massive update! finally

August 11, 2010 -- 6:45 p.m.

I am a self-diagnosed chronic skeptic. It could be my preoccupation with western philosophy, which in turn is preoccupied with Descartes. Everything is filtered through this revolving notion of doubt and unreliability. Here it is: the ubiquitous, unending, unanswerable question of madness. Of sanity. Hamlet.  Don Quixote. I don’t think the notion of sanity should even exist. I think everyone is, by the accepted definition, insane. I am sure that sanity is an imagined ideal. It is perpetuated in order to make people less uncomfortable with the lives they have made for themselves at the expense of others. Living here, the imbalance of wealth in the world has become lot more tangible to me. I’m saying this and I wouldn’t even consider Costa Rica a third world country. Here I am, complaining, sitting in front of my laptop with a roof over my head. I am privileged.  I don’t deserve this life of affluence that I was born into. Back to abstractions -- my doubt isn’t merely Cartesian. It stems from something deeper. Something that was spawned when I was very young, before I could even conceptualize of thought-determining structures. I doubt myself. Truthfully, I don’t know if I can make it here. I feel so weak. I miss home and all of the accompanying accoutrements . Home isn’t a place; it’s a lifestyle. It’s a routine lack of routine. It’s being consistently inconsistent.  I miss caffeine. fast food. power lines. wearing makeup. drinking excessively. being irresponsible. the culture of laziness. knowing that I can call 911 if I get injured and they’ll come to my rescue. Maybe I’m not the person I thought I was. Maybe, in actuality, I’m just as superficial and slothful as I’m trying not to be.  My move here was reckless, but if I’m even the least bit irresponsible here the repercussions could be catastrophic. Because of my remote location, I’m at least two hours away from the nearest hospital. For most emergencies, like snake bites or broken ankles, we have haphazard treatment methods here. There are no sick days on farms. Being here is forcing me to perform at maximum capacity 100% of the time. It is exhausting me to the core. I can’t half-ass anything. It’s terrifying. I guess this is what I wanted.

I’m alone in the house right now. My remoteness has been continually mocked by the endless torrential downpour. I’m now on hour four. When I was hiking back home from town, it started to drizzle. That was six hours ago. This sort of seclusion – this insular inaccessibility – it forces me into the worst parts of my mind. I’ve tried everything to distract myself. I played my guitar for a few hours. Even after the 5 miles I already hiked today, I worked out. I read for a little bit, but I couldn’t concentrate. I’m doing a terrible job of controlling my emotions.

So now they just come bubbling up. Flesh and blood transliterated into black and white. I hate myself for not appreciating my life in California while it was right at my fingertips. I had this grand idea of what adventuring would be, but I had no idea that it would be this excruciating to detach myself. The grass is always greener, I suppose. I should never get attached to anything. Nothing is stagnant, nothing is reliable. At least when I let myself down, I only have myself to blame. Even if something does last forever, what’s the point? That’s where I get stuck. Maybe I don’t want it to last forever. Maybe I want to destroy everything I’ve built for myself and start anew. I want to construct a new empire from the smoldering ruins of my old life. Distance grants one a terrifying perspective. I miss being nearsighted – I miss being privy to that gilded, myopic idolization of my world. It’s always easier when you don’t see the whole picture. I want to burn everything to the ground. I don’t want to feel attachment because detachment is too painful. I don’t think the highs are worth the lows.

There are cracks in the wooden planks of my floor. I look down and I can see the red earth under the house. This is how I feel about my physical state. The barriers I have built for myself – as protection – are cracking and turning to dust. I don’t want people to see how desolate I am internally. I really have no faith in humanity. I don’t believe in altruism. I firmly believe that most people are inherently evil. Somehow, the few who aren’t – the few who just might be able to contradict my position – are the ones who are closest to me. It’s a sick world. I’d much rather just be surrounded by people who hurt me constantly because they wouldn’t inadvertently lead me to having higher expectations.

I was so scared of being alone forever. Now I kind of crave it.

August 12, 2010 – 1:15 p.m.

So the volunteer girl who just arrived two days ago has politely informed me that she will be leaving in tomorrow. She signed on for staying three weeks. This means I will be alone on the farm for at least two weeks. I wish people would just man up and deal with the situations they make for themselves. I signed on for staying here SIX MONTHS. It sucks. There are bugs. I have to work. I have to be dirty all the time, clean up animal shit, and defecate into a bucket. I GET IT. I want to go home too. Yet I am staying here, as promised, until January 12^th. She said she “doesn’t like bugs”. She didn’t bring any work boots with her, and she asked where the “mirror” was so she could apply makeup. Mirror? HA! Is this a joke?  The only reflection I ever see of myself is when I happen to glance down in the puddle of my own urine as I’m releasing it in nature. If you want to lounge, go stay in a hostel. Better yet, book yourself a suite at the Marriott in San Jose with your daddy’s credit card. Don’t volunteer to do farm work. I know it’s like way stressful that you just graduated high school. I get that it’s like totally hard leaving that boy you started dating two weeks ago. I know it’s like really bad that you’ll only have a few days to move into your dorm at the ivy league university to which your parents bought you admission. WHO GOES TO AN IVY LEAGUE SCHOOL TO BECOME A VETERNARIAN ? Maybe I’m being insensitive. Or maybe I’m just sick of self-imagined superiority.

My favorite gems of conversation from this girl so far:

Her: “Jessica, what are you reading?”

Me: “Heidegger.”

Her: “Is that, like, for school?”

Me: “No.”

Her: “Then why are you, like, underlining it so much?”

Another great one:

“My boyfriend and I have been going out for two weeks. He just broke up with his girlfriend. He asked me out on my birthday. He told me it’s like totally okay if something happens with a Costa Rican guy while I’m here because I’m like on a tropical vacation. I think we’re in love.”

HA! And here’s the one that legitimately pissed me off:

 “So why didn’t you just book a flight to go with Liz when she left? I can’t believe you had her fly home alone. I would have done that for my best friend.”

August 13, 2010 – 6:36 a.m.

 I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m becoming a morning person. Oh, and today is Friday the 13^th. Rightfully so. The weather has been really erratic last night and today. Usually it’s pretty clear and warm from sunrise until about 2 in the afternoon. Then the rain continues into the late evening. Yesterday, it didn’t rain at all. This morning it’s been raining nonstop. It started pouring heavily around sunrise and isn’t showing any sign of letting up. I don’t know if I’m supposed to work in this or if I can just stay inside. Maybe this is why I brought ponchos.

Despite the weird weather and the harrowing realization that I’m going to be alone for two weeks on this farm, I’m actually in pretty good spirits. I was just reading through some of my earlier blog entries and I almost don’t want to post them . I was definitely down in the dumps for a few days, but I can comfortably say that I’m happy here now. I guess, for integrity’s sake, I shouldn’t edit or censor anything.

On an unrelated note, that bottle of Johnny Walker red was worth every mile I had to carry it on my back. The altitude here is so intense that I had probably only an ounce and a half of it last night. It was just enough! Wow, I can’t believe it. I’m developing the ability to do things in moderation. Who knew it was possible?!?

Regrettably, I don’t have anything profound to say. Just mundane smatterings today. Maybe I’ll say something worthwhile tomorrow.

Sunday, August 15, 2010 – 2:05 pm

I have neglected writing as much lately. Maybe it just feels like I haven’t been writing because time here trickles by so slowly. It’s a shame that I’m only moved to write when I miss home. Therefore, I doubt these reflections are an accurate portrayal of my time here. I rarely write when I’m happy.

I spent thirty minutes meticulously hanging laundry on the clothesline outside only to be greeted heartily by a violent thunderstorm. Oh well. I suppose they’ll be extra clean. 

Today is my first day alone on the farm. It’s really quiet here. I don’t know if I’ll make it two weeks. Based on the rate at which time passes in the tropics, I’m going to feel immortalized by the end of August. I already have developed a God complex from the plants I’ve started to grow and the gargantuan bugs I’ve slain. This isn’t going to be good for my ego.  I’ve started a few projects, but when the rain begins, it makes me completely lethargic and introspective. I guess I have the tendency to feel that way regardless of the weather. Weeping skies just serve as an excuse for me to mope. I’m not unhappy. I just really miss home.

The book I’ve been reading over the last day or so has greatly affected my thoughts. I broke the rule I made before coming here (reading multiple books at a time – a terrible habit of mine) and decided that I needed to stop reading  Heidegger for a day or two. I picked up a book I’ve been meaning to read – Salamander. It’s about 600 pages or so. I’ve been reading it on and off for a day and I only have about 50 pages left. It’s out of print, I was lucky enough to find a copy on Half.com before I left for Costa Rica. Anyway, this book is about a prolific historical document forger in Utah in the 80s. He ended up bombing a high-profile office building in the center of Salt Lake City and killing two people. He only got caught because he accidentally detonated one of the bombs that was meant for someone else and severely injured himself. This book describes the Mormon Church’s involvement in the trading of historical documents and essentially in the bombings also.  Enough of my preambles. Salamander is an excellent factual account of what happened, but it is written more like a narrative or a murder mystery than a journalistic expose. The tone is also relatively unbiased. The authors have an obvious respect for many of the traditions held sacred within Mormonism, but they also objectively describe many historical inaccuracies within the doctrine. Aside from describing the turn of events over the few years following the bombings and Mark Hofmann’s trial, it has a decent amount of solid information about the true origins of Mormonism. I have always been interested in Mormon history, even before I left the church. It listed a lot of interesting titles including No Man Knows My History, a more factual biography of Joseph Smith that was not commissioned by the LDS church.  I will definitely have to read that one when I get back to the states. Anyway, It talks a little about the early Mormon church being heavily influenced by New England folk magic around the mid to late 19^th century. If I were a student of history, I’d definitely choose this subject as my course of study/dissertation material.

Well, in regards to this non-sequitur, reading Salamander has brought up a lot of forgotten memories from my own childhood. The book presents a perfect microcosm of Mormon culture through the narrative style of the prose. I had filed away the memories of hundreds of Sabbaths in the back of my mind – maybe in hopes that they’d become so dusty I’d never need to revisit them again. Yet, here they are, unfortunately good as new.  There are parts of it I miss. Even though I see now that it was just a façade of unity, I miss feeling like part of a community. I miss having faith in something, I miss essentially believing in magic. I miss knowing that I could justify anything through the statement “everything happens for a reason” or “It’s God’s plan.” Sometimes, I almost wish I hadn’t chosen reason over faith. I see people who live their lives so peacefully within the church. Although I know that there’s always more truth lurking beneath the placid surface, it’s easy for me to idolize scenarios when I can’t see the whole picture.

Honestly, though, the nostalgia I hold for attending church meetings is the same nostalgia I feel for believing in the tooth fairy or waiting patiently for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. It’s acceptable to have imagined justifications as a child, but after seeing what I’ve seen and knowing what I know now, there is absolutely no way I’d ever be able to live within that mindset again. I’ve made jokes with friends – If I ever fail in my academic pursuits – I’m just going to go back to Mormonism and become an apologist for the LDS church. The most famous Mormon apologists are scholars. They are so trained in rhetoric and circular reasoning that they could essentially “disprove” any factual evidence denouncing the church. What I don’t understand is how they could pretend to feel morally right about what it is they’re doing.  As much as I don’t consider myself a feminist, I would never be able to endorse a structure that is so vehemently patriarchal. When people ask me if polygamy is still practiced, I explain to them that they are asking the wrong question. Polygamy is only practiced by fundamentalist sects of the Mormon church, and the mainstream LDS church denounces it entirely. These facts, however, are irrelevant. The same notions of female subservience are just as prominent now as they were when Brigham Young settled in the great basin. It doesn’t matter how many wives one man has -- whether it’s one or twenty --  if there is abuse occurring, something is severely wrong.  Physical abuse and incest are so common in Mormonism that the majority of incidents remain unreported. People are aware of these practices, but they tacitly sweep them under the rug, allowing them to fester and proliferate for generations. Well, at this point, there’s the whole “live and let live” argument. This also is unfounded. The LDS church has strongly opposed every prominent civil rights issue since the 1960s. They contributed funds opposing racial equality, gender equality, and now marriage equality. Proposition eight in California, which removed the right for same sex couples to marry, recently passed largely because of out-of-state contributions from Mormons in Utah. This occurred directly after the general authorities of the LDS church implored members to donate. I wish people would open their eyes and look at the historical context of these issues. The Mormon church is so intertwined in state politics that Utah is essentially a sovereign religious republic. 

On an unrelated note, LIZ COMES BACK IN TWO WEEKS!!! I’M SO EXCITED!!! AND KELLY COMES OCTOBER 8th!!!! SO EXCITED!!! I’m going to have my best friend and my boyfriend living in paradise with me. What could be better? Not much.

August 17, 2010 -- 7:18 p.m.

Day three in solitary confinement – errr—I mean, alone on the farm.

Possible signs of psychosis:

Talking to the chickens. Having a heated discussion with el gato about metaphysics and losing. Seeing zombies in my sleep. Envisioning a four-foot-long poisonous pit viper in the shower – OH WAIT. That actually happened. Side note: the shower is not a shower. It’s a wooden frame the size and shape of a shower covered with dried leaves from the banana trees. It has wooden planks for a floor (that apparently a snake can fit through) and a giant water tank on top that gets filled with rainwater. This is outside, a good 15 feet uphill from the shack where I sleep.  It’s actually soothing to have toucans and macaws in the trees above your shower serenading you while you scrub. There are, however, several disadvantages to this fine contraption. The banana leaves don’t leave much to the imagination, as I believe I stated in a previous entry. Also, it’s freezing. After working for awhile in the heat, it’s not too bad because I’m sweaty and hot anyway (awwww yeahhh). Also, apparently snakes like to hang out there. It is pretty dank (and I mean this in the literal textbook sense, not in the colloquial sense. Go surf or something, freaks). Anyway, I’m going crazy. I spent the evening making dinner, listening to the falling rain accompanied by a selection of the finest tango music from around the world. This is not a joke. I then proceeded to give myself a tarot card reading and somehow made a drinking game out of it. Room temperature scotch straight out of the bottle has never been so delicious. I don’t have the heart to tell Kelly that I’m cheating on him with Johnny Walker Red. I did, however, have a nice amount of social interaction last night. Interaction might be too strong of a word considering I did a lot of nodding, gesticulating, and displaying of my best confused “no entiendo” faces.

The neighbors, Luz and Guillermo, invited me to their daughter’s 17^th birthday party. They are the closest neighbors to our farm, and they live approximately two miles away at the bottom of the hill and across a river. Getting there is not so bad (until the river) because the path is all sharp and downhill. The river, however, is fucking treacherous, especially after the rain. This birthday extravaganza was scheduled at 5 p.m., I decided I’d leave at 4 just to give myself enough time. That way, I’d have the energy to be social and I could enjoy a leisurely, picturesque walk. First and foremost, being the woman that I am, I took longer to get ready than was necessary. I actually took a shower (GASP!) AND, here comes the intense part, I PUT ON MAKEUP! OH MY GOD! This is the first time I even opened my makeup bag since I’ve been here. I figured since I’m going to a birthday party, I needed to look somewhat human. Ha. Wrong choice. So, I put some tunes on, put on my face, slipped into some clean clothes, I was feeling pretty good. Right as I stepped outside, I realized that I need to put the chickens in early. Those beasts are trained to be in the chicken coop at sundown (around 6pm) however, due to my social engagement, I had to put them in early. I didn’t want that snake eating my only source of protein (EGGS!). Especially since I don’t get any of the flesh, I’m definitely not sharing the chickens with some slithering, limbless reptile. What’s that, Mr. Serpent? You can dislocate your jaw, snake? Great party trick. Go join a sorority. ANYWAY. I get down to the chicken coop and I somehow lure them back into their house. I don’t even want to call it a coop. They have more room than I do. Crazy hippies and their cage-free, free-range, free-love chickens. So, I took attendance, and there was still one chicken missing. Doing some deductive reasoning, I deduced that it perhaps would be lurking beneath the hen house. ALAS! There it was, joyously clucking away. I dove. It escaped. I chased this hen around for at least 15 minutes. After I finally got it in the cage, I was sweating profusely and covered with muddy feathers. Awesome. So much for getting ready. I went back up to my room to “freshen up” only to walk outside to the start of a violent thunderstorm. I was irritated, but I wasn’t changing plans. “I’m going,” I told myself. At that point, I had made up my mind. Nothing was going to stop me from going to the party. I slipped into my knee-high rubber galoshes and began my way down the trail. 10 minutes into my walk I was soaked from head to toe. Two miles passed. By the time I got off the path, cut through the brush, and got to the river, I was drenched. This was also the first time I’d attempted to cross the river during a rain storm. The river had terrified me midday while it was calm and completely clear. At that moment, the currents were moving quickly and the water was completely opaque with mud. There was no way I could do this, I thought to myself. Then, I thought rationally for once (savor it…it doesn’t happen frequently.) I told myself that I couldn’t turn back because there was no way I’d make it home before sunset. Hiking in the rain is one thing. Hiking in the rain after dark when you’re sharing a trail with venomous snakes, scorpions, spiders, etc… is something else. So, therefore, my will to drowning was overpowered by my will to being eaten to death by creatures (sponsored by Nietzsche). So, I did it. I don’t know how I made it. Wearing my boots was a joke. The river went up to my thighs. By the time I got to the house, I was late. I was dripping wet and covered in mud. I’m sure my makeup was running. I walked up to the entrance only to see four extra long picnic style tables set up and filled with people already eating. Costa Ricans have Mormon-style families. If families were for sale, this one would only be available at Costco. Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins everywhere. I was mortified. So, I patiently just introduced myself and asked where Luz was in Spanish. I’m sure I looked like a hot mess. After going into the living room and seeing it full of everyone but her, I went to the kitchen. There she was, feverishly cooking away.  She was so warm and kind to me, she told me to sit down, got me a spot outside, and began to shower me with plates of food and shots of homemade liquor. Totally worth the trip. Also, the meal had MEAT! This was the first time I’d had meat since I’d been in Costa Rica. It was delicious. I don’t even like pork normally but I savored it. So, I got to talk to a few people. There was one girl named Priscilla who spoke really good English. She introduced herself to me early on. I was grateful. We talked for a long time. She told me she had lived in New Jersey for four years. She told me how she thought it was interesting that many immigrants from Central and South American countries find work and end up settling in the United States, but the majority of Costa Ricans always come home. I looked around, taking in the cultural hospitality set against a backdrop fit only for paradise, and I told her that thought I might understand why. I then told her “Necessito hablar solomente en espanol!” So, we spoke only in Spanish for the rest of the evening. One of Luz’s sisters eventually came out, bringing me more of the delicious homemade liquor. There were two kinds: one was milk based, it tasted a lot like bailey’s but with a little bit of spice and chocolate added. The second was amber-colored. It was sweet and smoky, but SUPER strong, even for me. They kept just rotating shots back and forth of each kind. I was pretty buzzed by the end of the night. So, Luz’s sister came out and started talking to me excitedly in Spanish. I tried explaining to her that my Spanish was terrible, that I was still learning, and for her to speak slower. She didn’t. She just grabbed my hand and pulled me up, and, from what I understood, said that I was going to teach her English. She then took me through the house and pointed at many different objects. She would say them in Spanish ,then she would gesture to me and I said the English. It was actually really fun. I couldn’t believe that this house of complete strangers were going to such great lengths to make sure I felt at home. Memo (Guillermo) came up to me later and started talking to me. He was really easy for me to understand for some reason. He asked how the chickens on my farm were doing, and if Oscar (the rooster) was big enough to eat yet. Haha. I told him yes, and that if he went missing, it’s because he was too delicious. Then I made a joke about how if I eat all the chickens, I’ll have no one to practice my Spanish with. He laughed heartily at that. Then, out of the blue, he asked me about the tattoos on my wrists. I tried first explaining to him what they meant, that didn’t work. Then I tried explaining that they were philosophy related in latin, That also didn’t work. He asked me if it was a boyfriend or someone whom I’d loved. I laughed and said no. Then he asked if it was multiple people or a boyfriend OR girlfriend I’d loved. I guffawed at this, and said no. I then explained, in the simplest way I could, that they were from a book I liked. He said “Ohhh,” paused for a moment, and then said in his thick accent, “Harry Potter?” At that moment, I died laughing. He then gave me a pat on the back and got up again to make his rounds. I love that man. Luz ended up making me stay the night so I didn’t have to cross the river again until dawn. I left a little early the next morning before sunrise and hiked back up to the very top right as dawn was breaking. It didn’t matter that my boots were still sloshing with every step nor that I felt slightly hung over. It was beautiful, and I felt incredibly proud of myself for going into that terrifying situation and having a fantastic time. Ahhh.  Now, it’s time for bed. Besitos.

August 19,2010 -- 6:52 a.m.

I’m strangely conflicted about all of this alone time. On one hand, it is amazing. I know I’m going to have to readjust once I am forced to interact with people again. On the other hand, there is something inexorable and devastating about being trapped entirely inside one’s own head. I can’t really say that I’m *completely* isolated. I have a shitty internet connection on the farm mobile phone. Still, there’s something about being the only being in the periphery. I can anticipate that my communication and social skills are rapidly deteriorating – those are two things I was never naturally good at anyway. Part of me half wishes that I didn’t even have that internet connection. I mean, I would go completely crazy without it, but I would also let go of everything. I came here to escape my life, and now I find myself longing to be mediated by things that remind me of it. I’ll just lie to myself and say that it’s a necessary coping mechanism. I wish it was easier for me to be a singular being. I used to take pride in my isolation, and now that things have changed, I feel weak and co-dependent.

Yesterday was difficult. I don’t really want to talk about it here, but I feel emotionally worn out. Not to mention, I spent four hours in the thick of the forest hacking away at the vines that are killing the coffee plants. I am getting pretty good with a machete. Well, I was wearing long pants tucked into my boots and long sleeves. I basically bathed in bug spray. Somehow the exposed four inches of skin on each of my hands got completely destroyed by bugs. My right hand only has five bites because it was moving rapidly with my machete. My left hand, however, has 16 bites on the back of it alone. It is so swollen and sore. To make matters worse, I accidentally hacked down a vine that was supporting a gigantic wasp nest. Luckily I only got stung a couple times – I fled the scene pretty fast after that. My hands are so sore, and my muscles hurt, I don’t even feel like working today. I did the stuff I have to do every day; took care of the chickens, watered the green house, etc… but I think I’m going to skip out on the hard labor today. My hands really need to heal. I was going to go to town today, but I decided to go tomorrow. Hopefully if I take it easy I’ll be able to recuperate and be my usual energetic, adventurous self again in no time.

I really miss everyone. I love it here, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss home every day. I miss the coffee shop banter, I miss driving places and blasting music. I miss going to the gym. I miss going out. I miss spending hours reading with Kelly. I miss Kelly. It’s kind of absurd and terrible that I found my other half, formed a perfect relationship, and then was forced to be away from it. Actually, no. It was my decision to still come here, and I don’t regret it. It’s just a funny twist of fate. Maybe I am a fatalist, that’s why I put myself in these situations. At least he’ll be here in October. It still seems like forever away. I also miss indoor plumbing. Every time I go to town and I am able flush the toilet, I want to cry. I miss hot showers. I miss feeling clean. I miss not being tangled in a mosquito net every morning when I wake up. I miss stupid work politics and clopens. That’s right, I said it, I miss clopens.

Well, if you’re reading this, I definitely miss you too. I miss all of the priceless interactions I had with people – even with acquaintances or friends I didn’t get to see too frequently. It’s those little things that I miss most – the things I took for granted. I was surrounded by so many intelligent people, it forced me to become a better person every single day. For that, I am grateful. Now, I guess I’m on my own. We’ll see how I turn out.

August 19, 2010 – 1:12 p.m.

I lied about not doing work. I went outside, got dirtier doing a bunch of stuff, and I feel way better. Now the storm is coming, I’m nestled inside the house with Zizek, Edith Piaf, and a mug full of scotch. The cat that I pretend to hate but secretly find adorable is nestled at my feet. Is it a conflict of interest that I’m reading philosophy in English and listening to French music when I should be studying and learning Spanish? I hope not. Dios Mio.

Also, on an unrelated note, believing in nothing makes cursing no fun. I can’t say “Oh My God!” or “Goddamnit!” with the same effect as a believer. Expletives lose their whole pejorative nature when they are uttered without the intention of condemning something sacred. Oh, intentionality. That’s a whole ‘nother post. I don’t want to get into hermeneutics right now. Maybe I should believe in God just so I can swear more effectively. That is way better logic than Pascal’s gamble. I should publish this in a paper. It will convert people everywhere. Well, it’s a thought. My curse words need more gravitas.  

Another tangential observation: I was admiring my perfectly sculpted legs today and noticed that I’ve gotten a lot tanner! COLOR! Then, upon closer examination, I realized it was because they were caked with dirt. Better luck next time.

As a mental note: when I go into town tomorrow, I am buying several things (in order of importance):

Cowboy Hat

Leather Holster for Machete

Whiskey

Some non-growable food items (brown rice, beans, etc…)

Toilet Paper

As a final note, Edith Piaf’s La Vie en Rose set against roaring thunder and the subtle whir of my electric fan is probably the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.