If one was subject to serial amnesia one could still tell they were working outside in the yard the previous day by the swollen bug bites. And the blisters.
It was an overcast day and I wasn't going to get into it, but I found myself in the back with machete in hand. The leather gloves were still damp from the day before which dulled my appetite for an attack into the jungle. As I mentioned previously, once you start chopping things reveal themselves. You chop, rest, and observe; then make a new plan. What you had been standing on you find wasn't really the ground, but stuff that had grown over something else, and you dig in and find new ground.
So I was doing the observation thing, sans hat, sans gloves, short sleeve shirt and low boots not conducive to keeping the socks dry, contemplating my next move. The day before I had been preoccupied with how, as I chopped down into the bush I found new levels of ground water seeping up. This is important because a major component of all this is to chart where the canal is going to go. A downhill course is required to keep the water moving or the whole exercise is worse than worthless.
Another thing you want to do in such close quarters with nature of this, uh, nature is to keep an eye on things close by. Critters pop up out of nowhere, and as a matter of course some of them tend to bite. My biggest spook is when I think something has found its way north of my boots and crawling up the inside of my pants leg. It's usually just a stray tree branch or sturdier form of underbrush, but it sure looks funny when I start to dance for no apparent reason.
So, as I was observing it occurs to me that the hill that extends about fifteen meters into my yard isn't a hill at all. The trees that had been chopped down and thrown there, branches and all, had simply invited the inevitable vines and long grass to grow over them. The hill is basically hollow. Before I knew it I was swinging the machete and wondering where this would all end.
As it was overcast and relatively cool I was out there almost two hours before the machete started getting dull and I realized I was using my left hand more and more as my right got tired. I took a break, had a Coke and a smoke and got out the files and sharpening stone. My hands were a little sore so I figured I had better find some gloves. I settled for the cotton inserts for the still damp leather pair and told myself I wouldn't be that much longer.
Back to work. Part of what spurred me on was that every once in a while I looked up to find the bartender from next door out back taking a smoke break, watching me. As I've been complaining about my missing laborer, my intention is to show the locals that a gringo is capable of doing the dirty work. Some day I'll get around to writing my dissertation of labor relations in Latin America as it was formed by a culture bred by Spanish landowning society.
The day before I had uncovered pretty much all of the coffee plants and made inroads between them. This day was for getting in behind them which was much more difficult. Now I was getting into the felled trees. As you swing the blade you develop a rhythm, the follow-through is the thing, as you aim past the objects to be cut. Your arm has to be loose, and after a while this looseness has a tendency to transfer to your grip, which is dangerous, as striking an object harder than grass can whip the blade out of your hand. Here I was trying to avoid hitting the coffee plants, get the swing right to actually cut the grass and vines, and not get caught on a concealed tree branch. And watch out for critters.
Another two hours and the blade was getting real dull from hacking newly exposed branches with a grunting two-handed swing. I took a break. I walked inside to the sharpening tools and peeled off the glove inserts whereupon "OWWW!" As the gloves came off so did strategic patches of skin which had been worn raw.
I immediately ran cold water over my hands and cried out again, because it really fucking hurt. Four torn blisters on my right and two on my left. I was done for the day. Upstairs to peel off my soaking clothes, socks and boots. Into the shower where I spent five minutes just removing crap from my hair and bits of 'whatever' nestled behind me ears, soap stinging my hands.
Today, the lumps from the bites on my arms are itching like crazy and I still have the Band-Aids on my hands that allowed me to get to sleep. I'm scratching my head every few minutes out of nervous habit even though I'm sure there's no bites or bugs crawling around in my hair. The grass is going to have to grow another day before I get back out there.
Joy! The two by fours have arrived, which means I get to work inside for a couple of days.
