So Much Beauty in Dirt

Last week, I returned from a much needed vacation to the highest peak in Costa Rica, Mt Chirripó. It was a thrilling escape to the mountains where I soared free and alone, plunging into the dry crisp air while birds that sounded like rusty swings called to and fro. When chilled night arrived, the warmth and safety of my trusted sleeping bag beckoned me once more. I went to bed early, as early at 7:30pm, in order to wake up at 4am and be out hiking by dawn. With sleep still in my eyes, I relished the gentle early morning light that would induce a startling array of color, a full spectrum of green, blues, and reds, from the shrub-covered valley.

Yet, as much as I enjoyed being back in a familiar atmosphere, I couldn't help but long for the rainforest. I wanted to be out looking for frogs and chancing upon other animals. In comparison, the Talamanca range is a barren land, void of the thriving biodiversity of the lowlands. All that sounds is the wind.

However, when I returned to the rainforest, my heart sank. It was raining, as usual. The bus passed my stop, so I had to walk back to the turn-off on a narrow highway that tractor trailers use, a walk I thought could potentially be life-ending. When I got to my house, I secretly hoped that it would be how I left it - near spotless and tidy. But sure enough, there were still a couple cockroaches lying motionless on their backs and several black oblong insects that I never see alive, only dead with their insides a clod of white exploded out of one end. My constant companion, the mosquito, buzzed about looking for a bloodmeal. She reminded me that no, I am not at the top of the food chain. And no, I will not win this battle to keep my house a separate, sterile entity from the rainforest. In fact, all I can really do is sweep back whatever encroaches upon the edges, like a forest invading a pasture, to keep from being totally engulfed.

What is it that makes life feel more tangible nowadays? Enough for me to eschew a life of familiar security for one of limited comforts and great uncertainty? Simple. Something will happen. Maybe our field vehicle will break down. Or I will get stranded and spend the night in my office due to the storm that flooded the road home. Or I will see my first terciopelo lying in the middle of the road, about a meter long, its head smashed in by the shovel my landlord wielded to protect his family from harm. Whatever it is, something new and exciting will happen. I will pass through foreign territory, plantations of pineapples or bananas bordered by worker housing. Warning signs of pesticide use and restricted access will glare in red letters from their metal posts. I will wonder about not only the welfare of the frogs in such an environ but the health of the people. Of their children playing in the streets. Of class tension, social stigmas, and what role I play and could play in it all. And while caught up in my uncertainty, my doubt, my selfish stress and insecurity, something will bring a smile to my face. Then, if I observe carefully enough, still my mind enough for just one second, the beauty and harshness of life will manifest themselves all at once before my blinking eyes.

Sloth Sighting!

To my surprise, my first sloth sighting did not happen when a group of tourists, about a week ago, excitedly shouted, "There's a sloth!" Even in broad daylight, without binoculars or a spotting scope, this elusive creature was just too quick for my naked eye to see. But luckily, tonight, some colleagues and I saw an individual crossing the cable bridge that connects the two sides of the station.

This rather unfortunate sloth was in the arduous process of climbing towards our side of the river when we spotted it. However, upon being blinded by our headlamps (we stood at the end of the bridge, a few meters away to give it space), it hesitated and hung uncertainly on the cable by its claws, wondering what to do next. Then, it hurriedly - for a sloth - started going back the way it came, and with every two steps, would look over its shoulder at us to see if we were still there.

Yep.

And so, after a few minutes of waiting and watching the poor creature backtrack unnecessarily at undoubtedly a record pace, we decided to pass it on the bridge and allow it to cross over in peace. That said, I got to see my first sloth about a foot away, looking bewildered at me in the low light of my headlamp. I can only hope that it got to the other side of the bridge alright, at least until the noisy group of middle school American kids find it.