Growth Factors

The explosion of life that accompanies the rainy season continues to astonish my temperate-zone psyche. True, my so-called veggie garden is now a mass of weeds and vines, and Roger has had to cut back the "lawn" to a virtual sea of mud (which is rebounding rapidly), but also notable are a couple of species that were added to my landscape about eight months ago. These both involved planting a fresh cutting -- no roots-- into a hole in the ground, and nurturing with near daily watering throughout the dry months. The sacuanjoche, or plumeria tree, which is the national flower of Nicaragua, was a foot-long stem with five leaves, all of which fell off and were replaced by five more. Here's what it looks like now having added about five inches of additional height, and many more leaves in the past two months:

And in its center, several new spikes, which may be flower buds or growth twigs for adding new branches to the original stem. Will update as needed down the road.

The other planting involved several cuttings of a variety of bird of paradise flower, which, again, we just stuck into the ground and watered frequently. The cuttings barely survived the dry season, but as soon as the rains saturated the earth, they began to flourish, growing large, glossy leaves, and then producing these:

Just after I returned from the States a month ago, I acquired a pure German shepherd puppy named Mitzi. She's an East German variety of shepherd that has darker fur, including a nice black stripe down her back, and a black face, with black markings on her feet and tail. She is growing at a good clip, too, and is fitting in well with Brynn and Susie. Here she is just after arriving, and then earlier today:

Mitzi looks forlorn, but she is actually very lively and sweet. She is bold and assertive, as hoped for, and will doubtless prove an effective deterrent to intruders.

A Visitation

My six brown hens are champion egg producers. Daily, four to six eggs appear in the common nest, far too many for me alone, so Maria José takes a dozen or so each week for her family. A few months ago, her husband Jonathan presented me with a black pullet I may have mentioned a few posts ago. When I put her into the coop, the other birds immediately signaled their displeasure by pecking her mercilessly. I quickly removed the newbie, dubbed Juana, to a separate part of the coop where she has grown into a very nice black hen, with gold feathers beneath the black which, despite her big feet, lend her a touch of glamour.

Lately, I have worried that her solitude and limited quarters have offered her little beyond shelter and food. Not much of a life, really. But I'm afraid she'll not survive long if she joins the beldams on the other side of the cyclone fence.

Two days ago, I noticed a visitor sitting atop the chicken coop. A white dove—Una Paloma Blanca!— had joined the ranks of the various grackles and sparrows who daily raid the coop chicken feed. Doves normally return to their home turf, so I was surprised to find the bird the next morning, inside Juana's quarters! He (I have decided the dove is a "he") did not freak out when I put in new feed and water for Juana, and he tucked in for a good meal shortly thereafter.

I have named the dove "Casper," (the friendly Holy Ghost) and he is still with us, blithely perched in the coop, seeming not to mind the dogs or me. I wonder if Juana likes having a live-in suitor.

The gang's all here!

Might be love...

Post Scriptum - 2 September 2017

Casper stayed with us nearly six weeks, until a pair of grackles harried him into fleeing for the trees. He lingered for another two days last week, and eventually was seen no more. Perhaps he'll visit again when he has a yen for chicken feed.

La Gringa Loca

Having reached an age when I no longer care very much what people think of me in a positive or negative way, I do sometimes wonder how I am regarded by my Nicaraguan neighbors. I am the only Norteamericana around, to my knowledge. Certainly I am the only gringa on the bus most times. But this morning, something happened that may have cemented my reputation forever.

I rose early. determined to put in a brisk walk before the day's heat set in. Brynn is my regular walking companion, and we started out in fine fettle, greeting folks at the nearby bus stop, when suddenly the leash came undone and Brynn took off on the highway. Well, I just snapped. Visions of her being run down have always plagued me, living here on the famed PanAmerican Highway as we do. And now, I ran, yelling her name and trying to slow traffic, gesticulating wildly. She gaily zipped along, me running behind, gasping for air, calling her name, and, I admit, sobbing in terror of her imminent death.

A family of four ran up from the bus stop, and the one young man took off after Brynn into a bean field. She ran faster, into a woods beyond. A car stopped, and the driver, another young guy, got out and joined the chase. Then, a motorcyclist stopped and after a minute, crossed the bean field, too, and disappeared into the woods. The rest of the family marched through the field, save for a daughter, Carla, who waited with me. Eventually, I heard faraway yelps of fear and panic from Brynn, plainly unhappy to be caught, and in a few minutes, the whole group emerged from the trees and crossed back over the bean field.

I was pathetically glad to have my dog back, safe and sound. I begged the man who carried her—and suffered a small bite on his arm for his trouble—to let me give him something for his efforts, but he wasn't having it. All these people who had joined the fray to save my dog, who is ridiculously important to me, simply smiled and left at the happy conclusion of this sudden drama.

Am I now the gringa loca, who is crazy about her dog? Who bursts into tears when her dog runs away? People hereabouts love their pets, but cannot lavish treats and care on them, as I and other Norteamericanos do. I wonder if the exigencies of poverty render devotion to a pet, such as I have for Brynn, absurd, or at least unseemly. Today, in any case, I saw much evidence of basic and immediate empathy for a fellow human, and her runaway pet. And I am most humbly grateful,