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.

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...