners. No society is without its shortcomings. But here in Nicaragua, I am daily impressed with the generous spirit and sweetness of so many strangers I meet. In the mercados or on the microbuses, I am addressed as amor (luv), madre, mamacita, senora, hermosita (lovely lady), querida (dearie). The security men and groundskeepers at Keiser University know me now, and are so kind and welcoming. I have an absolute crush on my vet's father, a tall, elegant charmer who shares the responsibility for their shop servicing farm animal and pet owners.
All these people on the fringe of my solitary life are important to me. I shall miss Lulú very much, her ready smile, her kindness to me. When I consider how important my own sisters are to me, I can imagine Blanquita's unfathomable loss. Her daily routine is forever altered most painfully. I hope she can find solace somehow in the knowledge that she, like her sister, is well-loved and appreciated in her town.
Lulú was the daughter of a late well-respected physician, a Chinese-Nicaraguan man who had a large family, including Erlinda's brother-in-law. Lulú ran the family pharmacy with her sister Blanca, and I knew Blanquita and Lulú via my regular visits to the store. Last month, Lulú complimented me on the improvement in my Spanish, her broad smile lighting up her round face. She was only 56.
When I arrived at the family home behind the pharmacy, located on an opposite corner from St. Sebastian's, a crowd of people had gathered outside and in. I had only a short moment to express my condolence to Blanca, and then headed to the church to find Erlinda. The church was packed by the time the pall bearers moved up the aisle. I was very touched by the obvious sorrow and piety in the faces of the mourners. Clearly, Lulú had earned the affection and respect of many many people, and I felt the loss of a generous soul in my somewhat limited Nicaraguan world.
Every country has its saints and sinners. No society is without its shortcomings. But here in Nicaragua, I am daily impressed with the generous spirit and sweetness of so many strangers I meet. In the mercados or on the microbuses, I am addressed as amor (luv), madre, mamacita, senora, hermosita (lovely lady), querida (dearie). The security men and groundskeepers at Keiser University know me now, and are so kind and welcoming. I have an absolute crush on my vet's father, a tall, elegant charmer who shares the responsibility for their shop servicing farm animal and pet owners.
All these people on the fringe of my solitary life are important to me. I shall miss Lulú very much, her ready smile, her kindness to me. When I consider how important my own sisters are to me, I can imagine Blanquita's unfathomable loss. Her daily routine is forever altered most painfully. I hope she can find solace somehow in the knowledge that she, like her sister, is well-loved and appreciated in her town.
Friday, February 10, 2017
$11 Per Egg
Tomorrow, I am changing my chickens' feed from growth encouraging corn to egg-encouraging pellets, full of vitamins and hormones, all that stuff they pay extra NOT to include in the States.
I did some quick math, which is about all I can do without a calculator, and if I manage to get two dozen eggs in March, each egg will have cost me about $11. I put about $160 into the hen house, and $35 for pullets. Food and vitamins for two and a half months, plus recent additions of extra fencing to keep out the damned fox, brought the total to nearly $270. Subsequent months will run about $ .30 per egg. $27 is the cost of the egg feed, and I can expect 75-80 eggs per month. Until the chickens pass their egg-laying prime, when I will be unable to just use them for soup, and will continue to feed them a cheaper feed until they die of old age. And I'll buy some new pullets, too. Within two years, I'll have four thousand chickens, right?
It will be a different story with the white chickens I am planning to buy as fluffy yellow peeps next month. Jonathan is building me a peep box which will serve as their home until they fledge and can go into the hen house. They will stuff themselves with grow feed until they are big enough to, uh, eat.
Maria José will do the honors and I'll have six months of chickens in the freezer. I will force myself to lavish my love on my hens and ignore the white chickens, or this whole plan will fall apart. There are other concerns as well. What if some of the peeps turn out to be roosters? How much will the vet charge to make capons?
For the record, I am not zackly doing all this to save money, which is good, as I will mos def not save money. I love having chickens, I love fresh eggs, and I like to eat chicken, and it is all about me! And of course, I plan to share the bounty with friends and employees.
A little more quick math tells me that in nine days, Gabriel will arrive for a quick visit while his school district takes a short vacation. Hurray! Travel safely, my sweet boy!
I did some quick math, which is about all I can do without a calculator, and if I manage to get two dozen eggs in March, each egg will have cost me about $11. I put about $160 into the hen house, and $35 for pullets. Food and vitamins for two and a half months, plus recent additions of extra fencing to keep out the damned fox, brought the total to nearly $270. Subsequent months will run about $ .30 per egg. $27 is the cost of the egg feed, and I can expect 75-80 eggs per month. Until the chickens pass their egg-laying prime, when I will be unable to just use them for soup, and will continue to feed them a cheaper feed until they die of old age. And I'll buy some new pullets, too. Within two years, I'll have four thousand chickens, right?
It will be a different story with the white chickens I am planning to buy as fluffy yellow peeps next month. Jonathan is building me a peep box which will serve as their home until they fledge and can go into the hen house. They will stuff themselves with grow feed until they are big enough to, uh, eat.
Maria José will do the honors and I'll have six months of chickens in the freezer. I will force myself to lavish my love on my hens and ignore the white chickens, or this whole plan will fall apart. There are other concerns as well. What if some of the peeps turn out to be roosters? How much will the vet charge to make capons?
For the record, I am not zackly doing all this to save money, which is good, as I will mos def not save money. I love having chickens, I love fresh eggs, and I like to eat chicken, and it is all about me! And of course, I plan to share the bounty with friends and employees.
A little more quick math tells me that in nine days, Gabriel will arrive for a quick visit while his school district takes a short vacation. Hurray! Travel safely, my sweet boy!
Friday, February 3, 2017
Dust, Trees, Papaya, and Poultry
A year ago, I was still in La Boquita. I remember the dust being kicked up by the winds, but I could close the windows and keep the house reasonably clean. Here in the hills, the winds are fierce, and my corrugated metal roof claps and pounds most worryingly. Although I do water all my plants deeply on water days, there is a ton of fine dirt that lifts and flies about with every gust. My louvered windows are old and hard to close, impossible, really, in some cases. So when Maria José goes home after mopping the floors, within an hour, there is a thin film of brown dirt everywhere! If I use my computer more than an hour, I have to try and clean it as best I can. And at night, the wind howls and thumps against my little house.
A white wash of towels and underwear on the line is a light ecru by the time I put it away. If I walk barefoot through my house, my soles are black in minutes! There seems to be no point in washing the dogs.
A week or so ago, a work crew came up the highway, cutting limbs and branches away from the electrical lines. I have (had) a pretty tree beside my entry gate that was a minor offender in this regard, but these guys just hacked it to pieces, leaving a pile of leafy branches and tree litter on the ground. I was stunned to see how little remained of my gatekeeper. I asked Roger if we could try and root some of the branches, and he proceeded to chop down the branches into two-foot lengths, and put a dozen in a bucket of water. Some of them sprouted new leaves almost immediately. Roger planted about nine or ten two days ago, four in front of the wall along the highway, with orders to reach for the electrical wires as quickly as possible. Here is one he planted in my yard:
Elsewhere, my two small papaya trees are blooming for the first time. Here is a bloom and a nascent papaya in the works:
We had a tragedy in the hen house. Last week, not only did a predator (a fox, likely) murder a third hen, but a fourth had her head mangled by Brynn, whose muzzle can get through the cyclone fence. The poor thing was utterly blind, teeth marks all over her head, eyes swollen shut, and traumatized into stony immobility. I figured it would be kinder to put her down as quickly as possible, but I could not. Her body was unhurt, and I smeared Neosporin all over the wounds on her head and her eyes. I set her in one of the nest boxes and crossed my fingers. She survived the night, but would not move or try to eat. I spent the next four days forcing open her beak every three hours for a few crumbs of feed and dunking her into the drinking water. Her wounds did not become infected, and her right eye began to open a little. By day five, she had regained her sight in that eye, and was ravenously eating and drinking and running around, full of energy. She made it. I had thought I would be down to six hens, but I have seven! Still not laying, it's true, but one of these days...
 |
| Brynn "herding" the chickens in the dust. |
A white wash of towels and underwear on the line is a light ecru by the time I put it away. If I walk barefoot through my house, my soles are black in minutes! There seems to be no point in washing the dogs.
A week or so ago, a work crew came up the highway, cutting limbs and branches away from the electrical lines. I have (had) a pretty tree beside my entry gate that was a minor offender in this regard, but these guys just hacked it to pieces, leaving a pile of leafy branches and tree litter on the ground. I was stunned to see how little remained of my gatekeeper. I asked Roger if we could try and root some of the branches, and he proceeded to chop down the branches into two-foot lengths, and put a dozen in a bucket of water. Some of them sprouted new leaves almost immediately. Roger planted about nine or ten two days ago, four in front of the wall along the highway, with orders to reach for the electrical wires as quickly as possible. Here is one he planted in my yard:
Elsewhere, my two small papaya trees are blooming for the first time. Here is a bloom and a nascent papaya in the works:
We had a tragedy in the hen house. Last week, not only did a predator (a fox, likely) murder a third hen, but a fourth had her head mangled by Brynn, whose muzzle can get through the cyclone fence. The poor thing was utterly blind, teeth marks all over her head, eyes swollen shut, and traumatized into stony immobility. I figured it would be kinder to put her down as quickly as possible, but I could not. Her body was unhurt, and I smeared Neosporin all over the wounds on her head and her eyes. I set her in one of the nest boxes and crossed my fingers. She survived the night, but would not move or try to eat. I spent the next four days forcing open her beak every three hours for a few crumbs of feed and dunking her into the drinking water. Her wounds did not become infected, and her right eye began to open a little. By day five, she had regained her sight in that eye, and was ravenously eating and drinking and running around, full of energy. She made it. I had thought I would be down to six hens, but I have seven! Still not laying, it's true, but one of these days...
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