Animal Kingdom III

Every morning at 5, I open the window and Kristen's kitten comes in. She loves her. Her name is Annie, after a Japanese anime's character.

This morning, she didn't come.

After the sun was up, Kristen and I went to look for her. She was quiet on top of the roof where she usually hides.

But today was different. She was hurt.

Last night, Kristen heard her kitten fighting with a dog, which is not unusual.

This time, I don't know which dog got her. Probably was not the puppy who plays with her, but a bigger dog.

A few days ago, I saw one of our labs lifting another cat by her neck and shaking her like crazy. Luckily, she was able to get rid of him and climbed up to the roof. She had already an injured leg from a previous incident that I didn't witness.

I took Annie home, laid her down on the floor. She was breathing heavily. Kristen who is usually very tough and rarely cries, started to sob.

Later, I took Annie to the vet to find out that her lungs had been pierced. She is still there and we don't know what is going to happen to her.

Kristen had many pets. All of them got killed. Either by a car or by other dogs. Including bunnies.It may total 6 pets, at least, without considering others that belong to the family and not solely to her.

When she wanted to adopt a kitten, we talked about the risks. Our dogs are very fierce. One of them is a natural hunter and won't leave anything alive. I find all kinds of small animals killed around our house, including very large lizzards, snakes, rabbits, opossums, armadillos, and of course, more visiting cats.

We have six guard dogs on our farm, some of them nearly retirement. Because of their age, one or another gets sick often, including my father's 8 year old prodigal cat that returned home after 2 years of voluntary leave. I go more often to the vet clinic than to my hair salon. That means, I am spending more on them than on me. Serious. The prodigal cat came back home with his black hair resembling a bad hair salon discoloration. I took him to the vet. He said that "it was shedding old hair and soon it would be back to black." It has been several months and he happily displays his burnt brown coat from waist bellow. Not "back to black" as Amy Whinehouse would sing.

I don't really complain. They make me feel safe on the farm. They are loyal, except during the night, that they go out hunting, to return at 8 am next morning. One has bitten me by mistake, thinking that I was another dog. One pincher likes to spend her time down the road near the restaurant where she can find attractive small males. I am well served with all these dogs (and cats).

But their are integral part of our farming lives. We have to have them for our own security, for companionship, and of course, for unconditional love on both parts.

Note: I have previously written "Animal Kingdom I" and "Animal Kingdom II.)

Lychee Greed

If there is one fruit that brings out that is worst in us, that´s lychee. The unattractive rough outer skin hides the succulent white pecaminous flesh that, at first bite, an explosion of fragrant clear juice overtakes our mouth. Perhaps, that´s how god´s ambrosia was like.
The fruit is deceiving. It looks like a large seed for it´s woody rind. However, the reddish pink, the color of the sexiest lipstick, tells us the opposite. It lures us into unclothing it. The skin comes off easily, as if it was eager to be bare naked. Stark white. Yet, not opaque, nor transparent, it´s semi-translucent. It resembles a newborn insect larvae. Almost alive. It could move.
The fragrance is not of a fruit. Rather, it´s a subtle aroma of tiny wildflower after the rain.
The silken pulp slips easily into our mouths, needing only light chewing, to be soon melted.
We just can´t have enough of it. That´s when we start to get into trouble.
November is the month where the first fruits start to ripen on our two trees. For no reason, people that haven´t been visiting me start to show up "just to see how you are doing," while their eyes look up the bunches on the tree top.


The first time I started to feel jealous was three years ago, when some visitors, unceremoniously, picked green-still fruit and chewed on it, while spitting the skin off to the ground.
See, I like to save all the fruits when they are at their peak stage of ripening, so I can fully enjoy it.
But not many people are like that. If the visitors come in groups, they spread around the orchard, and pick the green fruits that hang low, some others reach them with a pole, while the remaining people throw anything at arm´s reach in an attempt to get the fruits. As soon as I know it, it´s a riot in my backyard.
My neighbor´s granddaughter came up to me, even before I had eaten my first fully ripe lychees, and asked for some fruits. They don´t even know its name, calling it "the little fruit", as if it was insignificant, so to make the request seem equally innocuous.
A lady drove in alone one afternoon saying "Just thinking about lychee my mouth started to water. I couldn´t stop craving it. I came to see if they ripened..." I replied "they are still underripe. Take some though. Whenever it gets ripe, I´ll let you know. I can deliver. As the time came, I stuffed a bag with 3 lb and charged as if was half of it. She was a bit hesitant to pay, as she was expecting it for free. But for a lady that never drives for she says is so afraid, she had a herculean self-motivation to do so for such a little ugly fruit.

Another afternoon, two enthusiastic salespersons stopped in front of my house and honked. They were selling some unregistered cosmetics, taking my hand and smearing some lotion on it, and making me smell it. I thanked and told them I already had a whole bunch of cosmetics, besides, I didn´t like the parabens in it. Feeling won by my arguments, but not wanting to leave defeated, one of them said "will you then give me some lychee?" How did she know they were lychees? I said they were for sale, R$10 per kilo. They gave up and drove away. Defeated.
The lychee fruits are so coveted, yes, coveted, that I feel like I am a jealous wife of an extremely handsome man. I become very protective of it. But not only me.
A man came to do some job for my father and by seeing the tree full of attractive reddish-pink fruits asked about it. My father said: "It is just a delicious fruit, that, if I gave you one, you are not going to want to stop with just one, and you will want to have them all. And I can´t give you." "Dad, did you give him some?, I asked. " He answered "No." Simple as that. My father saved the man from the heartache of lychee addiction.
Why such a heavenly fruit evokes these feelings of avarice?
When the fruits are getting riper, I try to collect most of them, hidden from any visitors or neighbors and give away as an end of the year gift for some special people in my life. Sometimes I bundle them with the branches and leaves, where the fruits hang just like grapes. I wrap them with a clear film and tie a bow. Pretty. Everybody is so exultant to receive those. I can´t say why.
I had taken a small bag for my cousin. She said, "I am going to decorate our party table with these." Thinking so, I picked a bucket full of lychees and brought them over. The fruits never appeared on the table. I wonder what my other cook cousin did with those as she put the whole bag away to "cool in the refrigerator." Maybe now they lay on the warmth of her stomach.
My housekeeper, at the end of her shift, picked up two fruits, one with each fatty hand, raised them at her eye level, and called me "hey, hey". She looked through those fruits and said "I am taking these two home." Fighting my feelings of discontentment, I told her "take the whole bag home." She did, with my nylon bag and all the fruits in it. She left me with none.
As I said, this time of the year, people are very eager to see me. Shamelessly, they either ask about the fruit or just say "look, I am going to take these home," fruits that they picked while I was not watching. Some pick the fruit during their working hours! And they don't ask for permission to collect them. If they asked, I could say "no", and they don't want to take a risk. They collect them, and hide, or and while saying "bye," they unthoughtfully drop a simple bomb "I am taking these home." So it's my turn to say "only this amount? Why didn't you get some more?"
I always wait to see if they are going to ask or not. In my experience, they never take the risk and make sure they take some home. No pride involved as lychee is concerned.
We all know there is a word game going on. What everybody wants is the fruit, and each person has his own strategy for the battle. I lose every single one of them.
The lychees are not easy to pick as many bunches are high on top of the tree. At dusk, after everybody went home, surreptitiously, I climb on it, risk my own bone integrity, and fetch for the prettiest ones, while sweating copiously. In part, ashamed for doing so in a secret as if I were stealing it. On the other hand, I think I won the cold war. First, I eat as much as I can until I become bulimic or diarrheic. The next day, I give some lychees to the very same people that took some home illegitimately. "See, I give them to you. No need to be so anxious." It´s a power game. I am so machiavellian.
I can´t wait for the end of the season, that, fortunately, lasts only two weeks. For two weeks, my nice neighbors, friends, family members, employee, and myself, become lychee triggered monsters. But by Christmas, we are all at peace again.
Note: the second and third photos (of the trees) are from 2009. Since then, the trees have become very tall and yielding very few fruits.

What´s in my Backyard

Chia plants blooming. At R$100/kg, I better get my own supply.

Alfavaca, basil-like rougher leaves that can be used to season meat just like it would bay leaves. Easy to grow, I brought some seeds from Campos, State of Rio. I had never heard of it before.

I paid R$6.90 for a single long loofah with a hope of getting the seeds. They came all mashed, except for 3. I first sowed on a plastic cup and later transplanted them by the fence. This is the only survivor, but the loofahs are curving themselves, so I can tell they are not going to be the same as the one I bought.

Tangelo of some kind. Half an orange makes a meal.

Japanese Nira (Allium tuberosum) grows vigorously. It is good in omelets or in pork dishes. Not used in Brazilian cuisine.

October 1st, 2011 - Spring is in the Air!

My enthusiasm is back around farm living, after a few months of discouragement. If you remember, my father decided to sell the farm for I had decided to go back to my city life somewhere in America. I was heartbroken, and all I wanted was to find my self-worth elsewhere. In the midst of all of this, my father suddenly got ill and passed away. My brother came from America on a quick trip basically to tell me that he wanted nothing to do with the farm and left. My sister didn't want to take our bedridden mom to Sao Paulo city into her tiny apartment. But I had already decided to stay, take care of my mother, and fight to get my heart healed now for two big losses. So the adventures on the farm continue in this hot and dry beginning of Spring. A big era ended in my life - of care-free living. I finally grew to be an adult? I took over the farm; I am now solely responsible for my mother's care and still having to raise a 10-year old girl. I have six dogs, four of them I chose to adopt in the last three years, and a male cat left by my father. Many people got afraid for me as we are just three women - a frail elderly, a child, and myself - living in a rural area, where violent crimes have been reported. But I chose to remain on the farm and I chose not to be ridden by fear. I had an alarm system installed in the house and am careful to come in and out. I have studied adopting a more aggressive dog such as Rotweiller, but I am unsure about my authority over him. I was able to rent the pasture and with it, I got all the fencing fixed. With the cows eating the tall grass, the danger of fire also diminishes. Today I witnessed two blazing spots and two other smoky patches along the road within a few miles from the farm. That was scary. But we are expecting rain for the next few days, and this should ameliorate the situation. The pasture rental doesn´t pay me much; of course, much less than if I had a cattle myself. But it is so worry-free that I actually like that I can make money doing nothing. The renter is a successful vegetable grower in town. I had met him a couple years ago and from whom I got my crazy Border Collie mix. The chicken coop is still being rented to the same man for years. Nothing changed. Now, I have only the coffee plantation section to be taken care of. I know that I may get even less than renting a pasture, but at least, someone will care for what my father put so much work, money, and efforts. A neighbor told me that my father confessed to him "I know that I am not going to live another 50 years. I am working hard to leave the farm productive for my daughter." I am so sorry I can't harvest coffee another year. It takes investments and human labor I am not apt to work with. My only option besides selling the farm would be to rent them out. That's what I am doing. I feel somewhat ashamed to tell that I didn't choose to fight against the odds and throwing myself into rural entrepreneurship. When we think about the differences between city and farm living, immediately comes to one´s mind the tranquility of the bucolic lifestyle one can have on a farm. It is still true, but to me, the brutal difference is that the city skills that I have are almost of no use here. It´s a whole new way of thinking and solving problems. Being a woman, I get no much respect from employees who are used to deal with male bosses, when we get to hire any. A man who was fixing the fence works for my tenant, and I wanted to hire him to do the fence around my house. Even though this worker knows me, he just disappeared into a thin air. My tenant told me of this man´s resistance to work for a woman, even though he offered to give him a ride every day and assist him in fence building. During harvest, I would have to deal with at least six to fifteen people, many of the men. I am supposed to be the old fashioned authoritarian boss, but I was educated to be democratic. Of course, there is a difference between being a good leader and a weak one, but it is not part of my personality to force one into doing something. The rural workers are the rejected ones from the workforce for lack of education and skills. Those aspects also make them very difficult to deal with. I have a temporary worker who does little jobs for me who is completely illiterate. He doesn´t sign his name, doesn´t read clock hours, and doesn´t know money. Thank God he is a docile man that resembles much the gardener played by Peter Seller´s in "Being There" or "The Idiot", a Dostoevsky´s character. Of course, instructions are almost useless. He doesn´t understand them, especially if I give him a sequence of work. I need to work side by side, so the work progresses. The farm is about 40 acres, divided into chicken coops, coffee plantation, the pasture, and the house. So my new playground is the house and the surrounding area. It is still pretty large. I have an orchard, a space for vegetable gardening, a front yard for the flower garden and so much more. If I sold the farm, I would get only a house the size I have now in town. Right now, I have electricity and water included in my tenant's account; I have several fruit trees I planted a couple years ago. Some of them I have been already harvesting fruits. I prize also the silence and solitude in the countryside. But I don't feel isolated. I drive to town twice a day, a house helper comes every morning, I chat with my neighbor almost every day. And, I have internet access - that's my door to the world. Besides, I always find something of my interest to develop. I am working to turn my dream into reality: to have a wood-fired oven; my house fixed up; to build a rustic sauna and a hot tub. My latest interest is a sourdough starter! Today I baked rosemary focaccia in my regular gas stove. But I have tried my second hand purchased pre-molded oven with pizza making. Also, I bought a very old metal stove, wood burning, and have tried to bake some. But the lack of a chimney makes the oven cool quickly, so I have put it aside for a while. This is the scenery of my current farm life. I am not growing vegetables, raising free-range chickens, pigs, or cows. I only have pets. The great part of income comes from my father´s pension and my mother´s retirement, besides the child support money. A smaller amount comes from the lease. I don´t have a single thing that comes from the land that I turn into money. Or no food that I feed myself on. I feel like I have a suburban lifestyle. I am trying to figure out if I am a fake or not, or if I have succumbed to a new economic reality in my country. I can´t survive out of the small land. I don´t have a large family, the skills, the bank loan, or government support. I could get knowledge (as I have been getting through classes), but knowledge alone won´t plow the land. More on this subject sometime later. I just came to say that I am well, happy, with many projects and I want to share them with you. Have a great Spring! - at least here, down the Equator.

July 29th, 2011 – The Moment of Truth

July 29th, 2011 – The Moment of Truth The winter months have been quite different from other years. It has not been cold at all. On the opposite, we are having sunny and dry days, some cool nights. In Northern countries, this would be early Fall. August is known as “mad dog´s months”, perhaps for the number of hydrophobias (rabies) that I had never seen. I was bitten by my newly adopted dog, ran to the emergency room, had my wounds washed by  Nursing Technician students and recommended to take two kinds of shots: one for rabies and another for tetanus. In spite of several bad scars on my left thigh and on my left ring finger (that I was so anxious to put back into use), it turned out that my dog had no rabies neither feelings of guilt toward his bad act. On the opposite, he befriended me even more. It was just an accident. While I was holding his collar after getting off the car, the other male dog came from behind to attack him. Toby just turned back and instead of bitting my black lab, he bit my lower leg, my thigh, and also my finger. It would be a great job if done to an assailant... Anyway, in my quiet life, the only males interested in me are one black Lab and a white Border Collie, both mixed breeds. I had my “cold meal man” (the worker who gets paid by his day of work and not submitted to the labor laws) coming to hoe wild weeds around my house. The drought is so severe that they have not come back and it has been weeks that the landscape looks nice as the first day of cleaning up. The beautiful dry sunny days, somewhat windy, all cleared around the house, with the end of the orange season, I still feel melancholic by the loss of my father at the beginning of June. I still can´t talk much about it, and feel unable to write about the weeks that preceded his unexpected death. All I can say is that he left me a legacy of work ethics, a bountiful coffee harvest, a large house, an organized office full of notes, including a diary. He is gone and I am now to remain on the farm, not forcefully, but by my own will. I am living as if I was in the desert. Besides plenty of limes and some bland tasting papayas, I have to buy everything at the farmer´s market. I have not re-started with my vegetable garden, and I don´t know when I can do it again. All the irrigation pipes are disconnected with the pieces collected somewhere, and above all, I don´t have my father´s help to haul the chicken or cow manure, to plow the soil with a tractor. As a matter of fact, all his farm equipment is useless for me now. I don´t know how to use any of those. Not even the tractor or the pick-up truck. For lack of use, they have gone dead. I am feeling discouraged to start looking at these matters. But I hope soon to be able to lease the coffee plantation and maybe the pasture. I don´t feel able to take on such a job for myself. So many things on the farm I don´t know what is good for. The toolhouse with hundreds of hand tools, chains, and how about chemicals? Fertilizers and weed or bug killers? What am I supposed to do with the sawmill? But a few things I was already forced to do. I had to fix the pipe under the sink, and another in the bathroom. I climbed up to the roof to fix a leak on another pipe. But for electrical jobs, I have called the electrician. For coffee and the castor oil seed harvest, I hired a contractor. For the first time, I am responsible for a voluminous amount of a product stored elsewhere that I have to find the right moment to sell: it is a commodity – the coffee beans. If I told you about the legal and financial matters my father left me, I will be depressed. I don´t like to deal with these things. But for being an adult, once in a while, I am faced with contracts and bills to pay. Many people are concerned about our safety of living on a farm with all women (my bedridden mom, my 10-year old daughter, and me). Robbers have taken farmers hostage into their own homes, have beaten them up, committed violence. For fear of such things, I have ordered an estimate for fencing up around the house. But the cost is extremely high for dubious benefit. So...I will need to trust God and my common sense in order to keep ourselves safe. So many of my father´s responsibility has all gone to me, but it also gave me a terrible sense of freedom and power. I can decide, given good conditions, for the destiny of the farm. This is the moment of truth: can I live my old dream of owning a farm? For now, it is more of a nightmare. After my father´s illness and death, I have not been able to go back for running on a dirt road, neither to take on my Yoga and Pilates I used to do at home. My plans are to go back to these and also to re-start my healthy eating. I have gorged too much lately and becoming lazy for small tasks for having gained a few pounds. I can´t accept that. I have to use my days to work and feel well, to sleep well at night, and be happy when I wake up. For now, I am feeling overwhelmed for having inherited this piece of land with all the joys and troubles that come with it. God help me!

April 10th, 2011 - Resurrection

April 10th, 2011 - Resurrection The hot and humid days are slowing subsiding, making it more bearable to live here. I am thankful that even with days like those, the weather is still manageable. I can go outside every day. I started to run a few miles a day on an unpaved road near my farm. I never thought of this possibility – “to cross the border” of my farm. We always lived very secludedly within our property, never wandering around, or visiting neighbors. My mother wanted to keep us away from strange men’s eyes, and I am grateful for it. That´s my turn now to teach my daughter to protect herself. The road goes around the farm, for a few miles, up and down gentle hills, making it pleasant to ride a bicycle. At a certain point, I reach the rural paved road and have a view of a lake. The worst part is when I have to pass by a house with a mean dog. I try hard to look at the everyday blessings I have in my life. Running in the morning, already getting some sunshine, along with my five (of six) dogs, I go under pinus trees, some honeysuckle vine climbing off the cliff, extending my vision to green pasture taken by cows to the left, and coffee plantation to the right. I rarely see people, but when it does happen, I surely know them. Nothing else has changed much, except that I am no longer working on my vegetable garden. I have time now for running while my housecleaner works in the house. I have more time to spare, thinking, writing, reading, sleeping, and attending church several times a week. I am preparing myself to spend here another year, trying to accept the facts the way that they are; not with the intention to change it, but to surrender. But my biggest challenge so far is to change my way of thinking. I don’t let my thoughts run aimlessly anymore. I am vigilant, and gently, I redirect my mind to Jesus. All the other plans will come in second. I feel the need to overcome the cheap desires of my flesh, toughening my soul, but feeding my spirit. While everything looks frozen in my outward life, my inward life is bubbling with the restoration of my soul. I am very excited about my new spiritual journey after two years of drought. I am having my faith restored. When I can’t do anything else, when all the odds seem to be against me, that’s when God comes in. In very little ways, He has shown me that there is a way. A 68-year old widow told me she bought a tiny piece of land wanting to plant mandioc, yam, and corn. If she has a dream of seeing plants growing, knowing that she can’t eat it all, I do too take pleasure from the land. I start to think about selling a portion of the farm in order to raise some money, and then, fix up the house, and continue living here. This would cut out all the possibility of going back to America sometime soon. The longer I take to go back, the more difficult it will become. I have lots to think, but next week is the Resurrection day, all the meaning of why I still have hope. Remembering that I too can be resurrected, perhaps not in the way I imagine, but somehow, in a yet better way that only the perfect God can do.