I'm not gardening!

I remember the day clearly that I defiantly stood in the kitchen and informed my mother that "When I grow up I am NOT having a garden.” She asked me what I would do if I got married and my husband wanted a garden, to which I promptly retorted, “Well then he can take care of it himself!” I was eleven and I’d had enough of “tortured” springs and summers spent “slaving” in the hot sun over vegetables and weeds.

Nearly ten years later in Romania I discovered that the garden could actually be pleasurable, an escape of sorts. A chance to step outside of the norm, de-stress, and work on something that could not talk back to me or comment in any way. Also a place to legitimately work while spending the day in a swimsuit improving my tan… it suited me well.

Another five years have passed and again I find myself in the garden. The fact is not nearly as daunting as it once was. Since Romania I have dabbled in my own 5x3 plot of land. I’ve grown more tomatoes, cucumbers, and swiss chard that I could possibly eat and lost my watermelons to the winter frost. I’ve learned a few tricks and experimented some. I can’t say that any of that makes me “ready” for the challenge of managing a 3+ acre garden, but it does contribute to my willingness.

With the current garden manager called away to another region for about a month, I was asked to spend part of my week overseeing things. In the past three weeks, as my skin rapidly changes from winter white to a crisp brown, I’ve planted, harvested, and cultivated. I’ve stood on my toes reaching into towering vines to pick bora, a green bean like vegetable that often spans the length of my arm (and come face to face with an iguana while doing so). I’ve spent hours on my knees weeding green pumpkins; I’ve hand tilled beds for new seedlings, and mixed charcoal, sawdust, and fertilizer to supplement our sandy soil. I’ve learned that anything but an all out torrential downpour is considered a “light rain” and hence can be worked through. I’ve learned the preferable way to work is barefoot with the sand squishing between my toes as I go from one task to the next. (I am also starting to despair that my feet will ever be clean again despite repeated washings.)

Although gardening in Guyana was no where on my list of thing to do when I decided to come, I find that I am somewhat glad that it’s there now. While it’s difficult to practice social work in the garden, it does allow for time to think and problem solve. And after all, it’s only been three weeks. No telling what I’ll be doing next.

The Journey Begins...

Arriving in Guyana is part of a dream that spans several years. With travel in my blood, its been difficult being stuck stateside since 2005. So after much prayer and a little planning I decided to join my sister in the jungles of Guyana for six months. Its a chance to not only serve others, but enjoy some international living and experience yet another culture.

Although Elizabeth and I left Spokane on the 11th, it took us two full days to reach Guyana. Thankfully we had a break right in the middle after missing our connection in Miami. With nothing to do for more than half a day we checked our bags into storage and roamed through South Beach feasting on Cuban food and playing in the surf. After a brief stay in Port of Spain, Trinidad, we caught a midnight flight for Guyana, and then the adventure began.

It was 2am when our plane touched down on the moist tarmac of the Georgetown International airport. A line of taxi drivers awaited us on the veranda vying for our patronage. “Come with me, come with me,” cried one, while the next took firm hold of our bags and retorted, “no they are coming with me!” After squeezing our four suitcases, two hiking backpacks, and laptop cases into the car, I settled into the front seat behind what should have been the steering wheel. It seemed bizarre to be in the “driver’s seat” with nothing in front of me, not to mention the fact that we were barreling down the road on the “wrong” side. Although to be quite honest, I don’t think our driver had any concept of what side of the road he was to be on, for he gave equal time to the right, left, and the center.

In those early morning hours there was no need for air conditioning and the driver left all the widows open allowing the wind to flow at will through the car, cooling our skin and whipping our hair into our eyes and mouths. In the dark, the air conveyed the essence of what we could not see clearly: the pungent scents of earth and foliage, the sour odors of a beer distillery, and raw sewage running in channels along the streets. Houses on stilts interspersed with bars advertizing “Ivanhoff Vodka” ran along the roadside for miles as we sped towards Georgetown. Although the streets were devoid of human life scores of dogs were very much awake, their glowing eyes staring up at us as they paused their midnight rendezvous to watch us pass.

Arriving at the mission house at 3am we found that there were no beds available and so Elizabeth and I spent our first night sharing a single mattress in the sticky heat. Deciding to for-go the mosquito net in favor of being able to feel the breeze we slept.

Six hours later we squeezed into an already over packed bus and bumped our way through town to the market. Home made stalls lined the streets filled with clothing, electronics, knock off name brand items, food, and any number of other things. We attempted to ignore the persistent nagging from the vendors and instead scanned the mounds of fresh mangos, pineapples, mini bananas, plantains, ajuara, sour sop, and oranges for our breakfast.

By dark we had spent at least four hours of our day waiting – as time is certainly not considered to be of the essence in Guyana – and hour and a half in taxi’s or buses crammed between numerous other sticky travelers, and about an hour bumping our way through the many waterways of Guyana on outboard motor boats. As we slid through the water on the last leg of the journey, with the black of the night enveloping us, the stars appeared to light our way. Bats swooped through the air mere feet from us and their high pitched shrieks echoed off the jungle walls. It was my first glimpse of the slow paced peaceful atmosphere I’ve since found to be an integral part of jungle living. No rushing, no pressure, just work for the necessities of life and not worry about the rest. I’m learning a lot.

I’ve learned to fall sleep soon after the sun has set and rise with the first light of dawn when the bats return from their nightly escapades to chatter in our roof. I’m learning to only be concerned about today and appreciate the changes and surprises that arrive with no warning. I’m learning to wash my entire wardrobe in one small green bucket with only two hands to do the work of a full sized washing machine. I’ve learned to love the moments I can crawl into my bed and release the mosquito net like a white tent around me. I love the “silence” that allows one to notice --- or curse, in Elizabeth’s case, the sounds of bats, insects, and tree frogs. I love the smell of bread baked fresh in the brick oven outdoors and the taste of coconut water from young water coconuts. I love the fact that I can see a million and one stars in any direction and that Orion rests directly over the campus. And I love laying in the boat with my legs dangling in the wake while we make the weekly grocery run to Supenaam.

I hope that this week gives you all a chance to take advantage of some of the things you love, AND a chance to enjoy the pleasures of modern civilization that we are learning to live without in Guyana.