Flower Walk

June, in this La Niña year, is a month that alternates between sunshine-filled skies and skin-drenching rains. Around the Golfo Dulce, I’ve observed that rain falls in a range of moods. Light mists may gently coat every surface or deepen into slight drizzles. Sometimes, the winds from the Pacific rush over the jungle canopy twisting the tree tops with a driving precipitation that hits our house in horizontal waves. Thunderheads over the open water shoot forks of lightening with a forewarning of light spatters. Vertical downpours of heavy raindrops hammer the roof so hard that M and I can’t hear each other speak. The whims of the precipitation are as shifting as the clouds racing across the sky. The sunshine and rain play a game where every few hours they alternate. Hanging laundry is gamble. I can look north across the Golfo Dulce and see clear skies, then look back to the southwest to see dark, glowering clouds. Holding a basket with damp clothes, I ask, “Am I feeling lucky?”

This morning, we woke to the last drops of a soaked dawn where the clouds revealed slashes of blue. Always in the hope of a sunny break, I set off with Pinta on our morning walk. During this bi-polar season, the rich warmth of the sun balanced with the nourishing showers of rain provides the perfect conditions for wild flowers. Most of the year, the roadside is edged with dense layers of green. The plants proffer a display of leaves from the delicacy of frilly lace to pre-historic looking ferns as wide as elephant’s ears. In a monotone of green, I am delighted to catch a splash of color as seasonal blooms peek from the foliage.

Our neighborhood road, like 70% of roads in Costa Rica, consists of loose gravel that melts to mud in the rainy season. Our road shoots off the main road, designated as Highway 621. Though “highway” is an optimistic term for a road with potholes so deep that locals place banana trees in the ruts to warn oncoming traffic. Like hundreds of roads in rural Costa Rica, Google Maps lists our neighborhood road as “Unnamed Road.” From the “highway,” Unnamed Road meanders about 2 kms up the crest of a ridge and peaks at a gate constructed in typical Tico style of barbwire and tree branch poles. Passing through this gate, a narrow lane descends through a beautiful forest of towering tropical hardwoods to end in a small palm plantation.

Walking this route almost every day, I am interested in any small change. Along the edge of the road, I see long green stems supporting the brilliant purple orchids called La Guaria Morada, Costa Rica’s national flower. The stems reach above my head with the orchid blooms smiling down at me. Every few hundred steps, there are narrow lanes leading to my neighbors’ homes. Living at the end of these lanes are an extended family of Ticos who arrived here to homestead in the 1980s. The family with 9 sons and 1 daughter lived under a tarp covered ranchito with only creek water and no electricity. Working diligently over the decades, the sons have farmed and built homes for their families. Now the 3rd generation are graduating from colegio (high school) and attending university. Their friendship and generosity in sharing their deep knowledge of this land has, literally, allowed M and I to enjoy the fruits (bananas, pineapple, coconut, pejibaye, costaña, carambola) of our labor. Like the Guaria Morada orchid, this family is bright and resilient. Careful custodians of the earth not looking to attract attention, they are content to stand tall and share the beauty of this land.

Further along in the tropical hardwood forest, the Malaysian red ginger with its fiery red plumes is a bold and eye-catching contrast to its surrounding undergrowth. And like some of our neighbors, it is a transplant from distant lands. There’s a half dozen of us from North America who have “discovered” this tranquil “off-the-beaten track" locale. We’ve built our “forever homes” with expansive view decks and plumbed hot water. M and I are the only gringos who live here full-time. Another couple who lived here for many years recently moved to the mountains above San Isidro Perez Zeledon to be closer to “civilization.” After almost 5 years, I feel comfortable enough with Spanish that I can stop and chat with my Tico neighbors to catch up on the news. And a couple of them enjoy chatting in English with me.

When I hear the distant thrum of a rain squall, I stop to listen. It is a wall of sound that announces its relentless approach up the hillside. From experience, I know that this rain will drench me to the skin. Time to turn home. Sometimes introduced non-native species are invasive. Sometimes transplants will complement or enhance the environment. We have put down roots and make every attempt to be good custodians. For our efforts, we have been welcomed and are thriving. We share the spirit of the custodians of our “Unnamed Road” to offer a natural environment for all wild flowers to bloom.