In the Belly

Week 4
Author's note: This post is late because I was dissatisfied with it and kept rewriting it. In the end, I am still dissatisfied with it and am rather embarrassed at how sappy and pointless it is. But I have to post something, so you're stuck with it. I'll try to do better next week. Unfortunately, for the next 15 days we will be without electricity (and thus without Internet) between 2 and 6 in the afternoon. This will not increase the timeliness of my postings.

The second of February marked the Wiccan holiday of Imbolc, also called Oimelc, words which mean “in the belly” and “ewe's milk”, respectively, both referring to the impending birth of the spring lambs. Imbolc stands on the cusp of spring, the tipping point between the long cold of winter and first, tentative stirrings of the new season. It's no coincidence that Groundhog Day shares this date: now is the time for Spring to spring... or slumber on for a few more weeks.

Puerto Lopez

In the story of the Wheel of the Year, which is the story of Earth itself, the Goddess as the Crone of winter is reborn as the tender Maiden of spring. The God, himself reborn a month ago at Yule, is still but an infant, and the focus here is on the Lady in her guise of Brigid, goddess and saint of healing, poetry, and smithcraft.

Here in Ecuador, there is no winter and no spring. So close to the equator, the Wheel of the Year has no meaning. Yet there are still seasons here, albeit only two of them: dry and hot, and wet and hotter. Since I came to Puerto Lopez four weeks ago the rains have arrived, turning the forest from brown and barren to green and lush. Well, lusher. It's hard for a forest full of cacti to do “lush”.

The animals, as well as the plants, have responded to the change in seasons. There are more birds now than there were only a few weeks ago, and some of them appear to be hanging around nests. Birds aren't the only things homemaking: this may be prime turtle-nesting season, but I've also seen a number of enormous insects that look like a cross between a bee and a fly, the length of my hand (no, I am not exaggerating at all; they're huge), burrowing into the trail to La Playita. I assume they're laying eggs in there.

All this green is a sight for sore eyes more accustomed to a place where (to paraphrase Patricia Briggs) it rains only once a year—from January to December. And yet, somehow, the new vegetation makes me homesick, not content. The green is the wrong shade, and the trees are the wrong shape, and somehow it all makes me miss Oregon more than ever.

Me

San Antonio, a fellow volunteer, is from Quito, which is in the same country as Puerto Lopez but otherwise has little in common with this little fishing town. For one thing, Quito is up in the mountains, where it's much cooler and a lot less humid—a lot like Oregon, in fact. The other day we were comparing notes on homesickness and he told me his likes to sleep without a blanket so he'll feel cold when he wakes up in the morning. It reminds him of home, he says.

I know exactly what he's talking about. I miss being cold. I miss being able to put a coat on when it starts to rain without risking heat stroke. Sprawling in a hammock is nice (believe me, it's really nice) but I miss curling up on a couch with a blanket. It's the end of week four, the start of week five—the halfway point of the term—and I'm ready for it to be week ten.

Just as Imbolc is the turning point between winter and spring, week five is the turning point of the term: after this it's all downhill. For most students this means midterms—and I have had one of those—but for me it also means thinking about other kinds of turning points.

Before I left for Ecuador, the Wheel of Fortune showed up in one of my Tarot readings, a card that indicates change, the start of a new cycle... a turning point. December was a turning point for me, when I stuck with my internship plans despite my extremely frosty feet. Now February is another turning point, as I reflect on my internship so far and look forward toward the remainder of my time here.

The beach at Puerto Lopez

So far my internship has been both easier and harder than I expected. The work itself is much easier than I thought it would be—mostly walking or camping on beaches or wandering down to the harbor to count dead sharks. This in and of itself is a little difficult, as it leaves me with lots of free time—sometimes too much. My online class has also been easier than I feared, and aside from occasional Internet glitches computer problems haven't stopped me from doing homework.

On the other hand, day-to-day life, especially communication, has been much harder than anticipated. The language barrier is a huge obstacle; if it weren't for Rachele and Drew I would be completely screwed. Experiencing local culture has not been easier, either. In Puerto Lopez there “structured” activities like theaters or concerts, so without speaking Spanish I have no way to participate in Ecuadorian life.

When you can't understand a word people are saying, just walking out your front door is frightening and challenging. I've gotten better at facing that challenge. I've also gone a long way toward “perfecting patience”—one of the goals I wrote down before I left. I have always thought of myself as a patient person, so it came as a surprise to realize just how impatient I really am, and how much I still have to learn about patience.

Baby Hawksbill

My goals for the rest of my time in Ecuador are few. Mostly I want to improve my Spanish so I can participate more, both in the work at Equilibrio Azul and in everyday life in Puerto Lopez. I want to (finally) get my independent project arranged. I also hope I can stay strong, and not give in to homesickness; the longer I am away from home, the more I miss it, and the more difficult it is to wait for the term to end.

That end is steadily coming closer. Each day brings me a little closer to March 23, a little closer to spring, a little further from winter. Come Ostara, spring will have fully arrived, and I will have arrived back home. As winter is a time for introspection, for learning and growing stronger as a person, so I am learning things about myself and growing, so that when I return to my native soil I can (I hope) blossom into a stronger person.