Sunday, November 30, 2008

The Cutting

The first incision.

Organs and intestines.

Fun with innards.

Checking from any remaining parts.

Removing the damaged meat (from the turkey fight).

The Team

Kate: The killer.
Sara & Caitlin: The feather pluckers.
Hannah: The surgeon.

Stephanie: The feather plucker.

Mosiah: The all purpose man and turkey killing consultant.

Michael: The screamer.

Kelly: The vegetarian observer.

The End

Marinating.

Carving the turkey.

Houdini's final disappearing act.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

¡Feliz día de acción de gracias!


Today we are busy snacking on and preparing all this wonderful food my amazing mom sent us from the states. I will write an update later on how everything turned out. I hope everyone has a happy Thanksgiving!

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Pobre Houdini

I think Houdini is on to the fact that his days are numbered. He has escaped four times in the past two days. Usually I find him milling about in the unkempt yard behind my house. I pass through the various gates to track him down, take him underarm, scold him for leaving, and then bring him back to my yard. But his last escape was a much more determined and detrimental attempt.

Yesterday I was at home over lunch and noticed he was gone. I immediately went to his usual hiding place, but he was nowhere to be found. In a steady rainfall, I trudged through the mud and thick undergrowth until I reached the street a block behind my house. Still no Houdini.

I was really worried I had lost our dinner two days before Thanksgiving. There was a handful of passersby in the street, and I began desperately asking them, “Have you seen a turkey? Did a turkey go by here?” They all looked at me like I was a crazy gringa. Standing in a jungly lot covered in mud in the rain, I did probably look like a crazy gringa.

Eventually a resident of a house across the street came out, and I posed her the same question.

“¿Ha visto un chunto?”

“Se fue por allá.” (ambiguously pointing to her left with her lips)

“¿Por allá?” (ambiguously pointing to my right with my finger)

“Sí. Por allá.” (another ambiguous lip point)

“Gracias.”

The lot I was in is surrounded by a barbed wire fence, and instead of backtracking through my own yard and walking around the whole block, I decided to wiggle through a small gap in it. This move, I believe, only solidified my crazy gringa status. My hair and shirt got caught in the barbed wire, and I as I was hunched over working to get them free a man walked by.

“Buenas tardes.” (forcing a really-I’m-not-caught-in-barded-wire-smile)

“Buenas tardes.” (not even attempting to mask his bewilderment)

After I finally got to the other side of the fence, the woman who gave me the lead on Houdini’s whereabouts and who had been watching my struggle with the barbed wire told me, “There’s a gate down there.” (Lips to the right). Information that would have been useful before I was tangled in barbed wire.

Houdini had made his way behind the woman’s garage to where there was a pen full of turkeys, ducks, and chickens (a chupallofest). I found him wedged in a tiny space between the back wall of the garage and the pen with five turkeys inside the cage pecking at him from all angles. ¡Pobre chunto! I squeezed into the space and pulled him out to freedom.

Once again, I tucked Houdini underarm to carry him home, but as I was adjusting his position, I noticed blood on my hand. I set him down to examine him, and after pulling back his feathers, I found some lacerations on his right flank. Houdini was just searching for some turkey friends, but they ganged up on him and beat him up.

I walked back to my house in the rain; him whimpering in my arms and me soaked to the bone. It wasn’t until we were at home when I discovered the full extent of Houdini’s injuries. He was moping around, so I got him a tortilla snack to cheer him up. After a while, he seemed to have regained his spirit and puffed out into full plume. It was then that I noticed the damn turkeys had ripped out nearly half of his tail feathers.

Pobre Houdini. He surely could have matched up with any those turkeys in a one-on-one fair fight, but the five of them at once was just too much for him to handle. And now his final memory before his imminent death will be of this public humiliation.


Before.
After.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Turkey Mess

Poo inside.
Poo outside.

Poo in the grill.

I am going to miss Houdini, but not his poo.

Monday, November 24, 2008

Houdini

Theft prevention.

Hanging out in the house.

Wishing he was in the house.

Planning his next escape.

Ready to be cooked.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Chunto Numero Dos


It is only seven days until Thanksgiving, and the preparations are already well underway. A couple of weeks ago, I bought a turkey that will eventually be our dinner, though, he doesn’t know that yet.

In keeping with the Lone Range theme set by last year’s turkey, Tonto, I was planning on naming the new guy Kemo Sabe. But after he carried out three successful escapes in less than two days, I decided on Houdini instead.

Given the constraints of my living arrangement last year, I had one of my Guatemalan friends take care of Tonto. But now with my new house and spacious yard, Houdini has been residing here with me. After his initial escapes, it seems Houdini has resigned to the fact that this is his new home, and he has spent his days pecking about my yard, perching on my grill, eating tortillas (he is puro Chapin), and strutting around my patio (he can see his reflection in my living room window and therefore thinks there is another turkey inside).

I bought Houdini from one of my neighbors, and when she came over to drop him off, she warned me I had better keep him inside or someone would steal him. I didn’t want anyone to steal my new pet/soon-to-be-dinner, so I unwisely let Houdini stay in the house the first night. I woke up the next morning to find a mess that took my determination not to vomit and two rolls of paper towels to clean up. Since then Houdini has spent his evenings tied to the grill, which is his preferred place to sleep.

But now that Houdini is sleeping outside, it has greatly increased the chances of thievery. The other night Michelle and I foiled a plot to steal my turkey by using a pile of strategically placed flour, two machetes, two cans of mace, a pair of scissors, a handful of rocks, a heavy chain, a padlock, and a camcorder. Actually the fact that we chained Houdini to my grill and the bars outside my bedroom window did the bulk of the work in thwarting his theft. The tampered with flour (we searched my house for anything that could pick up a footprint) proves an attempt was made, and we have seven hours of video surveillance footage to review to identify a suspect. The mace, machetes, scissors, and rocks were just a backup in case our plan went awry.

After so much time spent protecting and feeding (Eat your tortillas!) Houdini, I know it is going to be really difficult to kill him. Despite the fact that he has turned my patio into a fecal mine field by defecating, urinating, and vomiting on nearly every square inch of it, I do really enjoy his presence. Without the daily interaction, Tonto and I never really bonded last year, but even still I gave pause when the time came to put a machete to his throat. Killing Houdini would be like killing my pet. I might have to pass off the duties to someone else this year, but no, mom, in spite of your wishes, I am not just going to let Houdini go free. It is his lot in life to eventually become someone’s meal, and he should be honored (again, though he doesn’t know it yet) to be the main course in the gringos’ Thanksgiving dinner.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Hot Water

I realize most people have no idea what a calentador is. Basically it is just an electric water heater that is attached directly to the shower nozzle. It heats the water just before it drops, which means when you want warmer water, you are going to have less pressure.

And since you are mixing water and electricity, problems sometimes arise. I haven’t had any issues with the calentador at my new house, but I was shocked a handful of times by the one at my old place. Recently our Safety and Security Coordinator sent out a warning email after two volunteers’ heaters caught fire while they were in the shower. Though the calentadores may not be the safest contraptions, I would take the slight risk of a little shock or a small fire over a cold shower any day.

Monday, November 17, 2008

In the dark

For the first (and hopefully only) time in my life, I had my electricity cut off. The usually very responsible owners of my house had forgotten to pay the electric bill, and as a result I spent three days in the dark at the end of last week.

At first I thought that the power had simply gone out in Tactic, which is not a rare occurrence. But I realized there was a problem when I came home in the evening when everyone else’s lights were on and mine still didn’t work. I went to inquire with my neighbor, Angelica, who told me flatly, “Yeah, I saw Osa [the nickname of the nationalized electric company] disconnecting your power earlier today. You must have not paid your bill.” Not my fault. Great. How embarrassing.

Though frustrating, the situation was far from dire (and I probably got a small taste of how volunteers in less developed countries spend their whole service). Angelica let me keep my perishable items in her refrigerator, and my sitemate, Michelle, let me shower at her apartment (no electricity means the calentador doesn’t function which means no hot water). I blew through two books reading by candlelight.

And once again I am blaming Canada for this one. Had Tactic not been without mail service for over a month (we finally have a new postman), the owners of my house would have received the electric bill and paid it on time as always, and I would have not had my power cut as a result of a delinquent payment. You have failed me yet again, Canada.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Lighting of the Tree

Tactic recently held a Christmas tree lighting ceremony. The tree has been up in the town square since the middle of October (Guatemalans really get a jump on Christmas) but had remained dark until last night. Gallo, the “famous’ Guatemala beer company, donated trees to 28 of the 332 municipalities in the country (Tactic obviously being one of them), and then held a joint ceremony last night to light all the trees at the same time. Tactic’s little fiesta was fit with a band, a message from the Vice-Mayor, and a rather impressive fireworks show. Below is a short clip of the tree being lit.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Child Stealing

I was really tempted to bring my niece with me back to Guatemala...and I think she was ready to go also.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

More Peace Corps

During the campaign, President-elect Barack Obama spoke about the importance and need for a renewed sense of volunteerism among Americans. To that end, he proposed doubling the size of Peace Corps by the organization’s 50th anniversary in 2011. Currently there are over 7,800 volunteers serving in 76 countries around the globe, and since Peace Corps’ inception in 1961 there have been over 195,000 volunteers present in 139 countries.

At the beginning of the year, the National Peace Corps Association (NPCA) launched the More Peace Corps campaign to raise support for a revamped and doubled Peace Corps. Given that the Saturday Night Live “More cowbell” sketch is the first thing that comes to mind when I hear More Peace Corps, I personally would have chosen a different campaign slogan. But I was not consulted.

And I also do not agree that simply doubling Peace Corps is the best way to make it more effective. But I do firmly believe in the ideals and goals of Peace Corps, and I support the efforts to raise awareness and interest in the organization. Through the More Peace Corps campaign, the NPCA has written a petition to President-elect Obama asking him to uphold his promises of strengthening Peace Corps. If you have been following my Peace Corps experience through my blog or those of any other volunteers, please take the time to sign the petition and show your support for Peace Corps.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Doing Lunch

Lisa, Michelle, and Mike

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Pasmolón

Lisa invited Michelle, Mike, and I to her house in Pasmolón for lunch to celebrate her brother's graduation. These are some pictures from the hike up to her house nestled in the hills of this beautiful aldea.





Friday, November 7, 2008

Chupallo

Lisa and I were walking one day when we came upon a fowl gathering of turkeys, ducks, and chickens. It was a living Turducken.

I explained to Lisa that which is the Turduken—a chicken enveloped in a duck further wrapped in a turkey. I could see her mind working, imagining a heavenly world where simply having meat wasn’t enough of a treat that the people had to create bigger and better ways to consume more of it.

“So with every slice you get three kinds of meat?”

“Yep, three different meats with every slice.”

“How do they do it, Seño?”

“I have no idea.”

I too am unable to wrap my head around the physics of this Christmas dinner marvel of modern food science. But it is probably best that I don’t know exactly how they stuffed those birds inside each other. That might ruin Christmas.

But should this poultry orgy ever reach the Guatemalan market, Lisa and I have already devised a name for it: Chupallo—chunto (turkey), pato (duck), and gallo (chicken). We have been talking about making our own, but although I have successfully slaughtered a turkey, I think a chupallo is out of my league.

After a little research, though, I discovered there are instructions on the internet (of course there are) for making Turduckens. The problem is the instructions assume you are working with already dead birds of certain weights. Though not an impossible obstacle to overcome, the rural Guatemalan version of making a Chupallo would involve lining up some turkeys, ducks, and chickens of different sizes in the market, imagining them without feathers, limbs, innards, and bones, and trying to decide who would fit snuggly in whom. And of course after selecting the perfect sized birds, there is the whole bit of having to remove those feathers, limbs, innards, and bones.

Yes, constructing my own Chupallo is definitely outside the range of my culinary expertise (which basically consists of making turkey sandwiches). But with Thanksgiving right around the corner, and the help of my very ingenious training group of volunteers, we might just try to pull it off. And if the tri-bird ends up being a flop, then of course we will have the frozen Butterball there as a backup.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

The Happy Couples

Matt & Nancy (cousin)


Daniel (cousin) & Austin

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Going Green

View of the turbines from my parents' house.

Wind turbines at dusk.

Saturday, November 1, 2008

The new Windy City

I visited my childhood home of Rock Port, Missouri for the first time since April of 2007 during a trip back to the states a couple of weeks ago. Like most small towns in America, much had remained the same during my over a year absence, but I did notice one very large change: wind turbines. Dozens of huge white wind turbines dotting the horizon.

Rock Port made history while I have been in Guatemala by becoming the first (and still only as far as I am aware) community in the United States to be 100% wind-powered and completely energy independent. My little hometown was all over the national news with a plethora (yes, I know what a plethora is) of articles written and broadcasts made about the achievement including these from ABC, CNN, and NPR. Rock Port even has its own barebones website touting its energy efficiency.

With all the national publicity, Eric Chamberlain, the Rock Port resident who hatched the wind farm idea, has become a “wind power rock star” according to the St. Joseph News-Press. But I knew the “Wind Czar” long before he became famous. Eric was my 8 & under softball coach, and one my most vivid childhood memories comes from a mishap during one of our games. At that age the coach pitches to his/her own team, and Eric was once the unfortunate recipient of my blistering line drive. Normally a pitcher would try to catch a hit heading straight for him, but since putting out one of his own players was not in his best interest, Eric attempted to dodge. He tried but failed, and the ball pegged him right in the inner left thigh. As he immediately doubled over, I stood fixed in the batter’s box concerned about the injury I had inflicted. But despite his obvious pain, Eric continued coaching by yelling at me to, “Run! Run!” A few inches to the right and the hit would have really done some serious damage, but fortunately Eric came away from the incident with just a grapefruit sized black bruise on his leg.

I was only in Rock Port for three days, and I spent more time just hanging out with my family than reacquainting myself with the town. But simply being there conjured up many memories like this one. I had a great childhood in a great community, and it makes me proud that going green is now Rock Port’s claim to fame. And although my mom abhors the wind turbines considering them eyesores, I couldn’t help but look out at them in the horizon from my parents’ house on the hill and be inspired. Rural America is often bashed as being backward and close-minded, but here is a little farming community making headlines (including a blurb on a website called More Hip Than Hippy…the word “hip” have never been associated with Rock Port) for leading the way in renewable wind energy. In the face of population loss and rural brain drain due to limited job opportunities, to use an antiquated agriculture idiom, Rock Port has a tough row to hoe. But despite the challenges, I’ll defer to the town’s slogan in saying that Rock Port has “a proud past and a bold future.”