• mornings

    These days, I get up earlier than I did in the other house. The brightening sky lights our bedroom through the single, large window. It’s still gray outside, but the birds are singing. It will be another gorgeous day.

    I pull on a hoodie and tiptoe out to the kitchen. It’s cold. I can see my breath. I slide open the metal barn door and peek outside.

    I can see the moon! I grab my camera, slip on my husband’s sneakers (I’ll apologize later) and head outside.

    There are dew-drenched spider webs everywhere. The valley is thick with fog.

    The ground is silvery and wet. It glimmers and shimmers in the sunlight.

    The workers, machetes in hand, are tromping by in their rubber boots on their way to The Big House.

    “Buenos dias!” I call quietly, and they singsong the greeting back to me. Suddenly, I am self-conscious of my pajamas—black leggings and long shirt—and fancy camera, so I scuttle back inside.

    Coffee time! I fill my teapot with purified water and set it to boiling. While I stir the hot water into the coffee grounds and push the water through my aeropress, I heat some milk in a small saucepan. There is no half-and-half or cream here, so it’s café con leche every morning.

    It’s time for the kids to be getting up, so I turn on lights and start clattering dishes, emptying the drainer and getting out the skillets. I chop up the potatoes that I baked last night (the hot oven helped make the house cozy) for the morning’s fried potatoes and whisk a dozen eggs. There will be ketchup, too.

    “Breakfast is almost ready! Get up, get dressed, make your beds, and come eat!” I holler at the children. They groan and burrow deeper into the covers. My husband joins me in urging them onward ho.

    Soon Luvia will be arriving, and the day will be underway.

  • swimming in the sunshine

    Good afternoon! The kids are outside playing with their friends.

    My husband just set off for Chamelco in search of some electrical tape so he can fix the stove (so it will cease and desist in its shocking behavior, hopefully).

    I finished mixing up a batch of five-minute bread for our supper. The house is quiet, all except for the tin roof—it makes crackling noises in the broiling sun.

    Yes, the sun, oh joy! It hasn’t rained for two days and the chill and damp is finally (perhaps momentarily, but that’s okay) gone.

    We are still living out of suitcases, but our made-to-order dressers and some tables arrived this morning. However, since they were made out of wet wood (much to my husband’s dismay), we have to let them dry in the sun for a couple days before using them. One of the tables went into the kitchen so now I have some actual counter space to work with and not just a tile ledge. Another carpentry shop is making us some simple chairs, a bench, and another bed stand, and once my husband gets some wood, we’ll have shelves on the walls. Bit by bit, we’re settling in.

    I have so much to write about that I’m not sure where to start. Maybe a list?

    *The first night in our new home, our older daughter sat at the supper table, nervously eyeing the gap that runs the whole way around the house between the walls and ceilings, her hands over her ears (her trademark “I’m scared” gesture), watching for strange animals slithering in and dropping on our heads. I, too, was/am wary of rats, mice, and possums crawling through the cracks, but I’ve made no mention of that to the children, of course. (The mouse that slipped in under the door last night is no longer of this world, glory be.)

    *We are surrounded by boys. The owner’s grandsons live in The Big House: José is 12 and Fernando is 7. José speaks a little English. Both are very friendly and eager to share bikes, ping-pong table, etc.

    One of the other families that lives on the farm, some long-term missionaries, have four boys that they homeschool. Their names are Jorge, Joaquin, Andrés, and Marcos. Their ages range from 9-13, I think. The boys are adopted and speak both Spanish and English. Their family runs the fish farm and they just gave us a frozen crab. I’ll boil it for supper…I guess?

    *The 10-15 minute walk to Chamelco is peaceful and beautiful. First we have to walk down our long, curving, dirt/mud/rock/pothole-filled driveway, and then out through the bougainvillea covered gates. The main road is paved and lined with hedges and flowers. People are constantly walking by. Most of them are cheerful—actually, “jolly” is a better adjective—which surprises me. I expected that they would be more reserved and somber.

    Later…
    When I was writing, the kids came bursting through the door, wanting to go swimming. They said the pond was shallow and that the boys’ father was down there. I gave them permission and then, camera in hand, followed them down. (So much for my list.)

    They—eight boys and two girls—were out on the water, boating, paddling, swimming, and yelling.

    The entire pond was only a couple feet deep, thick mud lining the bottom. It’s one huge water-filled playground.

    The pond has tilapia in it (and the neighbors gave us some!)—when the kids swim, the fish just hide in the reeds.

    Some of the boys went to the far side and climbed the tree to jump in.

    After an hour of racing, splashing, and dumping each other, the kids climbed out of the water, shivering and begging for towels. Now, back at our house, they’ve had showers.

    showered, in fresh clothes, soaking up the setting sun

    As soon as my husband finishes fixing the oven, I’ll try my hand at some homemade pizza.

  • and then we moved into a barn

    Wow. It’s been a whirlwind couple days. We found a place out in the country, talked about it for a few hours, decided to move, and then, a few hours later, there we were, living in our new digs. Amazing.

    mint from our backyard

    To tell the truth, I am so excited I can hardly slow down enough to type the story, the gist of which is:

    WE MOVED INTO A BARN AND WE ARE SO HAPPY.

    Okay, so it’s not actually a barn barn. There aren’t animals in it (thought there was that mouse that made an appearance tonight—the girls and I were screaming so loudly my husband thought a stranger walked into the house waving a machete) (and the dogs sometimes sneak in) and it’s not at all haymow-y. It’s more of a big storage shed that has had some bedrooms built into it. It suits us perfectly.

    Our new home is located on a large finca (farm). There are about seven other homes on the property—some family and some rented. The finca—Rancho de la Santa Fe—is located a short walk out of Chamelco, a small, friendly, family-centered town. (Carcha was more industrialized.) Bezaleel is a five minute bus ride from Chamelco, so now we are a bit closer to the school. And that’s it for the geography lesson.

    There is so much green. So much. We are more isolated than we were in the city, and security is excellent. I can walk around outside with my camera!

    the view from the back door

    At first we were a little concerned that we will be too isolated. That we won’t have neighbors to visit with. That the kids won’t have neighbor kids to run around with. So far, that is not the case. There are two boys who live up at The Big House, the same ages as my boys. All day long, the kids have been back and forth between houses. Many times during the day I paused what I was doing and realized that I didn’t know exactly where the kids were and it was okay. After not being able to let them even open the door without permission, the freedom is over-the-top glorious.

    the rope swing at one of the rented houses

    And even if we are more isolated, we will be going to town for errands and church, and to Bezaleel for work. If anything, I think it will be nice to have a place to get away from it all. Having a safe haven is so important.

    About the farm: the owner’s daughter is getting her degree in forestry engineering. She is reforesting with lots of pine trees, and she’s working at taking down the wire fences and putting up natural fences. There is a creek and a whole bunch of ponds—one of the renters is using them to raise Tilapia and trout. There are fruit trees and banana plants and flowers everywhere. There is a ping-pong table up at The Big House and a (currently drained) in-ground swimming pool. One of the renters has a horse.

    There are three mild-mannered, intelligent dogs. Amarillo, especially, is extremely pliable.

    The house is rather cavernous, but we have some ideas for how to make it cozier, and—get this—it has windows with see-through glass and big barn doors (but of course!) that open wide. Luvia came out to work today, even though it was Saturday.

    She scrubbed the bathroom from top to bottom, and I scrubbed the metal barn doors, inside and out. We washed windows and scrubbed floors and did (a little) laundry. Some workers have been painting the house, and the gardener has been cleaning up around the place and “mowed” the yard with a machete.

    My husband and older son went to Coban today and came back with a TIGO stick—a do-hickey that you put in the USB port so that you can get internet anywhere. So now I am sitting in my bed, drinking tea, and hanging out on the web.

    This place feels so, so right.

    It’s even crossed my mind that I might not want to go home.