A Christmas Sermon

We're getting ready to head south again.

Ready to find our place on a lovely piece of land.

... sometimes I wonder if we will. 

Soon our year of preparations will come to an end.

Everything we owned will either be given away, 

sold, or packed up for storage.

We will leave our cool green

farm in the Pacific Northwest.

We'll leave the salmon, the river, the blackberries, frogs, firs, and misty days behind us.

Some other life awaits us in Central or South America.

On our way to Colombia
we'll visit Costa Rica,
Panama, & perhaps Nicaragua.

And if we happen to find

some  happy place

on the way to Colombia?

We'll probably hang around 

for a while.  Maybe forever.

This plan of voluntary

displacement 

is really OK with us.

It's our choice and we're getting used to it.

On the other hand, I know
5 million Colombians who
don't feel so OK at all.

5 million displaced from
their homes by corporate
greed, violence, disaster,
and global politics.

How can we live in our

peaceful Shangri-la, 

knowing all the pain and turmoil 

that would be in motion around us?

And yet, pain and
turmoil is present
here in the US.

And somehow we
can still enjoy the
rainbows and roses.

For sure, our search for "Home"

has brought us into

personal contact with

confusing political realities.

But even more, it has

been an internal quest

for meaning in our lives.

We've already deconstructed our existence as cultural Americans. 

We've released 90% of our possessions, 

and disconnected from our careers.

Leaving the embrace of family behind,
and in the absence of jobs and
possessions, what will be left of us?

Who will we be?

It is nothing less than a complete
re-direction of our lives.

We're exchanging control
and security for unknown
possibilities and risks.

Why would we choose this path through life?

I found part of the answer in Los Angeles 8 years ago.

Long story short:

I co-founded  a non-profit,

Earthworks Community Farm,

 in east LA county.

Our mission was to provide

life skills training in a

 farm setting to local "at risk" 

high school students.

We put over 100 local students
through our program on the
4 acre site the county gave us.


And we won recognition
and awards for our work.

Tractors, greenhouses, irrigation systems; everything was needed.

Through my connections in agribusiness 

I obtained material and service donations, equipment and supplies.

   



I designed and installed
fences, buildings,
& irrigation systems.

I controlled the cropping plan,
put in the fruit orchard,
the timber bamboo hedgerows,
and the native plant arboretum.

I jumped on the part of the project 
I could see, understand, and control.
I succeeded in creating a beautiful urban farm, 

and I enjoyed the personal challenge.

But building the farm was not ALL that was happening, 

and it was not the most important part.

Our Buddhist curriculum manager, Mary Maverick,
began to get me more involved with the students.

I began to see the kids as
individuals that I cared about,
and I felt a change
happen in myself.

I saw city kids come on to
our farm with their heads down.
And I saw real change
happen in their lives.

And I was humbled by it.

  

For me the farm became a place 

to experience life-changing 
relationships to the land 
and to each other.

 

I learned how to trust
the power of relationship,
and understand how to

step away from my need 

to control outcomes.

I am not exactly sure how

my LA farm experience is related

to the search for a meaningful existence
that Starr and I are engaged in.

Perhaps an unexpected 

surprise awaits us.

Perhaps we are 

needed somewhere.

I don't need to know.

Because I can trust.

I can accept that the dream of that sweet little farm in the country 

might just be another relic of our American materialism.

That dream had the power to put us in motion, 

but just maybe there's a lot more going on.

Something more difficult to imagine, 

but more meaningful by far.

I wonder . . .

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!

Leukemia or Typhoid?

The doctor just called with the test results.

Since October 24th we have had this gy-normous question hanging over our heads:
                Does Jeff have leukemia or some other sort of blood cancer?
                Or . . . Did he merely have typhoid fever?

We got our wish!!  It was TYPHOID !!

His leukocytes and other blood numbers are now back to normal - PLUS the Ecuadorian doctor even did the test for typhoid fever but he apparently didn't notice the positive result.  He just told us to see a hematologist ASAP, that leukemia can progress quickly.

So at 2pm on that memorable day in Otavalo, Ecuador I immediately went to an internet cafe and began researching possible causes of his abnormal lab results.

In the meantime Jeff was in our hostel room, doing his best to connect to the airlines on Skype to see about flying back home immediately.

What I found in the course of my jet-speed research was that his symptoms directly matched the first week of typhoid fever.

What I had to get my brain wrapped around was this:  He didn't have ANY intestinal symptoms at all, and I've always thought that typhoid was an intestinal disease.  Yes, it does involve massive and even fatal intestinal symptoms - but NOT until after the first week of infection.  

By my calculations, Jeff was in his 4th day of high fever, severe headache and fatigue.  My research sources told me that many people don't have intestinal issues at this point of infection, while others may.

Everything fit together.  But if we were to run off to find a hematologist, it would be many more days or even weeks before getting treated (for the wrong disease), during which time the typhoid fever would progress into the life threatening stages.

So I ran upstairs at the hostel, convinced Jeff to get off of Skype, and explained my new theory of his condition.  We researched cures for typhoid, left the hostel to go to a pharmacy, and purchased the agreed-upon antibiotic AND lots more Tylenol for the fever.

By 4pm the same day as he'd seen the doctor and had the lab work done, he took his first dose of antibiotic.

Though he actually felt somewhat better the next day, it took well over a week for the fever to finally stop.  And we haven't known how his white and red blood cell counts have been doing after taking the antibiotic - until this morning.

We voted for TYPHOID!  And thank God, we won.

(Please do not attempt to do this trick in your own home.)

Now we can again finally enter the planning phase for our future life in Colombia.
Stay tuned for The Escape.

Ponderances

Surviving one night in Bogota (to be well placed to catch the next morning plane) turned out to be no big deal.  The Bogota taxista didn't rob us - or even try.  And our hotel, Niza Norte, turned out to be small and friendly.  One of the employees even went about her day with a glowing, joyful smile.  Odd.

Since the neighborhood was purportedly safe, we even took a walk to a nearby mall to see a piece of big-town Colombian life.  Clearly the best selection of consumer "stuff" that we have found in this country can be found in Bogota.

Even still, I have to admit that being n Bogota makes me grumpy.  The only reason we're here is to go "home": you know, that place we left in early October; that place where we've already sold most all of our possessions - and even re-homed our precious cats; that place where our wonderful upstairs neighbors moved out while we were gone; that cold, wet, beautiful place that still remains our official residence.

Our original aspiration was to locate an area or a town in Ecuador or Uruguay we'd like to return to call home.  Obviously we never made it to Uruguay, as the trip was not recommended for Jeff when his typhoid fever was spiking. 

Did we find what we were looking for?  We're not sure.  Identifying places we'd readily pass over is simple - and the list long.  And identifying the qualities we're in search of has become much clearer.

But did we find them all in one area?  Or does the quest continue, even now?

Shall we return to Salento, to the coffee growing region that we came to love?  Shall we return to the more northern region that holds Villa de Leyva?  And then there's the one area of Ecuador that continues to pique our curiosity: Ibarra, close to Otavalo.  We went through there on a bus when Jeff was still sick and didn't stop to explore the possibilities.

One thing's for sure, the price of land and of living in general in Ecuador is much lower than Colombia.  Actually the main drawback to Colombia is that land prices are often as high as in the USA.

Another certainty is that Colombia has undergone massive changes in recent years.  Yes there continue to be dangerous spots there, though that's true of Los Angeles, Seattle, San Francisco, etc., etc.  Also, in general Colombians are a most endearing people: clearly the nation's greatest natural resource.

Occasionally we ponder taking another similar trip, this time to Central America.  Perhaps our undeniable home awaits us in Belize or Nicaragua.  However that's a lot of work to go to.  This traveling around routine has its romantic elements, granted.  But at the same time it's a heck of a lot of work and inconvenience.

One of the most troublesome inconveniences is having to eat food prepared by strangers of whom I know nothing of their hygiene habits.  Even for as careful as we are with selecting our food, Jeff contacted  deadly disease and we still have no idea from which meal.  Where's the romance in that?

And speaking of the inconveniences of travel, we've worn the exact same very limited selection of clothes for 6 weeks, all continually whispering "reuse, rewash, rewear".  But boring clothes are of little concern when compared to the larger more consequencial issues at hand.

We'll land in Atlanta within the hour for an overnight before connecting with the final flight to Seattle.

I already miss . . . I'm not sure what I miss and I'm not sure why.

The Coneheads of Dorf Kneipe

It started as a vague feeling of unease. Like a whiff of a rumor. Something just out of the corner of my eye.

What was it? 

That thing I saw, or thought I saw. I can only describe it as a sort of whitish cone-shaped, I don't know . . . 

In the great central plaza I finally saw it clearly! 

A white conehead hat hovered mysteriously in the darkness of the evening over the dark heads of certain indigenous men, on certain benches, outside certain doors. 

I realized then it was NOT the first time I had seen it. 

In Palmira on Halloween! I had assumed it was a costume. Yet I had been oddly drawn to it, as I still am.








I decided to ask our usually talkative friend Carlos from the US Embassy. He hastily muttered an excuse about a prior engagement and scuttled off up the street. 

Obviously the CIA is involved. 
That's when I knew I was on to something big. Really big.

Attempting to photograph this phenomenon I played the casual tourist. Yet native men constantly blocked my view until finally I was able to capture this one blurry photo of a Conehead sitting on a bench just outside their headquarters . . .

. . .  with the single chilling word "DORFKNEIPE" clearly spelled out above the door. 

I submit it as absolute proof that the Coneheads of DorfKneipe exist and they roam freely among us. 

I strode quickly up the steps towards the door to Dorfkneipe. The man had vanished in the blink of an eye! As a further demonstration of their arcane powers, DorfKneipe headquarters instantly morphed into a CONE shop - ice cream cones, not hats. 

Inside three wooden Indians taunted me with ice cream cones. 

Not funny, you Coneheads! 

In sheer frustration I had a double blackberry and chocolate gelato. 

While my intense curiosity burned even brighter.

Attempts to capture more photographic proof were foiled by their many clever disguises. 

The Conehead riding on this horse was talking to the man in the street, yet he is INVISIBLE in the photo!






The amorous Conehead sitting on the knee of his lady in the restaurant appears to be a dog in the photo. I swear he was not a dog! Dogs cannot say the things he said to her! 








By all standards I know I have failed to convince you. 

I can't blame you. I can't believe it myself!

Maybe the typhoid fever has returned. 

I tried a cold shower, but it had no effect. 

I simply can't deny the naked truth.


I was unable to penetrate the dense DorfKneipe mystery. At every turn they deftly turned aside my best efforts to expose and investigate their ancient and mystical purpose. 

Yet I shall return. I shall succeed. 

I vow to reveal the mysterious Coneheads of DorfKneipe. 

My allies have already reported to me the location of their stronghold in the North. 

For now I must settle for another cup of the local espresso. It's really got a kick.

Villa de Leyva

About 4 hours travel by bus from Bogota, tiny Villa de Leyva claims a mere 10,000 inhabitants - but from what we saw, we'd guess that there are at least 5 times that many people there every weekend.  Yep, a little tourist town. perhaps the most well-known in Colombia because of it's proximity to Bogota.

When we stepped out of the bus and began the walk to the town square, we were immediately charmed by the cobblestone roads and walkways.  However in less than 200 feet of walking on these cobblestones, we realized they have a big downside:  cobblestones are not flat.  They're little hills, a sea of little hills with no reprieve, no cement sidewalks. Heaven help the wheels on our luggage.

But remember that cobblestone roads are cute and quaint - and THESE cobblestone roads along with the colonial tile roofs, are the visual trademark of this pueblo.

A fantastic safety element is that cars are only permitted in a few of the streets of the pueblo, leaving the rest for thousands of weekend strolling pedestrians. 

The drier climate, the well-stocked weekly farmer's market, and the warm, sociable people have Jeff and I immediately musing about the possibility of calling this place home.  We stayed here on the outskirts of town for 3 nights and became ever fonder of the notion of returning to this area for further exploration.




With sad regret, on Monday morning we once again packed our bags and hopped our last bus back to the bedlam of Bogota.