Dropping

I don't have a lot of choice. I can move to a new house. I can pay for a flight to bring one of my boys here. I can spend my entire retirement fund to stay in a luxurious hotel with a swimming pool and lounges on the beach. Alright, the most realistic option is to pay for one of my boys to come here. Why? Will look at what I am finding around my house! I am sure this is a mouse dropping!

Frightening as it is, I have dealt with this in the least girly way possible, largely because the mouse has never come out in the open and so I’ve never seen it! I've seen these droppings for awhile now, but have lived in denial.

I've convinced myself it is not real and if I don't talk about it, it is not true. Another story I tell myself is that these are old droppings and the mouse has long left the premises. I found one dropping in a bedroom drawer. Since then I rattle drawers, cupboards and closets before opening them in order to give the vermin fair warning to get out of sight and let me remain in my happy place.

I have a fear of these four-legged low-to-the-ground, silent and sneaky things. I remember my mother standing on the dining room table screaming one afternoon; a frightening vision leaving this once impressionable mind indelibly stained with terror. Yes, mom too was deathly afraid of these creatures.

Years ago and early one morning I was sitting on the sofa, drinking my first cup of coffee. It was Sunday Morning. I was reading the paper and listening to news on the television. This particular morning was different and the event is crystal clear in my mind. Within my periphery, I saw something move. I turned my head and met its gnarly eyes. I was sure this creature was going to attack me.

I knew what I had to do. I immediately looked for Putter, my beloved black kitty-cat and fierce hunter who slept with one eye opened and loved nothing more than living for his purpose. He loved slinging mice high into the air like little toy things. After playing with it until all signs of life were a distant memory, Putter would then bite its head off, decapitating it on the spot.

Although Putter has gone to the big kitty litter box in the sky and is no longer available to save his best friend, the story lingers. That morning I picked Putter up and pointed his face in the mouse’s direction. Putter yawned and jumped back on the sofa quickly regaining his lazy comfort.

I ran into Kevin's room and woke him. Now one thing you must understand about Kevin is that no one would describe him as “friendly” in the morning and especially not friendly in the wee hours of a Sunday morning. However, after exchanging words, he begrudgingly got out of bed, snarling words that would make any mother run for cover. I ran from the house, not knowing how he would capture the intruder. Minutes later he appeared on the doorstep with only his boxer shorts on. The mouse was firmly in the clutch of his hand and its little tail wrapped around his arm. Kevin shouted, "What do you want me to do with it?"

I have several more stories similar to this one, but I will spare you the details as I’m sure you understand the depth of the predicament that was in front of me. So, lets get back to the point of this story.

Given the situation I was in, I reacted in the only logical way I could think. I left an email for my boys giving them specific instructions about coming to the island to capture this dangerous and ugly creature and save me from the horrible fate that I was sure to face.

Then I confided in Elvinette telling her what I had done. She looked at me and said, "Karen, those are Gecko droppings". Disaster averted and my happy place resumed.

On the Beach

I looked at my phone. It was 1:30 a.m. I was soaked. I turned on the flashlight and looked at my feet. They were ‘prunie’ from wearing wet socks. The tent was waterlogged from the heavy rains. I heard people stirring and a soft voice saying “turtles”. Janyn and Tracy were waking and I said, “come on let’s go, they’ve spotted a turtle”. It’s nesting time for Leatherback Turtles.

Earlier in the day we met the Saint Lucia National Trust employees. There were over twenty of us; Peace Corps Volunteers, Japanese Volunteers and friends. The buses were late and we became bored. Hence, I thought it would be a good idea to see if I could stand next to this statue and duplicate the profile. Do you think that’s disrespectful?


At last our adventure began, the two large four-wheel drive safari vehicles arrived, we piled in and headed for a remote beach where turtles come and drop their eggs.

After forty-five minutes driving on rough terrain we arrived at the site. The rough Atlantic Ocean water and darkened conditions are the preferred nesting grounds for these amazing Leatherback Turtles. We strolled along the two mile beach, taking pictures and enjoying the beauty. There were plenty of sand crabs. Leatherbacks have been nesting on this beach for years. We came across bones at one point. They looked to be bones of a Leatherback.


It began raining. When it rains here it’s not a gentle rain, but a hard rain. It was dark and they just finished putting up the tents which were getting a good soaking. There were two small storage sheds where we took cover and where dinner was being set up in the dark. We were getting soaked, but we were excited about the night ahead. We ate a typical Saint Lucian meal of rice, salad, macaroni and cheese and chow mein with BBQ’d chicken.


At the end of the meal everyone was called together to be briefed: no flashlights or picture taking until we get the green light. Maybe we will see a turtle and maybe not. Our guides work for the Saint Lucia National Trust and they are professionally trained to count the eggs that turtles lay as well as to educate people about the animals.
There will be three times to go out and walk the beaches, but if we choose to stay at camp they will come for us if one is sighted. We walked the beach and as we found our way through just the light of the moon we discovered two dead turtles, likely poached. Although there is security here with us, I think it was more for us and less for poachers.


It was 1:30 a.m. when the call came. We hurried to the extreme end of the beach. And there she was; in a watery hole. Knowing she couldn’t lay in water she moved to another spot, but it wasn’t perfect. She finally made a third attempt at a nest but decided that wasn’t perfect either. By 3:30 a.m. she decided to go back to the sea. Slowly, she moved from the sandy beach to the ocean waters, leaving large tracks behind her. She would likely find another beach or come back the next night.


Leatherbacks are the largest turtles on earth, growing up to seven feet long and weigh more than one ton. They lay approximately 80 eggs in each nest. This amazing turtle traces its evolution more than 100 million years and is currently endangered. I found this picture of a hatchling turtle on the internet -isn't it amazing.

As we left the beach that night, the guides expressed concern that she would come back the next night and into the hands of a poacher. There would be no security to protect her.

The next morning we packed up, stopped for a breakfast of Cocoa Tea and Bakes before heading back to Castries. This is just one of those experiences when I reflect on where I am and the things I’m doing. It is times like this that I remember how lucky I am.

(Thank you Melanie for pointing out the HUGE error I made on this post! Thanks to your comment, the error has been corrected!)

Differences

Goats? Dogs? It's all the same.

I am not a Farmer

Yesterday I was on a bus in the bustling city of Castries. The cruise ships were docked in the harbor. At times, the ships are so big it looks like they are landlocked, docked in the city as if it were a drive-in museum. On most days there are at least two ships and many times there are more.

The streets were lined with vendors setting up to sell fruit to locals and souvenirs to tourists. In a short time, the Rum Shops will be open and serious games of Dominoes will be played on the sidewalks.

I maneuvered my way through the crowds with purpose and knowingness. I have found if I move swiftly there are less offers of taxi’s, people asking for money and others wanting to sell me a carved coconut shell made into a hanging bird. I was on my way to meet with friends at a favorite Chinese Restaurant. After some good conversation and food I was headed home.

As the bus neared the Castries Business District there was a sudden traffic jam. This was very unusual. My first thought was that there is a traffic accident. My last thought would have been that a mother hen was frantically herding her chicks to safety. With feathers flying she focused her attention on each of the five chicks herding them with skill. I could feel her panic. She knew the danger to herself, but like any mother she was focused on her chicks, not herself.

The cars, buses and trucks were stopped and drivers and passengers patiently waited while being entertained. I smiled as I realized this was just another Peace Corps moment to enjoy. It was a special moment to reflect on the difference between a city in Saint Lucia and a city in Los Angeles.

Upon arriving in Castries, I walked a few blocks and over the bridge to find the next bus that would take me back to my village. I was alone with my thoughts and thinking about the hen. One thought led to the next.

The first thing I must do is remind you that I am not a farmer and, thus, I’m not verse in farming technique and animal behavior. I don’t grow crops or raise pigs. There are only a few cows on the island and I most certainly have nothing to do with them. There are no roosters….wait, yes, there are roosters! Lots and lots of roosters.

There is a looming question which has entertained my mind since arriving in August 2008. It generally comes up around three o’clock in the morning. I’m awakened by sounds. No, it’s not the singing crickets or the tree frogs calling – I can sleep through their noise. It’s not the barking dogs – no, they are the ones who kept me up until midnight but now they are sleep. It’s not the slaughtering of pigs – that happens on Friday mornings after daybreak.

I’ve been asleep for three glorious silent hours and it’s a new breed expressing themselves. It starts with just one lone voice in the night and instantly everyone is communicating. Some are heard in the distance, but there is inevitably one intruder lurking under my window who weighs in on the conversation.

I’ve been wondering for sometime now: Why do roosters crow? The bottom line is that they are territorial. They crow to let others know where they are and to ensure they are spaced properly. A rooster’s purpose in life is to protect the flock from all threats at all costs including fighting to the death.

• Some roosters are quite docile and will sit in your lap, others will eat your kitten, puppy or small child.

• Very few roosters will get along without fighting and tearing each other up; others are highly aggressive.

• Their entire focus and purpose in life is to insure proliferation of the species

• A ratio of 10 hens to 1 rooster are needed to satisfy these creatures!

• A rooster will sacrifice himself to protect the flock.

Alright, so what you are likely saying at this point. Who cares? Well, read on. Crowing can start when there is a disturbance in the coop or when a car alarm sounds at night. A friendly neighbor simply switching on a porch light can cause every rooster’s crow in the village to sound a high alert.

As I wrote this piece, I kept thinking to myself: what is the purpose of telling people about this mundane phenomenon? Then it came to me…the message…the thing I want people to know in my village:

Will you please stop turning on your porch lights at three o’clock in the morning? I really need some sleep!

The Pigs are Screaming

It’s Friday morning, a beautiful day. Four days of rain have let up to a bright sunny day. The children are dressed in their crisply ironed uniforms. The boys shoes are polished and the girls have colorful ties in their hair. They are walking down the street to school. I listen to the church bells ring and the roosters crow. I hear the goats and the dogs barking. The village has come alive as a new day begins. It’s a beautiful hot day with a wonderful island breeze.

I’m sitting in my apartment with the windows locked and secured, the doors closed and the heat is penetrating the brick structure. It is hot and opening the windows would provide the cool island breeze relief from the suns heat. On this morning, however, it is not possible. The windows will remain closed. I can’t make them stop. I can only hope their story ends soon. I live two blocks from the slaughterhouse. It’s Friday morning and the pigs are screaming.