Mariposa summer: horses! and tree frogs!

Friday July 15

Today Zoe and I went with Franklin up to visit the horses. There was some confusion about the trip: I hadn’t realized how far away the horses were, and Chrissy (the intern) thought Zoe and I could both ride on the back of the moto at once, but Paulette said no. “If you were Nicaraguan, you could ride, and the baby too, but you’re not.” So first Franklin took me up, then I waited
for some 30 minutes while he went back for Zoe. Of course, both Zoe and I loved riding on the back of the moto. I’d never done it with a helmet before: I left the visor up and would occasionally catch the wind as I turned my head. Franklin made Zoe put the visor down, which I was happy about. The only thing Zoe didn’t like was an accident she witnessed. Franklin slowed to look out for a dog, but the dog didn’t see the car behind the moto, and Zoe heard the impact.

To get to the horses, you ride through San Juan, the closest town, and then maybe ten minutes on the highway. You turn off the highway onto a dirt road and ride for another ten to fifteen minutes. On the way there, we rode part of the time behind a truck which seemed to be carrying large (maybe 150 gallon) containers of water— over the bumpy road, the water streamed over the tops of the containers and out onto the road. Women were walking along the road with sacks full of clothing on their heads: laundry, I presume. Others had broad bowls full of dried roots; others, sticks of wood tied into packets for transport. Up on the mountain, there’s a single piece of barbed wire across the track: pretty nominal fencing for horses, steers, cattle. I guess that’s why they have horse-herders on duty pretty much 24 hours a day.

Franklin said the mountain is effectively a desert: the only herbaceous plant that can grow there is a kind of grass called sacata yale (I think), and there are three kinds of trees that can withstand the fumes from the volcano, but the only one I recognized was the chilamate. They’re trying to reforest the mountain, partly on ecological grounds, partly so that the animals grazing on the mountain can have some shade in the dry season.

La Mariposa has 15 horses in total: 9 adults, 4 adolescents, 2 babies. Franklin tried to teach us all the names, but the only one we have really clear in our heads is Cappucino, 14 years old, a hard worker and very calm. Franklin let Zoe ride him over to the other horses. Each horse has a story. Junior, for instance is an orphan: his mother died as the result of an accident during one of the weekly Mariposa rides up to the volcano. When Junior was just three months old, his mother stepped on a broken bottle, cut the arteries just above her hoof, and bled to death. That must have been traumatic for all involved. But El Cepe (male) adopted Junior and has been both mother and father to him. Franklin too mothered Junior: intravenous fluids, artificial milk, calcium and vitamin injections. But Franklin stresses El Cepe’s mothering: if there were any question about animals being sentient, he says, this story would set all doubts to rest.

We’ll try to get more of the other horses’ stories later: the original herd were all rescue horses, and evidently they (like the dogs at La Mariposa) all have stories. But as Zoe was riding, I had a full-blown asthma attack: the first time ever. I literally could not walk more than ten paces before needing to sit down, and wheezing does not adequately describe the noise I was making trying to suck in air. We had brought Zoe’s inhaler along, but I forgot that albuterol takes about half an hour to kick in. Luckily, I remembered Francie’s insistence that one deals with an asthma attack by breathing out long and deep, and that did help me. I told Franklin I had to go back, and he left to get the moto, as we walked about ten paces at a time to get closer to a point of intersection with the track. Franklin ended up bringing the moto over bumpy ground to give me a ride back to the track, then his helper Victor brought Zoe to join us—so in the end, Zoe and I did ride together on the back of the moto. Franklin was so nice, but it was all pretty scary. When we got back, I burst into tears, partly because I still had pins and needles in my fingers and toes, and that seemed like a bad thing. I’ve been tired and a little shaky all day, but basically fine after a nap.

Jeremy took a walk into town with his teachers and scored (over the course of the day) two lollipops (paletas), one Oreo, one ice cream, and some banana chips (only the banana chips were provided by his parents). Everyone here spoils him: every person passing by fondles his blond curls and calls for a hug or a high five (chocalá). In fairness, though, everyone spoils all of us. This afternoon, Santos the gardener showed James some tree frogs; this evening, Manuel and James took me out to show me, and then Manuel went to get Zoe and her 18-year-old friend Catherine to come see too. The tree frog closed his eyes and played dead while I was holding him, but he got more lively when I transferred him to Zoe’s hand, and he leapt onto her shirt and scrambled up to her shoulder. The bullfrogs had started to sing, and Catherine was shocked: “Those are bullfrogs? Every night I thought someone was playing a video game!”

A misty view of Mombacho, whose cloud forest we’ll be visiting next weekend.