South of the border

The little house you are viewing is high in the mountains of Costa Rica, and is the refuge of my dear friend, Cis Wilson.  She has a little over 100 acres and the most spectacular views of the bay of Nicola and the Pacific..  Her tiny kitchen is wonderful. Most meals are eaten on the large veranda seen in the front of her Casa. Each Friday a truck appears on the dirt road filled with fresh, plucked and cleaned chickens in a large cooler, on Saturday another truck appears with the fresh shrimp...to your door shopping.  Vegetables are gotten each Friday in Nicola, a most incredible outdoor market. Cis's rusty Toyota land cruiser(1988) will be literally stocked to the gunnels after a whirlwind run through the market! It was so exciting to be there among the local village, hunting and gathering food. Staples must be brought in from the large city market 21/2 hours away.  The first item of business when you embark from the plane is to stock up before the trek to the mountains!   Betty, the daily cook, relies on old familiar family fare, reminiscent of summer on the farm in the hills of my home...her vegetable tortillas, a daily staple, were incredible. On day, needing to cook, Cis suggested I make a Kentucky family dinner.  We got a fresh young chicken, cabbage, potatoes and a pineapple...the workers all gather on the front porch exactly at noon~~~~~~~~a scene as familiar as anything I know in life.  A daily ritual never far from my memory.  On this day, they brought their wives and children.  We served them fried chicken, mashed potatoes, cole slaw and  biscuits( this isn't easy but a search went out for lard in the village and was found)....we finished with an odd version of pineapple upside down cake...it was extraordinary, if I do say so!  I handled all weekend cooking chores and what a delight. Fresh eggs, fresh vegetables, fruit of every variety....rice, shrimp, chicken.  Endless opportunities. 

The last Saturday evening we were in Costa Rica, the local villagers decided to throw a going away dance for us....we walked the 3/4 mile trek down to the village on a narrow dirt road, chickens, goats, cows and horses on each turn.  It was just getting dark as we arrived  to a pavilion of sorts.  Leaning against a sagging fence was all the young handsome men...twittering by the door were all the young women.  Inside the open air pavilion were the elders and babies.  Little tents were in the corners, odd, I thought....silly me, they were there to place sleeping children in later on!  We were offered beer and coke and rum...in little plastic cups.

I rarely drink beer and never drink rum and coke(warm) but to refuse is not acceptable...Rum and coke, says I!  We found seats on a long, narrow wooden bench, clinging to the outside wall of the pavilion.  Cis has called this village her second home for fifteen years and is revered. Her guests are welcome but with guarded and very polite behavior. We were barely seated when all the older women approached us to share the evening's refreshment.  We were brought (repeatedly) paper plates of saltine crackers with black bean paste, crackers with tuna, crackers with guava jam...warm slices of melon...more rum and coke. I will say here never, ever have I had food delivered with such love( and I know about food as love) I couldn't eat much of the offering, but it brought tears to my eyes to see such love and kindness for us, the humbled guests.  The party began!  Dancing an art in the village, it was like watching Dancing with the Stars with soul! The guys left the fence, young girls were no longer shy, married couples were hot!!!!! The elders rocked the babies and served  more food.  Our friends from Cis's farm were there, taking our hands, tugging us onto the dance floor.  A local worker from the sawmill invited me to dance.  He taught (or at least tried) to teach me intricate Spanish dance moves by eye contact and tapping me gently on my head, indicating time to spin or turn!  I danced my ancient knees away....we were the stars of the evening...welcomed, loved, treated as if we'd spent all of lives there.  We snaked back up the dark road well into the night, 

leaving young lovers whispering by the fence, babies sleeping in tents and old men picking up beer bottles.  A night to remember.   

On Sunday morning my amore came calling, he not only loved the dance but thought I might like to walk the sawmill on Sunday! I could not but after many kisses he moved on down the road.  WFS offered him a far sum to take me, but you all know the story of the Ransom of Red Chief~~~~~~~

This is such a lovely story because all the memories collide with my youth.. Sawmills and socials....

I will have to tell you about pie suppers at Caney Fork....