This entry begins with the 2nd story I promised you all.
What the Cluck?
Depending on how long you've known me, most of you know about my chicken clucking talents. I've been refining and perfecting my clucking gift since middle school. I've always wanted to live on a farm with chickens and cluck away with them night and day! And I finally got my wish! But let's not put the chicken before the egg here (bawk!) This story is less about the chickens than it is about the bizarre event that led to fulfilling one of my childhood dreams.
Nick, Julia, Randi, (my bosom buddies on the farm), and I had a mission: Get some chickens to the farm! We had heard that we could buy some in the neighboring town of Chakaya, the only town within walking distance to our farm. Off we went, carrying a small cardboard box and a large straw bag, ecstatic about the idea of having our own chickens.
The trail to Chakaya is anything but flat, with its narrow, winding pathway, and rocky structure. One misstep and you could find yourself rolling down a small hill and splashing into Lake Atitlan. "How are we going to get these chickens back to the farm coming back?" I thought. And in a cardboard box?! What were we thinking? But somehow, we all felt confident this would go very smoothly.
After the fifteen minute, semi-treacherous walk, we finally reached Chakaya. And boy was I unimpressed. The town has one dirt road that runs through its one-mile radius of one rundown building after another. There are a few small convenience stores (if you even want to call them that), a make-shift health clinic, a handful of churches (you gotta have those), and a couple food stands that help decorate the otherwise desperately barren ambience. Stray dogs look at you with disdain, making you feel very unwelcome. If it wasn't for the lake generously gracing this town with her presence, the locals would have probably left many years ago...or so I thought. Little did I know that the real shocker was still a ten-minute 'hike-up-a-steep-hill' away.
As we made our way further and further into town, it was obvious that the locals were not used to having visitors that looked like us or really visitors period.
The looks on these people's faces were priceless- especially the little children! I felt like a celebrity walking through their drubby, little town. They couldn't stop smiling, and I couldn't stop waving to them! One chubby-cheeked child after another waved back to me, their eyes glowing with curiosity, their faces carrying a smile that could melt all your troubles away. The streets were strewn with trash, stray dogs and chickens were running a muck, dirt covered the faces, hands, and bare feet of these children, yet they still found a way to warmly welcome visitors to their town with their incredible smiles.
Shortly after, we found ourselves hiking up a steep hill, dodging empty coke bottles, candy wrappers, and random pieces of torn clothing with every step. The trail was muddy, thanks to the merciless Guatemalan rain, and the smell of feces perfumed the air, making the already difficult climb even more unbearable. A sudden "MOO" startled us all, as we found an enormous cow standing only a few feet away, hiding in the brush. I felt an urge to go and pet it, but my LA conditioning quickly pulled me in the opposite direction, as I realized I had fallen behind the pack. Quickening my pace, I caught up with the other three, who were already transfixed by what awaited us at the top of the hill.
One by one, little heads started popping out of every corner of this small community. The news of our arrival had spread like wildfire and men, women, and children alike wanted to get a peek at the 4-piece circus that was coming through town. Giggles and high-pitched 'Holas' greeted us with such warmth, creating a wonderful, mini symphony around us as we made it to the top of the hill. It became quite evident that these people never got visitors, especially not ones that looked like us. We felt like the Beatles in the 70s, making the performer in me want to burst out into song or give a big speech. But as we finally made it to our destination, it was very clear that I was going to be the audience, witnessing a spectacle that could easily give Broadway's The Lion King a run for its money.
We were now right in front of the house where our soon-to-be chickens lived. 20-25 Guatemalans of all ages encircled us, curiosity draped over their dark, shining faces. Children ran around with great excitement, their little faces, bare feet and hands decorated in dirt. Chickens were everywhere- many different sizes and colors- pecking away at the cornmeal thrown all over the ground by the matriarch of the family. The man of the house came out of his little, make-shift, rundown home and greeted us with a huge smile, revealing his many missing teeth, his big, bare belly lazily hanging over his tiny waist. A shower was something completely elusive to him, as he looked about one week unbathed. His ragged, torn pants were barely able to cling to his waist, allowing his happy trail to lead to his enchanted forest below. And in the midst of this chaos, another form of enchantment was taking place directly to our left.
At first all I saw was this bronze, full figure smiling at me, an abundance of peace, tranquility, and joy in her eyes. There was a fascinating aura around her, as she was holding the peace amongst all the discord.
After these few captivating seconds, I was able to fully take in what was actually happening. She had a rusty pail full of lake water propped on a tree stump beside her, an over-used sponge in one hand, and a bar of soap in the other. The sun was glowing on her unashamed nudity, as she cupped each of her large breasts, gently lathering them with a coat of soap (This is not a romantic novel people! But it is very important that I paint this picture for you with colorful detail). Talk about living moment to moment. This woman was totally unfazed by our presence and continued to go about her business, as if what she was doing was completely normal. In fact, in that very moment, that word- normal -became rather insignificant.
So here we were, surrounded by screaming children, chickens, and even turkeys; being greeted by a toothless, disheveled patriarch in the middle of a community that made the 'projects' look like Bel Air. We all suddenly remembered why we had come: chickens. Nick, using his fine Spanish-speaking skills, began to barter with the woman feeding the chickens. One-by-one chickens were snatched up by the family members and brought into a small circle surrounding this woman. These were the chickens she was willing to part with. Before we could even begin sizing them up, one of the teenage girls came running out of the house, grabbing one of the small chickens, holding it to her chest, and kissing the top of its head. She hurried back into the house just as fast as she had come out. As silly as it may have seemed to the others, I totally empathized with the girl. "Chickens are lovely creatures, after all," I thought.
Most of the chickens the matriarch was selling were very young, but she insured us they would start laying eggs within six months. We decided to buy 5 of them from her for 20 Quetzeles (about 3 dollars) a piece. I couldn't believe it. $3 for a live chicken! Crazy.
Now we had to choose the five. Three of them were an obvious chose, with their beautiful, colorful feathers. I spotted a black one and was immediately drawn to it. It wasn't inside this 'chicken circle' but I figured I'd grab it and ask the lady if we could buy it. Little did I know, I would be chasing it for 5 minutes to no avail (please insert your own interpretation of how that may have looked here). What took the family members mere seconds to do, seemed almost impossible to me. Needless to say, we didn't take 'Blackie' home, which kind of broke my heart.
We reluctantly had to choose the two remaining chickens who didn't have feathers covering their necks. Nick thought they were ugly, and we collectively decided to call one of them Gandhi. The other would later be named Cluck. Neither of the two survived the coming weeks, but I will always remember little Cluck and Gandhi.
We put all five chickens in the large straw bag that we had brought, and they shockingly seemed comfortable, all huddled up next to one another. I asked if I could carry them home and laid the bag over my shoulder, as we said our thank yous and good byes. Our exit was just as exciting, with all the children running after us, flashing their big smiles and waving their tiny hands as we began making our way down the steep hill.
The journey back home was a quiet one. The treacherous trail that brought us to Chakaya was not so treacherous on the way back, even with 5 chickens hanging over my shoulders. You see, I began to realize how powerful my mind really was. The experience in Chakaya had put me in a place that made me forget how 'dangerous' the trail actually was. But was it really that dangerous or was that just my mind's point of view? For the Guatemalans who took this trail every day to work, I'm sure it wasn't dangerous at all. They probably saw it as a beautiful trail that allowed them to witness a breath-taking view of the lake every day.
I began to think about the people we met in Chakaya.
They had no televisions, toasters, central air, or cars. Their homes were barely liveable, and their living conditions were difficult to comprehend by an outside pair of eyes. Their children didn't have many toys, and were running around in clothes that had probably been passed down many generations. I'm not even sure the children received any kind of education. In fact, almost all of the adults had less than a third grade education. But they let it all hang out (literally) and could care less about what we outsiders thought of them.
With one percent of the luxuries we have in the states, these people were happier than most Americans. They lived their lives moment to moment and got by as best they could. They didn't have much in terms of possessions, but they were living in abundance. You could see it on all of their smiling, glowing faces. They had each other and that was all they needed.
What the Cluck?
Depending on how long you've known me, most of you know about my chicken clucking talents. I've been refining and perfecting my clucking gift since middle school. I've always wanted to live on a farm with chickens and cluck away with them night and day! And I finally got my wish! But let's not put the chicken before the egg here (bawk!) This story is less about the chickens than it is about the bizarre event that led to fulfilling one of my childhood dreams.
Nick, Julia, Randi, (my bosom buddies on the farm), and I had a mission: Get some chickens to the farm! We had heard that we could buy some in the neighboring town of Chakaya, the only town within walking distance to our farm. Off we went, carrying a small cardboard box and a large straw bag, ecstatic about the idea of having our own chickens.
The trail to Chakaya is anything but flat, with its narrow, winding pathway, and rocky structure. One misstep and you could find yourself rolling down a small hill and splashing into Lake Atitlan. "How are we going to get these chickens back to the farm coming back?" I thought. And in a cardboard box?! What were we thinking? But somehow, we all felt confident this would go very smoothly.
After the fifteen minute, semi-treacherous walk, we finally reached Chakaya. And boy was I unimpressed. The town has one dirt road that runs through its one-mile radius of one rundown building after another. There are a few small convenience stores (if you even want to call them that), a make-shift health clinic, a handful of churches (you gotta have those), and a couple food stands that help decorate the otherwise desperately barren ambience. Stray dogs look at you with disdain, making you feel very unwelcome. If it wasn't for the lake generously gracing this town with her presence, the locals would have probably left many years ago...or so I thought. Little did I know that the real shocker was still a ten-minute 'hike-up-a-steep-hill' away.
As we made our way further and further into town, it was obvious that the locals were not used to having visitors that looked like us or really visitors period.
The looks on these people's faces were priceless- especially the little children! I felt like a celebrity walking through their drubby, little town. They couldn't stop smiling, and I couldn't stop waving to them! One chubby-cheeked child after another waved back to me, their eyes glowing with curiosity, their faces carrying a smile that could melt all your troubles away. The streets were strewn with trash, stray dogs and chickens were running a muck, dirt covered the faces, hands, and bare feet of these children, yet they still found a way to warmly welcome visitors to their town with their incredible smiles.
Shortly after, we found ourselves hiking up a steep hill, dodging empty coke bottles, candy wrappers, and random pieces of torn clothing with every step. The trail was muddy, thanks to the merciless Guatemalan rain, and the smell of feces perfumed the air, making the already difficult climb even more unbearable. A sudden "MOO" startled us all, as we found an enormous cow standing only a few feet away, hiding in the brush. I felt an urge to go and pet it, but my LA conditioning quickly pulled me in the opposite direction, as I realized I had fallen behind the pack. Quickening my pace, I caught up with the other three, who were already transfixed by what awaited us at the top of the hill. One by one, little heads started popping out of every corner of this small community. The news of our arrival had spread like wildfire and men, women, and children alike wanted to get a peek at the 4-piece circus that was coming through town. Giggles and high-pitched 'Holas' greeted us with such warmth, creating a wonderful, mini symphony around us as we made it to the top of the hill. It became quite evident that these people never got visitors, especially not ones that looked like us. We felt like the Beatles in the 70s, making the performer in me want to burst out into song or give a big speech. But as we finally made it to our destination, it was very clear that I was going to be the audience, witnessing a spectacle that could easily give Broadway's The Lion King a run for its money. 
At first all I saw was this bronze, full figure smiling at me, an abundance of peace, tranquility, and joy in her eyes. There was a fascinating aura around her, as she was holding the peace amongst all the discord.
After these few captivating seconds, I was able to fully take in what was actually happening. She had a rusty pail full of lake water propped on a tree stump beside her, an over-used sponge in one hand, and a bar of soap in the other. The sun was glowing on her unashamed nudity, as she cupped each of her large breasts, gently lathering them with a coat of soap (This is not a romantic novel people! But it is very important that I paint this picture for you with colorful detail). Talk about living moment to moment. This woman was totally unfazed by our presence and continued to go about her business, as if what she was doing was completely normal. In fact, in that very moment, that word- normal -became rather insignificant.
So here we were, surrounded by screaming children, chickens, and even turkeys; being greeted by a toothless, disheveled patriarch in the middle of a community that made the 'projects' look like Bel Air. We all suddenly remembered why we had come: chickens. Nick, using his fine Spanish-speaking skills, began to barter with the woman feeding the chickens. One-by-one chickens were snatched up by the family members and brought into a small circle surrounding this woman. These were the chickens she was willing to part with. Before we could even begin sizing them up, one of the teenage girls came running out of the house, grabbing one of the small chickens, holding it to her chest, and kissing the top of its head. She hurried back into the house just as fast as she had come out. As silly as it may have seemed to the others, I totally empathized with the girl. "Chickens are lovely creatures, after all," I thought. Most of the chickens the matriarch was selling were very young, but she insured us they would start laying eggs within six months. We decided to buy 5 of them from her for 20 Quetzeles (about 3 dollars) a piece. I couldn't believe it. $3 for a live chicken! Crazy.
Now we had to choose the five. Three of them were an obvious chose, with their beautiful, colorful feathers. I spotted a black one and was immediately drawn to it. It wasn't inside this 'chicken circle' but I figured I'd grab it and ask the lady if we could buy it. Little did I know, I would be chasing it for 5 minutes to no avail (please insert your own interpretation of how that may have looked here). What took the family members mere seconds to do, seemed almost impossible to me. Needless to say, we didn't take 'Blackie' home, which kind of broke my heart. We reluctantly had to choose the two remaining chickens who didn't have feathers covering their necks. Nick thought they were ugly, and we collectively decided to call one of them Gandhi. The other would later be named Cluck. Neither of the two survived the coming weeks, but I will always remember little Cluck and Gandhi.
We put all five chickens in the large straw bag that we had brought, and they shockingly seemed comfortable, all huddled up next to one another. I asked if I could carry them home and laid the bag over my shoulder, as we said our thank yous and good byes. Our exit was just as exciting, with all the children running after us, flashing their big smiles and waving their tiny hands as we began making our way down the steep hill.
The journey back home was a quiet one. The treacherous trail that brought us to Chakaya was not so treacherous on the way back, even with 5 chickens hanging over my shoulders. You see, I began to realize how powerful my mind really was. The experience in Chakaya had put me in a place that made me forget how 'dangerous' the trail actually was. But was it really that dangerous or was that just my mind's point of view? For the Guatemalans who took this trail every day to work, I'm sure it wasn't dangerous at all. They probably saw it as a beautiful trail that allowed them to witness a breath-taking view of the lake every day.
I began to think about the people we met in Chakaya.
They had no televisions, toasters, central air, or cars. Their homes were barely liveable, and their living conditions were difficult to comprehend by an outside pair of eyes. Their children didn't have many toys, and were running around in clothes that had probably been passed down many generations. I'm not even sure the children received any kind of education. In fact, almost all of the adults had less than a third grade education. But they let it all hang out (literally) and could care less about what we outsiders thought of them.
With one percent of the luxuries we have in the states, these people were happier than most Americans. They lived their lives moment to moment and got by as best they could. They didn't have much in terms of possessions, but they were living in abundance. You could see it on all of their smiling, glowing faces. They had each other and that was all they needed.
Kork- This post brought joyful tears to my eyes. I can feel how happy you are and I am so excited to hear more about your journey. I can't believe you got to run after chickens and live with them for a while. It was so nice talking to you last night. Please call me again this weekend. I can't wait to hear your voice.
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