Thursday, November 9, 2017
Thursday, April 6, 2017
Our political landscape has been poisoned
by rabid rhetoric and ranting hyperbole.
The air is fetid, filled with bluster.
The fencelines separating fact from fiction
have been torn down.
A mega-crop of pumped-up monoculture
has been planted, the harvest will be bitter.
When a farm turns its back on its founding ideals
and taints with toxins the fertile soil
that has long sustained it,
the impact on health, sanity, family, unity
can only be dire.
Continuing to nurture the soil built up over time
on this side of the fence, using tools honed
by hard work, respect, love, compassion
is the best means at our disposal
of retaining the robust good health
of our diversified farm
and the beauteous landscape we behold.
Play the long game, stay the course,
do not be taken in by the monster machine
cranking out sewage.
And keep on farming!
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
View to the south
Lake Atitlan speaks to me, in so many ways. Her voice is clear and pure. This is a place to come to cast off the old, to breathe new life into jaded minds, to rejuvenate tired bodies, to elevate mired souls. She liberates, beguiling, transformative.
The people here are almost all indigenous Mayan. They speak their own languages, the women and girls all wear traditional dress on a daily basis, and they welcome the sprinkling of outsiders who come to share in this elevated landscape and aged culture. Of course, the bigger towns like Panajachel, Santiago de Atitlan, San Pedro la Laguna (where we are staying) have modern-day trappings such as restaurants, bars, tour operators, catering to travellers and tourists, but the markets, churches, most stores service the local population above all. The hustle and bustle of these small towns on market days is accentuated by vibrant colour and hearty banter.
We get around by walking a lot and taking $2 tuk-tuks when loaded down with shopping, tired, or just lazy. They are everywhere and ever-ready. Our AirBnB-rented chalet is a twenty-minute walk south of town along a paved road. It is perched above the road in a private garden overlooking the lake. At night, we look out over the gently-twinkling lights of the villages along the north shore. By day, the speedy lanchas ply the waters connecting each village and town. Using them, we have visited San Juan, San Marcos, Jaibalito, and Santa Cruz in our two weeks to date. More on them in due course...
Yesterday, our outing took us south to the end of our road and along a dusty trail prompted by magnificent views over the mountains, volcanoes, lake and shoreline. The vegetation is sere in this dry season with many trees flowering and coming into bud and leaf. Volcan San Pedro hovers over us, its slopes a kaleidoscope of greens thanks to its natural state. Each tree and plant finds a niche. The sky above is radiant blue, but white cloud invariably collects around the peak as it does now.
Our pathway is clean and clear but for some horse droppings. The old rubbish dump is no more, and the signs prohibiting dumping are adhered to. The locals here are very waste-conscious as they protect their lake's fragile eco-system. No plastic bags, little bottled water, no paper in the toilets. Ceramic water filters purify water from the tap.
Our road is called Calle a la Finca and, sure enough, the trail leads to an abandoned coffee estate. Built in the 1930s using solid stone construction, with an almost football field-sized drying area, production ground to a halt (excuse the pun) in the 1980s, perhaps due to a slump in price or competition from other growers as global consumption took off and corporate conolidation took hold. Two families are now custodians of this enclave. Just down from their simple abodes is a rocky cove where we chose to be baptized by the waters of Lake Atitlan. The waters were fresh and invigorating, the vista panoramic.
View towards San Pedro, to the north
Tomorrow, Atitlan will reveal herself in another way.
Monday, March 7, 2016
On February 26, we made a special pilgrimage – to see the over-wintering Monarch butterflies high in the mountains of
. The day
began serenely at the lovely Agua Blanca canyon-side spa inn in Jungapeo, at an
elevation of 4,850 feet above sea level. Gundi started her morning with a long
swim in the mineral-rich pool waters, which she says took away the aches and
pains of years. In Chris and Allan’s rented Jeep we climbed 5,000 feet via the
town of Michoacan,
to the butterfly-viewing base at El Rosario. This is part of a 56,000-hectare
sanctuary for the mariposas monarcas (of
which the butterflies only inhabit a fraction), declared a Biosphere Reserve in
1980 and a World Heritage Site in 2008. From here, it was an hour’s steep climb in
thin air another few hundred feet to close to the summit at over 10,000 feet.
It is here that millions of monarchs cluster high in the oyamel fir trees, making forays in the sunshine to find water and
food from the plentiful forest flowers. On mostly cloudy mornings such as we
experienced, the butterflies are lethargic in starting their day, so action on
the wing was tempered. Nonetheless, the sight of so many monarchs freely
finding their ancestral annual winter home was a mesmerizing one to
behold. With a hundred or so fellow
“pilgrims” watching on quietly in awe, this was a profound and moving spiritual experience, with Nature
playing out for a whole species. Angangueo
Monarch butterflies are severely threatened by a number of challenges, all of which are brought on by humanity’s greed and over-reach. Their habitat across their summer feeding and breeding grounds in Canada and the United States, their migration route to the southern states and Mexico, and their over-wintering forests all need ongoing vigilant protection from toxic pesticides, desert-like monocultures, development, mining, and logging in order for their current numbers to be sustained and increased. They are highly dependent on the milkweed with which they have a symbiotic relationship across these vast territories. Our relationship with them has to be symbiotic too, as they pollinate wild flowers, bring us beauty and joy, and as we continue efforts to conserve them as a fellow species. They need us as we need them.
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Thursday, November 5, 2015
Up over the hill the rambling wild old apple tree is not quite over the hill. Her tenacious fruit are hanging on for dear life bolstered by the balmy early November temperatures - a veritable Indian summer, a gift from the speckled blue skies. They are clustered on the top half of the tree, safe from marauding deer and the clutch of humans like us, ravenously stripping the lower half of her ample flesh, transforming it by means of our hand-cranked apple press into rich juice of a complex sweet tang that modern-day apple strains cannot match. The pink-blushed fruit that remain will ultimately succumb to gravity and the waning juice of life, tumbling down with the breeze and rotting into a mush where they fall. They will have had a good long life left to their own devices in nature; that’s the most any being can hope for.