Life in the country

Our good friends, Dan and Lorraine Olsen, just headed home to California after a week with us country folk.

Getting to re-experience this place through their eyes was a reminder of just how close we live to nature, here and in Mexico.

It's definitely the Fitzfox version of summer camp.

Most mornings Arnold the Wonder Dog and I head out for a walk around 'the block' --- a two mile trek down the road that follows the lake, up the stop-your-heart switchbacks, past the old cemetery, over the creek and back down the vineyards to home.

We're usually spotting for whatever wild critters might be out, Arnold to chase them, me to look for deer, a fox, a wild turkey, whatever shows up. We have to be out pretty early to see anything interesting.

Then we head down to the lake for our morning swim/bath, often discovering the remains of whatever our local coyote or other predator has left on our path to the dock --- chicken feathers, the head of a fawn, other unidentifiable feathered or furry critters on last night's dinner menu.

And then there's the unusual occurance: The night before last I was sound asleep by 11, exhausted by too much fun, when some stupid skunk decided to spray right below the window of our upstairs bedroom. Woke me up, cleared us right out of the room, eyes burning. Good thing Arnold was back with Brad for the night. Could have been a much worse story, including a lot of peroxide/baking soda and Dawn detergent baths in the night.

On our way to yoga Tuesday morning, Lorraine and I spotted an injured fox , back legs paralyzed and dragging itself across the road, probably having just been hit by a car. We flagged a neighbor driving down the hill who got out his rifle to put the poor fox out of its misery.

But not before I got Lorraine out of there, explaining that she was a vegetarian from the city and definitely not ready for this particular country experience.

In Sacramento or elsewhere, we'd just call some animal agency to 'deal with it.'

In the country, you deal with it.

That's pretty much true for all home maintenance too. People expect you know how to fix pretty much anything and everything around your own home. If you don't, you call a brother, a cousin, or a friend to help you out. While there is hired help around, it's really for the big jobs --- putting in a new septic system, maybe a remodel.

The rest is on you.

One of the bright spots this summer -- literally -- is an unusual number of bright red cardinals. From the porch we've been watching one female who been spending an inordinate amount of time checking herself out in the passenger-side mirror of our Lexus SUV.

She's not so much interested in using the mirrors of the 1996 Mercury.

I understand. I like the Lexus more too.

Most nights we stay home and cook because it's too dang far to consider driving into town for dinner, plus we have a better view than almost anywhere else we would go.

Despite the inconvenience of cooking at home -- really, it's the clean up that's the problem --- we have access to spectacular fruits and veggies (sweet corn! huge slicer tomatoes! apricots! peaches! squash!) from stands set up in front of the homes of local farmers, some asking us to stick the money into a locked box on the honor system.

Don't see much of the honor system in Sacramento or other cities.
Last fall at a Sacramento farmer's market I saw some guy steal money from a farmer's cash box , leaping over the counter like a gymnast and then racing through city streets like a jack rabbit.

Jerk.

The biggest downside to country living, for me, is getting shackled to my car, as lovely as it is. If you have an actual destination, whether it's a grocery store, doctor's appointment, an evening of music, you have to drive (or go by boat) a pretty long ways.
It's a minimum of 15 miles to the grocery store, usually twice that to any other destination, and a whole lot of time out of my day.

I love the convenience of the city when we can walk, bike, take public transportation.

But what I would give up is the quiet roar of the cicadas at night, the bird choir that greets us about 5 o'clock in the morning, watching a storm roar across the lake while we wait to hear the cracking of large limbs or trees around the house.

And we'd miss the privacy of a couple of acres and a 40-mile lake to buffer us from the rest of civilization.

We're sometimes surprised mornings to hear the crunch of someone's feet on the gravel road in front of our house as they take an early morning loop around the block for exercise. And heaven help someone who drives up to our place and isn't looking for us.

Right now another storm is ready to give us a good wallop of thunder and lightening and hopefully some rain. We're heading outside to make sure everything is sufficiently battened down so we won't find the adirondack chairs flung over the cliff, or the buckets up in the bushes.

Then we'll sit and watch the light show as it comes across the lake, right before it hits us and we have to move inside for the night.

We have less than four weeks before we head back to what many of us consider civilization. I'm going to savor this while I can before I head back to the city and start walking over to Trader Joe's to get our nightly already-prepared dinner.

No clean up required.

See ya'll soon!

Status Report: A month in New York

Here's what's been happening in my New York world:

Bought the car.

In the least typical used car purchase I've ever experienced, we asked Hal Van Skiver, of Van Skiver Motors in Watkins Glen, last August if he would look around and choose a car for us to drive when we returned to NY for the summer. I said I'd even drive a Buick --- we just needed a good running car. He's got a stellar reputation with family members and many friends as being more-than-honest (is that possible?). And he has an interesting business model --- he'll only work on cars he's sold.

We returned this May to find a nice surprise --- like a good Jewish matchmaker, he sized me up and said I was much more the Lexus SUV type. Bingo! Leather (heated!) seats, sun roof, roof racks for all the boats, satellite radio, you name it. And a luxury ride. This one's a keeper. And I'm another devoted fan of Van Skiver Motors. Anybody for a road trip?

Built the dock

Michael and I have been waiting years to afford (or justify the expense) of extending our dock so it would reach deeper waters, have room enough for both of us sit for an afternoon or a sunset, and solid enough that it wouldn't scare our many friends who have refused to tie their boats up at our dock. The original dock was built about 30 years ago, more or less.

Guy Schamel, of the Schamel Brothers, sent his crew down last week to whip this new and improved dock together, about 30 feet longer than our old one and 12 feet wider. If you're looking for me this summer, that's where you'll probably find me.


Fix the neck

I'm now heading into town (Watkins Glen) twice a week to have our amazing physical therapist, Amanda Smith-Socaris, try to fix my chronic headaches and neck pain. It's helping (especially if I'm diligent in my daily exercises). I've been looking for relief and/or answers for a long time and have found amazing people who have helped over the years --- the miracle hands of my massage friends, Karin and Matty. The Russian accupuncturist (and former neurologist) in Ithaca. Antonio, our osteopath in Mexico. I'm interested in a cure, of course, but one is unlikely, considering how chronic the problem has been for so many years. But some relief is appreciated and I'm hopeful, once again.

Zumba

Michael and I have been reading a book recommended by a friend in Mexico (and New Mexico) who a friend of hers had told her to read, called Younger Next Year. I'm only about halfway through it, but basically, the authors say EXERCISE! Every day. So we have been. Up and down the many hills here, doing a lot of yard work, just keeping it moving. In addition, my friend and soon to be second cousin by marriage, Jesse, introduced me to the dance exercise program of Zumba, held twice a week in the firehouse in Lodi (New York). Love it. Love the location. Love the price. Love the dancing. Unfortunately I got some pretty extreme vertigo this past week and Amanda basically said 'no more jumping'. I must've shaken something loose. So I'm working on the age thing while also fighting the age thing. My motto in class will be 'Old Broads Don't Jump'. But I'm going to keep on dancing. It's a blast!

Overall

With the addition of new wheels, a new dock, places to dance and a place to call home, things feel pretty complete in New York. Over the past three or four years we've sorted, discarded, painted, fixed. Michael has done amazing things on the property, including maintaining the 40-year old goat path down the hill to the new dock. Now we're hoping work a little less around the property and play more on the dock and the lake, so stop on by the new dock if you're out on the lake. Otherwise, hasta luego! We hope to catch up with many of you in California this fall or in Mexico this winter.

Lunch at the beach at Luis'

We finished up a morning of chores and decided to head out of the Rancho and down to the beach for the afternoon for some fresh fish for lunch.

A neighbor, Luis, opens a restaurant for a week or two each year as all the vacationers descend on the Arroyo Seco beaches for Semana Santa or Easter week.

The original plan was to head all the way to Tenacatita on the Honda quad, a beautiful half-hour's ride down the beach. But 10 minutes down the beach sounded even better.

And the food was better too.
The kids were there eating fresh ceviche. Pretty tasty lunch for kids!

Laura had the shrimp diablo (usually a pretty spicy red sauce), and Michael had the breaded shrimp, freshly pounded, breaded and cooked on the spot.

They safely hydrated with cervezas.

After lunch we headed south for another five minutes to our favorite Pacific Ocean 'swimming hole', a small area surrounded by rocks on three sides for a quick swim and a longer siesta.

The trip worked its usual magic. The sun set while the full moon came up. We spotted whales from the restaurant. The air is gently cool but not cold.

It's always good to get down to the beach and remember the best part about living here.

Here's a video of Luis preparing and cooking the fish over a hot wood fire.

A bit of Sasha for the relatives around the world

I had a wonderful visit with Camelia and Sasha while Dustin was working out of town. Here's a short video of Sasha feeding Maxie her breakfast, and a few photos of her last visit to Arroyo Seco.

Helping is not for the weak of heart

Yesterday was D Day --- the day to deal with Distemper in the village.

The Ground Zero dog --- a young male, maybe two years old? -- was put to sleep first. Then someone else in the village brought this cute little two or three month old white puppy to us to look at. Soft, like cocker spaniel fur. A family favorite. But he couldn't sit up, couldn't walk, couldn't hold his head up, couldn't eat. Just flop, like a rag doll.

The family said he had a cold a few weeks ago --- which, of course, we now know is the first sign of distemper. Oscar the veterinarian says the problem is that most families will assume it's a cold from cambio de clime, a change in climate. It's been quite cold at night.

And then it's too late.

Next we went to persuade the owner of the first dog that her other dog needs to be immunized. She had initially refused but yesterday luck was with us. Her husband wasn't home (she was home alone with her five children, 12 years old and younger) and we were able to convince her it wouldn't hurt the dog, she wouldn't have to pay for it, and it might save her dog's life. She reluctantly agreed when we showed up with the veterinarian and a loaded hypodermic.

The veterinarian put one more village dog down that had a snake bite on its neck, which he had initially survived. But then the wound got infected and it was too late to save him.

The final count:
• Seven initial distemper vaccinations for dogs that were in direct contact with Dog #1.
• Three dogs put down and buried on the beach.

It's heartbreaking work, and incredibly frustrating to try to help in a country where everyone is speaking rapidly -- and all at the same time -- in a language I'm just past 'how are you?'. But despite the obstacles it feels like we have some momentum in getting help earlier, doing some prevention. And then, on to massive spaying and neutering.

For those of you who wonder why the heck we're doing this, why we're so immersed in helping animals --- really, it's because it is the greatest need.

We're offer English classes to the children in the village. We're offer music lessons on piano and guitar and the occasional music evening. But these are all bonuses for the village. If we left tomorrow, the town could take what English and music they've learned and choose to continue on. Or not.

But dogs in the town are suffering, not intentionally, and that is something that we may be able to change. And eventually, if we leave, the culture around how to take care of the dogs may have changed too.

Stay tuned.

Distemper hits Arroyo Seco

Tomorrow afternoon we 'get' to put a dog down.

Heartbreak City, for sure.

Here's the story: A few days ago a neighbor asked if we could help with her neighbor's dog, one that she had been feeding. He was emaciated, mucous dripping from his nose, had a noticeable lack of coordination. Like a drunk.

Last week we had already been busy helping animals around the village. We rescued a pitiful dachsund mutt who in one week has evolved into the lovely Princessa Mia and has stolen our hearts. And then there's the cocker spaniel that showed up at our palapa one morning, stinking and ailing with a fever. After a quick haircut and three days of antibiotic infections, she's bouncing around the town again, unfortunately noticeably pregnant. This will be her third litter in less than two years.

So the neighbors know we will help.

Last night a veterinarian made a house call to our remote little rancho of Arroyo Seco, at our request, to see if the current dog in crisis could be helped. He was still wobbling around in front of our place that morning, but when the vet showed up around 5, the dog was gone --- taken off to a remote pasture by someone in the village, whether to die or to get the dog isolated, I wasn't sure.

Our neighbor's husband hopped on his bicycle to bring the dog back so the vet could check him out --- something I definitely didn't understand because it didn't seem like the dog could walk that far. But there's a lot I don't understand here, especially when everyone's speaking in Spanish so fast that I'm catching about every 10 words --- if I'm lucky. And then there is also the cultural differences in how we care for our pets.

Eventually we ended up with the Oscar the vet (in the red shirt) and the dog -- and a committee of about 10 --- in the same place and the immediate verdict was ––– distemper.

Distemper?

Good grief. Don't they vaccinate against that here?

Apparently not often.

So tomorrow we'll put the poor pooch to sleep, vaccinate his siblings and the same owner's mama dog who has four-week old puppies, plus a different neighbor's dogs who have been sharing food and water.

Later, we'll do some research, make a plan, figure out the best way to help that might really make a difference --- prevention.

When you get past the tears from watching this poor dog suffer, the anger follows. How the heck can this happen so easily in 2010? Are these people heartless? Ignorant?

I think the truest answer might be two-fold: there's no veterinarian in the village and there's no money to pay for vaccinations. It costs between $10 to $15 per shot. Might not seem a lot to someone living (and working) in the States or Canada, but it could be close to a day's wages here. It might mean the difference between food on the table, clothes for their children, gas in the car.

So we have a two-fold response to the distemper crisis: bring in the vet, provide the money for vaccinations.

Another neighbor asked me today if the vet could look at her daughter's dog whose hind legs don't seem to be working. And then there's the other dog that apparently got bitten in the neck by a snake and the neck might now be gangrene.

I know we can't rescue every dog. But there's a lot we can do. We can continue to get every pooch snipped and clipped so every dog is a wanted dog. We'll work on getting them all vaccinated. We encourage -- and maybe find a way to fund the use of a monthly tick treatment so dogs won't get Ehrlichia.

We're a small village. Sometimes it feels insurmountable. I know it's impossible to save them all. But what is possible is to help by educating, preventing, and sometimes funding.

And eventually, hopefully, it will feel less like Heartbreak City.


The lovely Princessa Mia on the first day at home in the Palapa Pink Flamingo, Arroyo Seco. She's definitely decided to stay.

What do you call someone who speaks three languages?

It's been one of my favorite jokes for years.

What do you call someone who speaks three languages? Trilingual.
What do you call someone who speaks two languages? Bilingual.
What do you call someone who speaks one language?

American.

The past two days have been filled with envy --- a rare emotion for me --- for friends who started studying multiple languages early and kept it up for life.

We spent Saturday afternoon at a beach barbecue with our surfer friend from France, Julien, and his family. His parents speak French, not much Spanish, less English. Laura comfortably slipped into the afternoon conversing in French, Spanish and translating into English when I needed it, as did another friend, Ana. Languages flowed like a river, starting in one language, moving into a second, explaining in a third.


I want that.

It's always been my belief, wish, hope to speak a second language. I want fewer obstacles in connecting with the person sitting next to me, regardless of language. I desperately wanted it for my sons, Dustin and Dylan, but it was rarely offered in the schools and I just didn't pull it off.

Sorry, kids.

Luckily Granddaughter Sasha, who lives in Puerto Vallarta, will be trilingual. At 18 months she understands Romanian, Spanish and English. Her first word was Spanish (mas!) but she's already beginning to babble in English. I'm grateful her parents, Dustin and Camelia, are committed to teaching her multiple languages from birth, which is so much easier than trying to learn it at my age.

Tonight headed for dinner at AsiaAzul, an Asian restaurant in nearby Emiliano Zepata. The restaurant was closed so we headed up to the owner's house to ask when he'd be open again.
Within minutes of conversation, Laura figured out that not only does he also speak English, Spanish (of course), probably Vietnamese, but that he's more comfortable speaking French. And off they went again, speaking in a language I couldn't understand.

Despite my envy --- or perhaps because of it -- the past few days have made me even more committed to becoming fluent in a second language.

As of today, two months into our second season at Arroyo Seco, I can pretty much understand what people are saying. And sometimes they can understand me. I'm rarely speaking in complete sentences yet, and I'm mostly speaking in the present tense.

But, dang it, I'm speaking. I'm listening. I'm learning.

Today at lunch we toasted to my first solo conversation with Tia Melly, one of the elders in town who I've been dying to joke with since I first met her two years ago.

So, Tengo esperanza. I have hope.

I have hope that I won't be 80 before I call myself fluent in a second language. Maybe then I'll consider going for a third.