El Jocotel Blog: August 2015

When I got this land, I said I was going to quickly build a house and get some chickens to get my soil fertility going and for the eggs. Yesterday, a year and a half later, I brought home the chickens.

Breed: Leghorn
Hen Count: 8
Rooster Count: 0
Color: Red Orange with variable amounts of white plumage near the egg butt
Birthday: June 15, 2015
Advertised Production: 300 eggs per year
First Eggs Expected: November 2015

Shad reminded me of my deposit placed on these eight hens and said I should take them by August 20^th, with the birds around two months old and already through the most vulnerable period of their lives. A couple days before that, Shad asked me last minute to teach the Earthworks section of a Permaculture course that he offered out through the gift economy.

This bumped back the chickens again. The course ended friday. My plan was to visit Nancy and her son Joe in San Pedro saturday morning, get my Jacaranda tree, go to market to stock up for a few days and come home and do the final wiring in the chicken area and get the chickens sunday morning. Invoke Murphy's Law here: Friday night began one of what I call my 24-hour giardhias. I visited the bathroom in the night a couple times, something I do maybe quarterly.

I did go see Nancy and Joe, but I was too sick to my stomach to really buy food at market. I went home with a nice papaya (helps a bad stomach), a pineapple, an orange and some bread from my new friend Luis the baker from San Pedro who comes to Tzununa to sell and he invited me to his house to make pizza. Then I was too tired to do the wiring.

Sunday morning I realized I was nervous about the chickens. I stalled a little about doing the wiring and I realized I was just delaying finally getting the chickens, so I said "Fuck it, I'll go get the chickens, put them in their area, and I'll have all day to hang out with them and finish their house.", and that's what I did.

I grabbed a costal. This is a large, fairly durable, plastic bag. This is the type of bag bulk goods come in, maybe we would call it a sack in the US. It's this type of bag they use for 50kg of animal feed, sand, lime, corn, etc. In the US, people carry these on their backs much less than in Guatemala, and maybe for this, they don't have any specific name that I know of, but here they are called costales.

In the new chicken palace, we started grabbing birds, at maybe 1.5 pounds each, and stuffing them in the bag. Animals can breathe ttrough a costal. We grabbed a mix of big and medium birds, our thinking was that the biggest birds will eat more, but not necessarily lay more eggs. Mostly, it seemed like eight random nice birds from the lot of about 140.

Birds in bag, my adrenaline began to flow. We chatted for a moment longer and I set off for seventeen minute walk home. The load was easy, but by the end I was switching hands pretty often. I thought, "In less than seventeen minutes and counting, I will have chickens. They will not be in this plastic bag for long because I'm going to dump them out in their new run and I will finally have the chickens and I can probably stop being anxious soon."

Dry mouth and heart beating from the climb, I tipped the costal so they would exit right by their coop. They came out one by one slowly, but after a moment I grabbed the bottom and shook out the bag to allay my fear of one chicken coming out smothered and dead. All eight birds seemed fine, looked around a little and commented to each other about how nice the new surrounings were and began about normal chicken behaviours of scratching and pecking in the dirt and eating low-hung plants to chip away at the slow and steady task of feeding themselves.

Chickens like people. While I cut the chicken wire from the doorway, rehung the door, and added wiring for the propped open and locked closed positions, the chickens worked in close at times, and at times I would grab one for a closer look and to introduce myself. I got pecked a few times; it's nice to know that among my whole day of being poked, stabbed, bitten and stung, a chicken peck ranks low on the pain scale.

Photos and more info to follow in Parts II and III.

5:45 alarm.

Stop by Francisco's on the way down to give back two tortilla cloths and try to get on the same page about the tortilla subscription. Daily tortillas are great when Negra lives here but when she doesn't the tortillas stack up faster than Whitney Brown and I can eat them.

It's 6:15 and I've never come down thru Francisco's this early. Santa the lying, thieving bitch is making tortillas in her dark adobe kitchen and I peer in because I'm blind in the dark. I say hi in a friendly way and she says hi back in a friendly way like we both don't know she walked off with Esperanza.

Down to Francisco's and he's eating breakfast in his dark adobe kitchen with his wife and some number of his lovely daughters. They're a little surprised to see me. Their small, dark adobe kitchen is full of people and warmed by a healthy cookfire in the stove. The scene is lovely and it makes me feel lonely again but not in a bad way. I'm sure I smelled bacon or some pork cooking but maybe that smell was tied up with the emotions of seeing such a nice family having a warm breakfast together.

Here are the napkins, thank you. Today ends the tortillas right? (Negra ran away again two days ago, so it's timely if it does end.) Eva came two days ago on what I thought was Day 6 and told me it was the final day and I said I thought there was one more day and then yesterday Cruz came with tortillas and today would be Day 8 so I wanted to say THANK YOU GREAT TORTILLAS BUT LET'S TAKE A BREAK which I don't really know how to say in what needs to be very clear Spanish RIGHT NOW NO MORE TORTILLAS! Thanks again, I'm going to Santa Clara.

Every Tuesday and Saturday, pickup truck to Santa Clara for the market. Leaves at 6:45 and 10 and comes back respectively with LOAD. It's a good truck, beefed up. Big tires, suspension, metal rack for people to hang on to and tying shit down. There, that's not going anywhere. Leaving and returning to Tzununa is the crappiest road section.

Santiago's mom and sister, Alejandra and Ilda, hop on and greet me in Kaqchikel. Ilda is great. She's beautiful, she's strong, sweet and she loves and adores her mother. Sixth grade and enough is enough with school. Alejandra's sister Maria hops on, that's Santa's mom, maybe the nutcase deranged leader of that family, though her face just reads miserable, paranoid and tired. Alejandra and Maria do not greet each other. I know like half the people on the truck. A simple looking guy gets on. His one eye is wonky and his lips and teeth just very far out. Besides that, he seems with it, well-dressed, and on his own. I find this a little strange because I clearly a remember a dream from last night where I had a conversation with a mentally retarded person who conversed much better than expected.

I remember the early morning sun backlighting the low, thick haze of cookfires over San Pable as we began the stunning climb up to Santa Clara. My buddy Juan is sitting on the hatch and I'm standing with my ass in front of his face. I held in like three farts, or one fart returned three times, which I almost never do, but Juan is a totally sweet guy and a friend of mine and I want him to show me where to buy chicken feed when we get there so I don't wanna fart on his face, although the truck was moving.

Chicken feed is not open yet so to the market. Juan's toted his two sons who've toted a basket with three chickens for sale likely for slaughter and consumption. I'm hungry enough and not earnestly interested in anything at market so I hit the comedores. It's about 7:45. If it was this time in Panajachel all you'd be offered was huevos con frijol but not here in Santa Clara on market day. Full on assault from the tortilla girls at the first two comedores ¿DESAYUNO JOVEN? ¿VA A COMER? HAY POLLO DORADO, CARNE GUISADO, CALDO DE RES, CALDO DE PATA, Y PEPIAN DE POLLO. ¿VA A COMER USTED? Hands are pushing me toward a seat The first two places look exactly the same. Same arrangement of tables and benches, very similar menus and it's a little dim in here but all the Marias look more or less the same, too. Caldo de Res con Elote. Elote means corn on the cob, which the people are crazy for just like tortillas, tamalitos or anything else that's 100% corn. Good soup, delicious elote, which is a piece about 10 kernels left to right on the typewriter. If you take a bite of elote and a bite of tortilla at the same time, that's 200% corn. Full half of a well chosen avocado still in the shell. Five tortillas given, I ate five. You can always get more. Lady tried to hit me with a gringo markup of 20%. I busted her back down then tipped her one.

When I see Juan, two chickens are gone and a lady comes by and lowballs him on the last. He sends her packing after a discussion in a language I don't understand. Where are the donuts? There's these little donuts that are always sold by a lady at this market and they're not here and I dunno how to get around this. I count on these markets, which have been exactly the same for years before I ever concieved of their existences, being the same every week. If I'm here, I want to be able to purchase these tiny donuts that are too greasy and not sweet enough and generally not risen in the way we know donuts. But I like them and they should be here.

Ponedora is feed for chickens that you want to lay eggs. I don't know what's in it. There's no ponedora at the Aliansa distrubutor but the guy is really nice and introduces himself YO SOY CARLOS HERNANDEZ PARA SERVIRLE and I like him even though my first impression of his little place is associated with the terrible smell of cleaning the trays beneath the young poultry. Well there is 35 pounds of ponedora so I buy that and I'm sad that Juan won't be able to buy any for Shad's farm because they actually have chickens and I don't but I'm happy because 35 pounds is an amount I can carry and 100 lbs is better negotiated with the help of any local man or woman 14 or older.

I let the truck go, still on the ground, to not rush back and get a couple more things. I see an old veg seller lady Iknow from San Marcos and I hit her with all the questions that often to me seem rude or just plain too boring. WHAT ARE LOOKING FOR? WHAT DID YOU BUY? HOW MUCH DID IT COST? BUENO SEE YOU. Donuts have arrived and they're in the same spot as always. A pretty younger girl attends, the older lady has walked off. The old lady always has dirty hands but this young girl's hands are clean. I always bought donuts from the dirty handed lady anyway but why come to market wth such dirty hands? I've always paid Q1 for a tiny donut. HOW MUCH ARE THE DONUTS. 50 centavos. GIVE ME Q3. That's how you buy stuff, by how many Q it is. Donuts, they're kinda good.

I looked at chicken feeders and waterers and decided on cheap, simple plastic solutions that you fill up and flip over and they autofeed and it should just be a once a day thing. Now I have nothing to do so I stand in the sun and watch the parade. Tomorrow is the main day of the Santa Clara fair so there's activity today. I can't believe how long this parade is. I can't believe how entertained I am by it even though I'm concious of being sensory deprived lately viz. entertainment. I can't believe how many bands there are and how many instruments they have. I especially cannot believe how many trumpets there are. One band was just twenty trumpets but most bands were xylophones first, then trumpets, then small drums, then big drums. Long parade, I saw a portion.

I bought some chode bananas and a quarter chicken from a really nice guy. These people are really friendly because they're just plain really friendly and they like to build relationships. A lady selling corn gave me her number and told me next time I came to buy corn her husband would take me hiking to a mirador. That was Clara from Santa Clara.

Back in Tzununa, I leave my personal items and chicken feeders and have lunch. Down at the center where my supplies were dropped. 35 pounds of layer feed and 30 pounds of broken corn. That's 65 pounds. I heave the heavier bag up onto my shoulders and neck and can't really heave the other bag on top of that one. There's a frail, maybe fifty-something year old lady at the store and I ask her to help heave up the 30 pound bag on top of the other one on my shoulders and neck. She's on board but this is actually experimental on my end. The 65 pounds feel fine, but a lot of loads feel fine right when you pick them up, but are horrible after walking uphill for a number of minutes. At the Bambu, I consolidate the heavy into one bag for autoloading capability and hang onto the other shit and think to myself THIS IS A BAD IDEA. But it really doesn't seem like enough for two trips and if I go slow it's possible. I got about halfway, to where Santiago and Alejandra and Ilda live and thought about leaving the heavy there and coming back. Alejandra and Ilda were right there. I called up the Q5 change for my laundry that Ilda did because I dropped it off the day Maria was due to give birth. Her mom spotted the Q5 and Ilda gave it to me and I gave it back to her when she agreed to carry the 65 pounds the rest of the way home. Ilda's 13, even though she was 10 when I met her and I've only been here two years, less. I dumped off the load I couldn't carry onto a 13-year-old girl. That said, she's strong and healthy and her mom must've agreed because she helped load it onto her back and head. At 13, Ilda should be able to carry 65 pounds. From what I've seen, Ilda's specialty is chopping wood, she just likes to work. She took it slow and said it was heavy even though at first she said it wasn't heavy then I gave her a glass of water and she and Usho went home.

Then Walter came over. He's a younger guy, friend of mine. I gave him a small satchel of marijuana when he told me he'd bring me three costales of cow shit. He wanted a costal. I gave him one and when he came back we had tea, which I've been doing a lot lately while planning my tea market garden. Walter sometimes shares in and tries and gives me his opinion the best he can express and I can understand but he enjoys all the teas and we have a nice chat. Today I tried a daring blend of lemongrass, yerba mate, hibiscus, basil and papaya seeds with a garnish of spearmint. Hibiscus gives any tea a beautiful red but here, the mate deepened the color. The basil was overwhelming and really presented its qualities of butteriness and texture more than ever and I think I discovered aromatherapy while brewing this tea. We liked it, and were both excited for second cups from the big pot. Walter hung for a while and we talked about a number of things and we looked at the coffee and the gardens and then we chatted more. Then I told him BUENO WALTER, I'M GONNA RELAX WITH A BOOK but I lied and when he left I wrote this.