the garden

For one second, before I opened my eyes, I thought I was in Hammam-Sousse, Tunisia, being awakened by the call to prayer.  By the time my brain registered Spanish instead of Arabic I realized that it was Sunday morning, and at 6:30 the Catholic muzzein was calling the faithful across the puebla over very African seeming loud speakers.

Light filtered through the clear panels that pass for skylights in the metal roof of our cottage and the distant sounds of dogs barking, a donkey braying and cocks crowing at the sun welcomed me home to Guatemala.  How is it, exactly, that I get to winter in paradise? I think it must be some fairy magic, as even all of the hard work and sacrifice that go into lifestyle travel don’t seem to warrant such privilege.

I’d set myself up for significant disappointment.  Pictures are often too good to be true, and we’ve rented enough weird places in the world to know that what you see is not often what you get.  At best, what is advertised is EXACTLY what you get, and nothing more.  In this case, the pictures didn’t begin to do this place justice.

Elisha & Ezra "helping" el capitan

The boat ride across from Panajachel was rough.  We were damp.  Our gear was dripping with spray.  My confidence in the advertised location was waning somewhat as our lancha pushed it’s way into a veritable bamboo forest of a cove and our gear was unceremoniously pitched out onto the forest floor.  What we couldn’t see, was the garden a few feet away.

I almost cried when we stepped out of the bamboo and into the sunlight, and if you know me at all, you know how ridiculous that is.  I still don’t have words adequate to describe this little bit of heaven.  The preliminary plant count is as follows:

• banana
• lime
• orange
• avocado
• palms
• orchids
• bamboo
• more vining flowers than I know what to do with
• an eight foot rose bush
• bird of paradise
• coffee, tons of coffee

and so much more.

house at sunset

The mowed lawn is embroidered with a stone path, lined with mint green ground gover plants of some sort, leading to a palapa down by the water’s edge.  We’ve hung our hammocks beneath the bamboo structure and it is the perfect place to sit and listen to the water lap the shore, write, rest or read.

The children immediately spread far and wide exploring their new world.  They’ve each chosen a “secret spot” to hide and rest and they’ve all taken turns climbing the hanging vines above the stone wall half way down the property.  Of course, they’ve already been in swimming.

Volcan Fuego is smoking today.  That, coupled with the odd gunshot in early celebration of Dia de los Muertos, and the blasting to clear the road to Solola from mudslide debris and you have a recipe for Ezra running, wide eyed, full speed up the path from the lake where the kids were swimming yelling, “Mama!!  The volcano is EXPLODING!  Come look.”

Ezra worrying about Volcan Fuego

Today has been a day of rest after yesterday’s move and afternoon spent in San Pedro eating at our favorite restaurant and provisioning the kitchen.  More needs to be done on that front, and I’ll head to Panajachel in a couple of days to accomplish the bulk of it.

We’ve met our gardener, Andang, and Marcario, the night watchman who lives in the concrete block shack behind the house.  We’ve made friends with the cheapest of the veggie sellers in the puebla and have eaten the most perfect pineapple we’ve had since March, when we were here last.

The best news of all (from Tony’s standpoint, at least) is that we have a perfect 3G internet connection via modem.  Exactly the same set up as I’ve had in the States all summer… only far cheaper, of course.  Tomorrow morning, he’ll dive into work from Fahrsoft’s new Central American HQ.

The boys with my flowers

The sun is beginning to dip behind the mountains and Atitlan’s early twilight is beginning to settle into the bowl over the lake.

Gabe and Elisha took the woven basket and a pair of scissors into town to collect some long stemmed flowers for me to arrange for table.

Hannah is practicing her violin.

Ezra is carefully drawing in a little notebook he brought, a gift he has planned for the impending Grandparents for Christmas.

The whole house smells like the bread I just baked for dinner.

Two hummingbirds are fighting for the day’s last rights to a big orange Bella Donna flower outside my window.

I’m home.